The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [66]
After batting practice, we retreated from the hot desert sun to enjoy a snack and a break before the start of the day’s game. The clubbie put out a spread, the guys beat upon the vending machine until everyone got a Gatorade, and text messages were returned.
Pickles picked up his axe and went to turn on Guitar Hero, but I stopped him. There were more important things to be done during this break. There was Kangaroo Court. Today was the first paycheck of the season.
Kangaroo Court is a team-created legal institution made up of peers and elected judges. It’s how the team regulates all the stupid and unprofessional things that happen during a season, using a system of fines and mock legal proceedings to embarrass transgressors.
There are no real laws and no set fines, and the whole thing is one big social normalizer. When we believe someone has broken an unwritten law of the Kangaroo Court, aka did something stupid, we write down the stupid act, suggest a fine, list a witness, and put the written offense in the Kangaroo Court Fine Box (an appropriately marked shoe box) located in the middle of the clubhouse.
During court, a chosen player empties the fine box and reads the offenses to a panel of peer-elected judges, typically composed of a pitcher and a fielder and one other player to break ties. The act is weighed for its stupidity, comedic value, and relevance. It is then fined accordingly. If an accusation brought before the court does not cover all the requirements, with special emphasis on making the team laugh, the judges can vote down the stupid act, in which case the person who wrote the offense must pay the fine for wasting the court’s time. This ensures that players make their fines as entertaining as possible, the real point of why we have court.
The accused can contest a fine, in which case the court will hear his plea. If he does an excellent job of refuting the accusation, meaning he makes everyone laugh and embarrasses the person who wrote the charge. The judges may overrule the case, effectively reversing the fine. The judges may still fine both parties even if the whole case is funny, just because they can and because the collected money goes toward a party during the All-Star break.
The court recognizes that not every player is a natural, comedic speaker. This is why lawyers can be purchased. If the party in question cannot afford a lawyer, the court will appoint one for him. The accused has the right to remain silent as all misspoken admissions to drunken stupidity can and will be used against him in the Kangaroo Court of Law. In the Kangaroo Justice System, the players are represented by two separate, yet equally important groups: the players who investigate crime, and the vindictive pack of minor league degenerates who prosecute the offenders. These are their stories.
Last year’s group of players, now the Double-A team, had such great chemistry that Kangaroo Court became a prime-time event. Full-out legal battles with reenactments and key-witness testimony were brought in. Though usually held the same day paychecks were dispensed, we began making up excuses to have “emergency sessions” of Kangaroo Court.
Last year, a player on the team by the name of White Chocolate, named because he was the blackest white guy any of us had ever met, got caught with porn at his host family’s house. If the offense had been written as simply as I just described, he may not have gotten fined. Instead, those crafty court masters who made last year’s legal proceedings so much fun exhausted every avenue of humor they could.
When the emergency sessions were held, the prosecutors, who also happened to be roommates of the accused, asked White Chocolate to his face if he was doing anything perverse in his host family’s office. He said no.
“Did you look up porn on your host family’s computer?”
“I haven’t done anything you guys haven’t done.”
“Answer the question, please. Yes or no.