Wednesday, March 24, 2010

The Streak - 68

The old man burst out of his office in the visitors' clubhouse and cut right to the center of the floor.

"Boyce! Where the fuck is Boyce?!" he yelled.

Kyle sat on a bench in his socks and underwear. He tentatively raised his hand.

"Stand up, you son of a bitch!"

Kyle did as he was told.

"Your ass is suspended!"

Kyle did a double take, mouthing "Wha?"

"You fucking heard me. Five games."


"Conduct unbecoming."

"Conduct unbecoming?!"

"Conduct un-fucking-becoming!" Bosworth wiped the spit off his chin onto the shoulder of his uniform.

"Unbecoming what?" protested Kyle.

"You fucked our goddamned shrink!"

Kyle sat back down and shook his head.

"Stand the fuck up!"

Kyle stood again, grudgingly, staring at a spot on the floor.

"Look me in the eye!"

He straightened up and lifted his head. Everybody watching.

"You ain't supposeta fuck her, you're supposeta win a game!"

Kyle closed his eyes and nodded. Taking his medicine now.

"Win. A. Game. For Christ's Jesus sake!"

Kyle shifted his stance as his skipper glared.

"You can't see past your cock to victory? What good are ya? Huh?"

Kyle mouthed "I'm sorry."

"Ya damned right you're sorry!"

The old man leaned away now, apparently satisfied. He scanned the gallery to make sure all were duly impressed.

Cesar raised his hand. Bosworth nodded at him. The catcher cleared his throat.

"Um, now that Kyle done fucked her, do we still have to see the shrink?"

Carlos Nunez, sitting beside him, tried to suppress a burst of laughter. Cesar turned to him imploringly.

"Nah, c'mon man, I was just..."

When they looked up again their manager was gone. Like that, gone. And almost as soon as they noticed, a torrent of profanity erupted from the office accompanied by the booms, bangs and crashes of anything that wasn't nailed down being hurled upon the walls and floor.

Motherfucker!... Goddammit!... Fucking cocksuckers!... Goddamn motherfucking... son of a bitch idiots!

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