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Justin rolls his eyes and releases his bat, swinging it down to tap against one foot before switching hands and tapping it against the other.
“Look, if you want me to baby these jokers because they’re not very good, you’re looking at the wrong guy. That’s your job. Not mine.”
Crossing my arms, I widen my stance, just watching him.
“It’s going to be a long season if you’re going to constantly give me this attitude, Justin.”
“Long season?” Justin shakes his head. “Bro, you’re here until what…February? Maybe? Then you’re gone, and you won’t have to deal with my attitude anymore.”
“Well guess what. Until then, bro, you’ll be running the field every time you give me shit. Out to the foul post, along the back wall to the other, and then home.” I hitch my thumb in the direction of the outfield. “Get moving.”
His face morphs into an expression filled with anger, and he chucks his bat against the chain link fence. Then he glares at me for a long beat before jogging off.
I let out a long sigh as I watch him for a minute. Clearly the conversation with my dad earlier went in one ear and out the other, my irritation with Justin’s attitude getting the best of me. Hopefully a jog around the field or twelve will help the kid cool off a bit, though I’m surely just hoping.
“Alright, Ruben. Let’s do it again.”
I signal to Tommy to drop a ball into the machine, and a few seconds later, it’s sailing toward Ruben, who gets another really decent hit. We stay at it for a few more minutes, and then I send Ruben over to the neighboring soccer field where Rush is working with players on throwing dynamics.
When I turn to motion for the next batter to come up to the plate, my eyes catch on a figure sitting in the bleachers, her long dark hair fluttering in the cool breeze. I grin but try not to call too much attention to where she sits. Instead, I step behind the mesh screen meant to protect me from rogue foul balls and return my attention to where Riley is getting into his stance. Observing his movements closely, I watch as he swings at the first ball, which sails right past him and into the catcher’s mitt.
“One more,” I say, holding up a single finger to Tommy.
Riley resets, and then a few seconds later he swings and misses again.
“Your timing is late,” I tell him, making a note on my clipboard. “When you’re making a mental judgment about when to swing, force yourself to swing just a little bit earlier. Okay?”
He nods, and then Tommy’s dropping in another ball. This time, Riley swings and hits the ball, though it goes foul.
“Man,” he groans, clicking his tongue at himself.
“Hey, don’t get down on yourself. You’re making adjustments, right? Nobody is perfect immediately. It takes a lot of tweaks and then a lot of repetition to make the new thing stick.”
Riley sighs.
“Set up again.”
We go through about 20 balls before we finish and move on to the next. He hits four of them foul before finally hitting one fair, and then on his last hit, he launches it into left field.
I never thought I would have it in me to coach. I enjoy playing too much and always assumed coaching was for people who didn’t have the skill, but maybe I’m wrong on both accounts. Maybe I could coach one day, help kids the way my coaches have had an impact on me over the years.
The thought is surprising, but I don’t dwell on it as we move through the rest of practice. My focus turns entirely to Gabi the minute we shout Pirates and send the kids off to the locker rooms, and I turn to look at where she’s still sitting, wrapped up in a warm coat, her hands tucked into the pockets.
“To what do I owe this surprise,” I say, coming up to the chain link fence.
“Well, I had some free time and wanted to come see…” She waves her hand in the direction of the field behind me. “What you do.”
I chuckle. “What I do? You sat in the bleachers during enough of my practices and games to know what a coach does.”
She stands then walks down the steps, approaching me from the other side of the fence.
“Yeah, but I’ve never seen you coach before.”
Something warm works its way through my chest, a welcome reprieve from the cold air.
“And I also wanted to see if you’d like to grab a beer tonight.”
That warm thing swirls and moves, and I set the bucket of balls down then grip the fence and lean forward.
