The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [68]
“Slappy stands accused,” Maddog continued, “of making out with girl at the Diamond Club and then losing her to another guy.”
“What? No, no, no—that’s not something I should be fined for.”
“Hold on Slappy, we have rules here. How do you plead?”
“Not guilty, of course.”
“It says on the complaint that the team witnessed this.”
“I’m saying not guilty because I made out with her. Maybe that’s all I wanted to do.”
“But she was ugly, dude. Ugly and fat.”
“That’s not what I’m being charged for, though. I’m being charged for losing her.”
Seth was on his feet and ready to prosecute. “That’s the whole point, Slap. You don’t just make out with ugly chicks because you like kissing them. You have to go all the way. And that’s only because it’s part of busting a slump or something. I mean, unless you like fat, ugly chicks, the only purpose they serve is health related.”
“That’s true, Slap. Fat chicks should be used for medicinal purposes only.”
“It was the beginning of the year, bro. I was just getting warmed up. I’m not in mid season form yet,” Slappy countered.
“That’s no excuse for you to lose her to another guy,” Seth said, pushing the issue.
“Why am I the one getting fined? Buschmann should be getting fined, since he stole her. He went out of his way to take an ugly chick from me! That’s real desperation, stealing a fat chick from a teammate! I’d like to cite the law of Bros before Hos here!”
“I don’t think it applies in this case,” a judge said.
“This is a mockery of justice!” Slappy wailed.
Brent’s hand when up. “If it pleases the court, I think Buschmann should get a credit under his name for stealing Slappy’s girl.”
“That’s bullshit!” Slappy wailed.
“And that’s one dollar, Slap. No swearing in Kangaroo Court—we’re professionals here.” Maddog wrote down a dollar fine for Slap.
“Fine, that’s bullcrap,” Slappy rephrased. “What kind of teammate steals another player’s chick, regardless of how nasty she is?”
“Personally,” Frenchy said, “I think she had a chance to upgrade from a bad body reliever to a starter and she took it.”
“Maybe we should give her a credit too,” Brent said.
“That is a veteran move.”
“She’s got a big one,” Rosco said.
“I think the court has heard enough to render a decision.”
Slappy was fined three dollars, one for illegal use of a potential slump buster, one for losing said slump buster to another player, and one for swearing.
“Next fine.” This was for Lunchbox. “For making the comment, ‘It’s a good thing dolphins don’t have hands or they’d probably take over the world.’”
“Did you really say that, Box?” a judge asked.
Lunchbox stared at the court with a dull face of wonder. “What? I was just saying that they’re smart, I think, like the smartest mammals on earth, right? If they had hands, like us, I’ll bet they could challenge us.” Blank expressions as the entire locker room stared back at Lunchbox. “You guys don’t think so? Like, they’d be dangerous if they had fingers and thumbs?”
“Box, you might want to think about appointing a lawyer. Would anyone like to represent Lunchbox?”
Seth shook his head. “I’m not even going to touch that one.”
“What? If they had fingers, they could use guns.”
“Where are dolphins going to get guns, Lunchbox?”
“Submarines.”
Lunchbox was fined one dollar. Someone helped him count it out.
Chapter Twenty-one
The boys showed up at the park early because of the scheduled bus trip. We were on commuter time. Our destination was High Desert, with service to Modesto following the game. This marked the first day of a four-game road trip.
We changed into our uniforms at the park, halfway at least, not bothering to tuck tops in or put hats on—certainly no spikes. There was no reason to look game ready since we were just going to hop on a bus for the next two hours. Suitcases were packed for the overnight portions; Padres-issued equipment bags were stocked for the day. We, a gang of half-dressed baseball bums, lugged our cases and bags to the curb of the stadium’s parking lot and waited for the