The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [50]
“Well, sorry about your luck. Should have thought about those sensitive feelings before you started dishing out what you can’t take, fatty.”
“But I’m not fat, I’m big boned. No, seriously guys, I am. I have big bone density. I swear dude, a doctor told me that.”
There was a pause in the conversation while everyone assessed whether Tiny was kidding. He continued squeezing his sides, indicating he was not.
“See what false friends do? Tiny’s fat now because I didn’t get a ride, which is okay, me being here that is, because I’m with real friends now, who would never lie to me.”
“Those bastards.”
“I know, right?”
“Screw that Slap-nuts, I wouldn’t give you a ride. Six hours in a car with you would make me drive off a fucking cliff.” This from yet another new voice that belonged to a muscular-looking guy who just boarded. He wore a designer brand T-shirt, jeans, and sunglasses like Magnum P.I. and stood with one leg up on one of the bus’s front seats, staring at the pack of us like a parent watching kids get their good clothes dirty. “Sanchy! English! Attaboy!” he finished.
“Easy for you to say, Seth, you’re on the bus like me,” Slappy retorted.
“Even if I could drive, I wouldn’t give you a ride because you’re a fucking douche bag.”
Slappy laughed hard, like a stiff wind bent him over backward as he bellowed. “That’s such a position player thing to say. So predictable. You’ve been waiting all this time to call me a douche bag, haven’t you? Did you stay up all night to think of that?”
“I don’t have to wait to call you a douche bag, douche bag.”
Let’s be clear, Slappy wasn’t the target. He was the lead singer of this band, even though he was getting beat on like a drum. It was all play fighting as everyone had a smile on his face. I learned a long time ago that the boys on a baseball team chewed on the people they liked, almost like how lion cubs wrestled and chewed on each other, but no one got hurt or cried to mommy. Playful, vulgar, personal at times, but no one took offense. Indeed, it was a form of team chemistry, everyone adding his own personal contribution. Well, almost everyone.
“Why’s Slappy a douche bag?” a new player asked. Everyone turned to see who had spoken. He deflated upon eye contact. The party stopper stood in the bus aisle with an unassuming smile like Forrest Gump, except with a massive underbite and the face of Michael Phelps. It was as if everyone was listening to a joke about a minority and that particular minority just walked in.
“Uh.”
“Yeah…”
“Oh, you know…”
“I was just saying that false friends are the reason for most of the world’s evils.”
“Those bastards.”
“It’s why Tiny is fat,” Slappy continued.
“Big boned, bro.”
“It’s why Seth’s a douche bag.” Seth, who had taken a seat toward the front of the bus, didn’t turn around, instead nonchalantly threw up his middle finger in response.
“And why this team’s already got cancer before we even leave Phoenix.”
The newcomer stood with the same slack look on his face, searching for answers where there were never meant to be any. Rosco and Pickles looked out the window. Seth put on his headphones. Maddog looked laid back in his seat with a spectator’s grin, and Slappy sat down as if everything made perfect sense upon his explanation. There was a stretch of silence while the new fish tried to make sense of it all. Someone coughed; Sanchy tried to pronounce a new phrase in English.
“Yeah, false friends are bad, huh? Totally.” the new fish said.
“Yeah.”
“Mmmm, hmmm.”
“…”
Crickets. Conversation killed.
“Have you guys ever seen the movie Layer Cake?” the new face asked. Everyone moaned, as if this topic had been broached several times before. “What? It’s a good movie.”
“No Daigle, we haven’t seen it for fuck’s sake.”
“Well it’s good. We should watch it on this bus trip.”
“We are not watching fucking Layer Cake.”
“I’m telling you, it’s not what you think. It’s a rich, complex tale of—”
“I don’t care, I don’t care how rich it is! We are