Chapter 4: Grand Slam

https://www.twincities.com/2015/05/16/gophers-softball-team-ousted-from-ncaa-tourney/

“You wanna cheer, cheer this!” calls Coach Q, chanting a work song down the aisle of the bus to Mary Washington College.

A groan arises from the long green bench seat at the back, where Toni, Shawna, and Cat Kent are sprawled.

“Ah reckon not,” mouths Jo two rows ahead and kneeling up on her seat to look back.

__________

After practice on the evening before the trip I had entered the cafeteria door and turned left into the line of students waiting for trays, trying to ignore the stares of half the campus already seated in the big front room. After loading up with some nondescript balls of meat, half a dozen corn fritters, and a mess of collards spiked with bacon, I wandered around looking for a friendly face, finally spying the softballers in the back room.

“Yo Zo, no appetite after a hard practice?” laughed Toni as she kicked out a chair.

“Who can resist Miss Shack’s meatlump?” I answered, joining the women at a corner table.

“Best goddamned meatlump in the whole goddamned south!” she quipped. “So what’s with Jo?”

“She apparently doesn’t like Coach Q’s chew,” answered Ronky.

“What’s wrong with a little Red Man?” Toni wondered.

“I like mine big is what’s wrong, like that one over at the DE table,” joked Shawna. “Hey Januzzi, go see if he’s going to Happy Hour tonight.”

“What’s up, big man?” greeted the tall red-haired guy reaching out his hand. “Seth Calhoun the fifth, but call me Quinn.”

“Enzo Januzzi,” I replied, returning the handshake as he gave my wrist a couple of taps with his fingertips.

“Nuzzi’s a region in the Italian piedmont,” piped in a squat guy sitting next to Quinn.

“That’s Burkhardt,” Quinn explained, “the resident professor of Delta Epsilon.”

“Burkhardt’s also a town on the west bank of the Rhine,” I ventured, recalling a map of the Nazi homeland defenses from my European history class.

“Aren’t you two the intellectual pair,” laughed Quinn. “Hey, are you coming to our oyster roast on Saturday night?”

“Sounds cool, but that blond chick over there’s wondering if you’re going to Brothers tonight.”

“I’m there!” he grinned, glancing over at Shawna who pretended not to notice.

__________

“All my life I wanted to be a Jacket,” groans Ronki from shortstop during fielding warm-ups, repeating Coach Q’s chant as he hit a fungo grounder her way on the Mary Wash infield.

“Work hard, work hard,” repeats the rest of the team.

“All mah life I wanna be a Jacket,” Jo shouts from out in centerfield while basket-catching Q’s high fly ball.

“Work hard, work hard.”

“All my life I want to wear a jacket,” sings MG, waving her casted hand from over on the bench.

“Work hard, work hard.”

“Sat on the can and ended up a Jacket,” squeaks Toni in a high-pitched voice from out in left field.

“Work hard, work hard,” they all chant as Q hits one way over Toni’s head and she waddles after it.

“Asked for a loaf and only got a baguette,” snorts Cat behind the plate as the relay throw comes in from Ronki.

“Work hard, work hard.”

“Keep singing this and put me in a jacket,” moans Shawna, charging in from the mound to field an imitation bunt.

“OK ladies, let’s get this show on the road!” interrupts the umpire, walking over to home plate to begin the game.

“Take un and pass it on!” calls Jo from the other end of the bench, cracking open a pack of Big Red chewing gum as we lead off in the top of the first inning. “Tis better’n his pizen.”

“We’ll need it against that chick,” nods Ronki toward the mound, ripping off the foil and popping a spicy stick into her mouth as she steps up to the plate.

     The first pitch is a hard fastball in on her hands from the tall Mary Washington pitcher. Ronki drops the bat at the last second and lays down a drag bunt along the third base line. She tears down the base path and beats the throw to first by a step.

“There you go, Leskuski,” calls Coach Q from the third base coach’s box. “Now c’mon Toni, bring her around.”

She watches two high fastballs to bring the count to no balls and two strikes. The next pitch is another high and hard one that she manages to tap into right field for a bloop single.

     Next up is Jo, who faces down their pitcher with three foul tips.

“F-O-U-L, foul ball, foul ball,” cheers the bench, each syllable shouted by a different player as Q scowls.

Jo manages to tip three more sliders before finally watching one pass outside the strike zone for ball four and a walk.

The bases are loaded with no outs as Cat Kent steps into the batter’s box. She assumes the hitting position and chomps down on her Big Red, dirty-blond curls spilling out of her black batting helmet. The pitcher unleashes a low fastball over the inside corner of the plate. Cat lunges into it with a huge golf swing, swatting a towering fly over the leftfielder’s head. The ball bounces the length of the unfenced outfield as Cat lumbers around second base.

“Cat Kent, we miss you, we really, really miss you, please come home, please come home!” sings the bench.

Coach Q holds out his hands for her to stop at third base, but she runs right past and keeps chugging toward home.

“What’s in that Big Red?” mutters Q as Cat high-fives Jo, Toni, and Ronki lined up at home plate to celebrate her grand slam.




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