We have resorted now, in the summer of our discontent, to hitting fly balls to the little girls in our pregame warmups and offering them Buicks and other big-ticket items when they make good plays. Corvettes. Jaguars. A nice dining room set. In the suburbs, it is important to establish values, even at an early age.
"You win a Lexus," I tell Taylor when she makes a good catch.
"I won a Lexus!" Taylor screams.
And the other girls line up as well.
Erika catches a pop fly and wins a BMW. DeDe fields a hard grounder and receives a Porsche.
"Can I have a pony?" Coach Lorraine asks.
"A pony?"
"Ever since I was a little girl, I've wanted a pony," she explains.
"Get out there," I say, gesturing to the outfield, at which point she gives up on the pony and goes over to mingle with the other moms.
"No wonder she doesn't have a pony," I mutter and pick up another softball.
*
Ten minutes into the pregame drill, I give up on the cars and start giving away long-term municipal bonds and a couple of nice annuities.
For some reason, this doesn't excite the players as much as the cars did. Coach Dave, the CPA, says muni bonds are always a sound investment. But the girls lose focus.
"OK, into the dugout," I yell.
This is THE BIG GAME. The game against the team with Abby and Amanda, the twins with the golden arms and the pretty mom we tried to draft but couldn't.
Our team, the Killer Ks, has prepared all season for this game, in the same way USC prepares for Notre Dame. In the way the Hatfields prepare for the McCoys.
"You bring the gum?" I ask Coach Bill quietly.
"Right here," he says, patting his pants pocket.
Here's the deal. We don't just give out the gum. We make our players earn the gum.
If the girls make it to third base, Coach Bill will reward them with a piece of Bazooka, hard as cement. In the suburbs, it is important to establish a good fee-based work ethic, even at an early age.
"Can I have some gum?" Coach Lorraine asks.
"You have to reach third," I tell her.
The game starts out well. In the first inning, Coach Linda drops off a gigantic bag of French fries, upon which the girls descend like poodles on a pork chop--grabbing them by the fist load, then shoving them in their mouths with their palms.
As a coach, I'm pretty proud of the way they eat. They eat like I do, a thousand calories a bite. Amid all this, we collect a couple of hits but no runs.
