The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [74]
“What if you don’t think Jessica Simpson is that hot?” Pickles offered.
“How can you not think Jessica Simpson is hot?” bellowed the council, producing a reaction of instant outrage, which made me wonder how we could be totally on board with a subject like man on man-woman relations but be livid when the hotness of a certain blond-haired pop star is brought into question?
“She’s hot, but I just don’t think she’s the hottest.”
“Well, then pick your fantasy girl and add a wiener. It’s a simple equation.”
“So it could be Angelina Jolie?”
“With a wiener.”
“Okay, good,” Pickles said, smiling contentedly.
“How big is the penis?” Rosco resumed.
“In regards to—?”
“Well is it bigger than mine?”
“No, yours is definitely bigger.”
“Okay, so I’m still the king of the bedroom. That’s good to know.” Pickles and Rosco exchanged high fives, declaring, “Big ones!”
“Yeah, she’s got a very feminine penis,” Slappy continued.
“Could you explain that for me? Could you explain feminine penis?” I asked.
“Sure,” Slappy said. “It’s small and cute.”
“Cute?”
“Yeah, and it’s been accessorized.”
“Accessorized?”
“Yeah, like the tip has lipstick on it, and there are two little earrings on the balls and stuff. Maybe she’s got a little pink sweater for it or something.”
At this point, all I could do was stare at Slappy.
“What?” Slappy stared back, innocently.
“Do I have to see it while I’m doing her?” Rosco asked.
Slappy disengaged from the accessorized penis talk. “No, you don’t have to see it. You might feel it, but you don’t have to see it.”
“If we are under covers and I’m behind her, I should be okay, right?”
“I think so.”
Rosco nodded his head. “Okay, alright, I’m in.”
“Hey hey, alright!” The council passed out high fives at the decision, passing the bill. Later, the council also ruled all women with penises should declare their arms before taking a man home because it’s discourteous. Honesty is the best policy, after all.
“Okay, I’ve got another one. If you were abducted by the Taliban and they told you they would kill you if you didn’t, which guy on the team would you have sex with.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I exhaled.
“What? It’s life or death. This could really happen, man. Terrorists are some serious shit!”
“They’d go to all the trouble of kidnapping a team just so they could make them—Why am I even arguing this?” I turned my head down to the dugout, checking out of the conversation and catching up on the game. The backup catcher, Lisk, was jogging down toward us. His equipment was on, skullcap on his head with a mitt in one hand and a mask in the other. Behind his running form, standing on the lip of the dugout steps, was Webby waving at the pen. A quick glance to the field revealed runs driven in with a few more on base awaiting a ride home. Brent was in a jam.
In the lower levels, most bullpens don’t have phones. This one was lucky to have a mound. Unable to call down instructions, the pitching coaches use hand signals symbolizing each respective pitcher. Mine was the A-frame shape Webby was currently signing to the pen.
“Sorry to leave your life-changing conversation boys, but it looks like I have to go to work.” I tore off my clothes like Superman and bounded to the mound.
Slappy and Pickles hopped up as well. They didn’t have to warm up, but assumed the roles of bodyguards while I warmed with Lisk. The bullpen was set up so that the catcher’s back was to the field when he warmed a reliever. A hitter could line a ball foul and strike him while he caught. Slappy jogged down and stood next to Lisk, defending his back side. Pickles stayed by me.
Though Brent was pumping in strikes, doing his best to grind out the start, the batters were finding holes. He wasn’t getting knocked out of the yard, rather, being bled out slowly, single after single. I wanted to believe he’d make it through the inning, but the bases were loaded now and the hook would come soon if he didn’t get lucky and roll a pair.
I warmed as fast as I could without mindlessly firing, but the cold makes it harder