The Bullpen Gospels - Dirk Hayhurst [80]
“The reason I don’t drink is because my brother is an alcoholic. He’s practically ruined my family’s life with his drinking.” The words hung for a second. “I hate him for it. As long as he drinks, I won’t. That’s my reason, and I don’t care what you think about it.”
There was a moment of silence as the guys thought about the words.
“So you’re saying you like whips-and-chain-style porn, then?”
“You just never stop, do you?”
“It’s a simple question!”
We all laughed at Slappy’s persistence, which broke the tension. I smiled and turned back to the group. “Actually, I like the soft, cuddly, librarian kind.”
“That’s what I thought! Totally suits you!” Slappy shouted. We all laughed again, especially Rosco, who kept on laughing long after the others. He laughed so hard and so long, it became obvious he was no longer laughing with us, but at something else.
“What the hell crawled in your pants?” giggled up Stubbs.
“Oh man, no offense, Hay, but you being a virgin reminded me of this retarded kid I know.”
“Why is it people think if they say ‘no offense’ before a line, they feel they have the freedom to go ahead and be offensive?”
“He was a virgin too, but, well, it’s just funny because if you could have met the guy.” He started laughing to himself again. “Oh boy, that guy,” he labored for breath as he cracked himself up. “This one time he crapped his pants and…the grape jelly…the tear gas,” then came more laughing. We stared in wonder. When he finally caught his breath, he looked at us soberly, wiped his tears of laughter away, and said, “Anyway, the point is, you’re a virgin and he’s not. Amazing really.”
“Christ Rosco, are you going to explain this story or just laugh at yourself.” Slappy was obviously interested.
“He probably met some other nice person with a handicap and they—” I began rationalizing but was interrupted.
“No dude, she was hot.”
“Well, hot for him, I’m sure,” I said dismissively.
“No, hot for anybody.” At this, I stopped trying and buckled down.
“Spit it out, Rosco,” Slap said.
“Okay. His name was Carl, and he was a handicapped batboy we had on the team.”
“What kind of handicap?”
“I’m not a doctor. I don’t know if it was autism or what Rain Man had. Whatever. He was higher functioning, but not quite normal, you know?”
“So like Slappy?” Maddog asked. Slappy offered the finger to Maddog.
“Sorta. This kid’s problems were diagnosable.” Slappy offered the finger to Rosco.
“So Carl was our batboy. Actually, he wasn’t really a boy, he was more like a batperson. He was older. Older than me at least, but he still acted like a kid.”
“So he was a batman,” Stubbs said, giggling.
“Sure,” Rosco said. “But he was a good guy, meant well, like everyone’s little brother repeating what he saw us do or say. We’d hack on each other, so he’d hack on us, and it was fine, funny even. But he’d miss some of the finer points of how guys would bust each other’s balls. Sometimes, he’d go too far. Like telling a guy who just blew a save, ‘Nice job blowing the game, dumbass.’
“He didn’t know any better. So when he messed up, instead of getting pissed, most of the guys would just tell him to fuck off or something.”
“Wait, you told a retarded kid to fuck off?” I asked.
“I never told him that,” Rosco said. “But that’s mostly because we never talked. He didn’t think I was cool and ignored me most of the time.”
“So a retarded kid thought you weren’t cool.”
“Man,” Rosco said, correcting him.
“Sorry, a retarded man thought you weren’t cool.”
“Correct.”
“Okay, so he was like everyone else in that respect.”
“Pretty much.”
“Got it. Continue.”
“Anyway,” Rosco said, “when the stadium hired a cute new concession stand girl, Carl was the first to talk to her.”
“Oh shit! He nailed the concession stand girl! Awesome! What did she look like?” This was Slappy, of course.
“Relax Slap, let me tell the story. Carl followed the new girl around like a lost puppy, but he didn’t nail her.” Slappy deflated. “The girl was nice to him, but the kind of nice that doesn’t necessarily mean