This is an entry in the YAY TEAM 2025 Sex and Sports Challenge
My name is Clarence Deering and I been a pitcher for the Juneau Jackos (Motto: "We're the Jackos, don't Juneau!") going on 4 years now. Around the ballpark here the players all call me Duff, a name I got after getting knocked on my ass while tagging out a runner barreling into home plate it was my job to be covering. That might have been enough to earn me that nickname, except also, when I stood up, my entire fucking naked rear end was hanging out of my torn-up uniform for all the world to see, at least both teams, the ump, and the 100 fans or so at the game. It gave everyone a good laugh, including me after seeing the ump makes the call my way and we get out of the inning. Knowing that name they gave me could've been a lot worse, considering everything, I never complained much about it.
On the other hand, the fact I been stuck here with the lowest fucking Class A team in the Phoenix organization not getting a shot at moving up the ladder of success IS starting to bug the shit out of me. The more I wonder and stew about this, the more it seems to boil down to 2 reasons. For 1 thing, scouts think coming up here is like going to the fucking North Pole and don't want to make the effort. Not only do they think of Alaska and right away see only endless snow and polar bears roaming everywhere, but it's stuck in the middle of nowhere and too hard to get to and, more important, out of again. So they avoid coming.
The 2nd reason is a bit more open to debate, but it's obvious to me. Now, I know my record is only a bit over the.500 mark with a 3.96 ERA, which won't set off any fireworks display, but much of that is because it seems I might have the most fucking unbelievable leaky infield in the whole of North America playing behind me. Our shortstop, Bunny Hanahan, leads the league in being able to leap out of the way of hard-hit ground balls to avoid serious injury. A player once joked he shouldn't bother bringing his glove with him onto the field any more since he got his leaping skills perfected to a T. Our second baseman, Tex Liebowitz, who is actually from Brooklyn, N.Y., has a cock that everyone who's ever seen it agrees is gargantuan in size. His girlfriend, who happens to be from San Antone, said once its magnificent length and heft reminded her of some she had the good fortune to suck and fuck while with a motorcycle outfit in South Texas a few years prior, so she pinned the name Tex on him. He doesn't mind, thinking it's way better than Chaim, his actual name. But his cock unfortunately isn't long enough to stop many of the grounders hit his way from trickling through his legs. So with the 2 of them I am basically pitching in front of a fucking sieve, granted a powerful leaping and giant-dicked one. I often think how much better my record might be if those guys could just play their positions more decent.
Manager Slagdog once told me that scouts looking at pitchers don't give two shits how fucking shitty other players were, they only give a fuck how the pitcher is doing. Except when you're losing 10-0 already in the first inning and get took out of the game, the scouts don't have much of me to look at any more.
Well, sometime around Memorial Day a new rookie was sent to us, a lefty pitcher by the name of Rooty Rudabaker. Rooty wasn't his actual name, of course, which was Oscar, but it went perfect with the sound of his last name so it stuck. He had a big swooping delivery that could fool you the first couple of times you seen it, a decent curve, and average heat. But he was a snotnose kid who thought both Walter
and
Randy Johnson would be bowing down and licking his spikes after they seen him pitch. He had an old picture of Babe Ruth he tore out of a magazine taped inside his locker where the Babe has a crown on his head and is walking past his teammates under their bats they're holding up in the air like they were fucking swords and he was their king. Only Rooty had glued a photo of his own fucking face over the Babe's. It was barf-producing arrogance like this that made it hard feeling friendly towards the guy.
I know it's not easy finding a pro athlete, even one just starting out in the fucking bush leagues, who is totally without any ego. After all, since like the 6th grade this person has been told how fucking great they are and been getting special attention from coaches and winning awards left and right. How can't it not make your head swell? But this Rooty dude, his head didn't just swell, it filled the whole fucking room and sucked out all the oxygen. When he done just OK himself, he acted like he just pitched a no-no, but when somebody else done real good, he said they were just lucky, that kind of horseshit. Not too many on the team liked him much, especially the other hurlers.
To make things worse, it seemed every fucking time he took the mound, Bunny and Tex remember how to catch a fucking baseball. Sometimes in a most spectacular fashion. Once when Rooty was pitching Bunny made a diving behind-the-back snatch that he then flicked with ease to Tex for a double play. A fan accidentally captured it on their phone and it went viral and was even played on sports shows all over the country. When they played top-notch like this it obviously went a long way helping Rooty achieve good results. Me and some of the other pitchers wished Bunny and Tex had longer-lasting memories when it came to their glove play.
Soon Rooty had a won-loss record that was hovering near the top of the Yukon-Kodiak League. This couldn't help but catch the eye of scouts who started wondering how the fuck they can get to Juneau to check out this kid and not get stranded here the rest of the fucking summer. (Clueless fucking scouts!) By this time, to say that Rooty Rudabaker's mounting success was getting to me would've missed the mark. It fucking enraged the shit out of me would be more like it! Those fucking scouts should be worrying about getting stranded while watching me! I should be the one they might be promoting to the AA division team in Tucumcari, New Mexico, the next step up on the stairway to the big show!
I remember I had an English teacher in my 2nd crack at the 8th grade that told us the best storytellers like Dan Brown and J.K. Rowling, even past masters like Jacqueline Susann always evened up the negatives in their stories with positives, so after the barrage of negativity I just heaved at you above, let me introduce one of the biggest positives in my life: my lovely girlfriend Nantu. Nantu is a stunning Inuit beauty, a one-time Miss Skagway Mushers beauty queen, who was blessed with wonderful C size tits, a cute plentiful handful of ass cheeks, and a seeming nonstop dripping pussy she is not shy demanding I pay attention to. This, of course, I do with as much joy and pleasure as striking out the side on 9 pitches.
Being used to the somewhat chilly outdoor conditions, Nantu often came to our games, especially if I was pitching. It was a solid hand shake deal we had that if I make it past the 3rd inning, I can fuck her ass as well as her pussy that night, all 3 of her holes if I make it through 4. Usually a pitcher never went past 5 innings before being took out by the manager, but if ever I made it that far, Nantu promised to visit me with two of her friends for a full-scale orgy. I must say no one cheered louder than Nantu for me to do good. One time after I retired the side in the 4th, I saw Nantu jump up from her seat in the stands and heard her shout, "That's all 3 holes tonight, Clarence! Keep up the good work!"
It took a little while, in fact not until Bunny went on the DL with a groin pull after leaping left when he should've leaped right, that I make it through the 5th inning still standing. That meant I hit the jackpot, of course. I must admit that right after, I was thinking more about the night to come than any on-field success I had. After the game, which we beat the Yellowknife Throatslitters 6-3, I met Nantu outside the clubhouse ready to gently remind her about her promise in case it slipped her mind. But she didn't need reminding, in fact had already texted her two friends with the news and said they couldn't hardly wait for it all to begin. The Jackos rented the entire top floor of the Auke Bay Travel Lodge for the season where the players stayed, and Nantu said I could expect them there at 8 p.m. Being a veteran, kind of, unlike most of the team, I had a room all to myself.
