All right, kids — it gives me great pleasure as your head coach to welcome you to what I feel will be the best team in all of West Union Little League…The Coyotes!
First off, don’t give me any grief, Coyotes. I’m doing a service to the community — “community service” as some would have me call it — and though I wasn’t anticipating having to put in 15 hours a week coaching this squad, I also didn’t anticipate that my little card game in the garage would get me indicted for “keeping a gambling place.” Again.
Now, as someone who has played a little ball (Go Panthers ’85!) I’m a little more qualified than you all to make the kind of cutthroat managerial decisions necessary to keep the Coyotes at the top of the standings. But, if you’re unhappy with your position, please let me or my extremely violent third base coach and garage bartender, “Bloodstain,” know and we’ll consider all requests. That said, here’s our lineup, by position:
First Base — Hugh Green
You know it. I know it. Everybody knows it: you’re the fat kid. And that’s okay! That’s why we’ve got first base. You’re a commanding presence both at the plate and on the diamond and if you play your cards right, someday you might come in handy as “muscle” in my garage, as you’ve demonstrated time and time again that uncanny fat-kid temper that usually translates into ultra-violence. And no, you can’t play pitcher. Oh, jeez — I can feel you getting all huffy and red. Play it cool, cheeseburger — we can’t always get what we want.
Second Base — Chris O’Hollarhan
You know, during infield drills during tryouts, I took Bloodstain aside and told him, “This kid Chris throws like a chick.” Are you angry now? Do you want to channel that anger against our insensitive opponents? Wait. I must have missed something. You are a chick. Welcome to the Coyotes then, sweetie. Let me ask you something: Can you feel gayness at this age? These kinds of things fascinate me, the whole nature/nurture discussion. Also, if you think you’re going to pitch, you’ve got another think coming.
Shortstop — Blake Kyser
Blake, I’m taking a risk here. You have absolutely no athletic ability and I’m convinced that you’re at least mildly retarded. But work with me. Are you familiar with the term “sword of Damocles?” Anyway, your old man just happens to be the league president as well as my parole officer. So needless to say, I’m in a tight spot. Shortstop is an absolutely crucial position and I have faith that through your practiced regimen of drooling and biting, you’ll be of absolutely no use to the Coyotes. So, let’s call this a fragile armistice. Oh, and if you thought I’d let you go anywhere near the pitcher’s mound, you’re out of your diseased mind.
Third Base — Joey LaRocca
Joey, you have a face like a train wreck but an undeniably smokin’ Mom. What gives? Is Dad out of the picture? You seem like the kind of menace who’ll probably snap and shoot up an Applebee’s later in life — and I like that kind of intensity — just try to keep your sociopathologies under wraps for now. But I have to ask — how are you with a knife? We get some shady characters in my garage and Bloodstain can’t take ’em all. Anyway, what’s your Mom’s name again…Sheena? And no, you can’t pitch. Please don’t kill me later in life when you crack up.
Outfield — Kevin Cummings, Hunter Rushing, Lonny von Winkle
If your parents weren’t making you do this, you’d be up to your butt in Magic the Gathering or whatever losers like you three are into. Just arrange yourselves out there so you don’t look like dicks and maybe bring a book. And no pitching.
Catcher — Owen Wiener
Owen, I know people and I can tell that you can take a fair amount of abuse. This may have something to do with the fact that you are covered in oozing carbuncles and sundry other bruises, carbuncles and scabs. What’s that thing where you can’t feel pain? Congenital analgia! (I just Googled.) Tell me you have that, kid. If not, you’re in for some hard times behind the plate. So be prepared. And don’t touch anything — you’re like a walking goiter. Pitch? Bitch, please.
Pitcher — Enrique
Bienvenidos a América! Please see Bloodstain for appropriate residency and other official documents. We’re all really excited to have you as our Coyote ace! A few quick things: I should have clarified that when I asked you to shave, I meant the moustache, too. Sorry — rules are rules. Also, try to avoid pulling up to the Little League field in the Trans Am Bloodstain “found” for you — this tends to raise eyebrows and we’re trying to keep what’s known here as a “low profile.” Finally, and this goes to the core of what it means to be a Coyote — hit the first batter in the face. This establishes you as “owning the plate” while letting my guys in Vegas know that the fix is in.