"Sorry. Do you mind if I squeeze in here?" he asked.
"Oh, no," she replied scooting over to make room. "I've never seen this many people at a Little League game before, have you?"
"No. But this actually the first time I've watched one in years so I really don't have anything to compare it to," he told her.
"Is your son playing?" she asked, sure he was old enough to have a son that age.
The man sort of raised his eyebrows then said, "No. I...I was just driving by and decided to stop and watch. I used to love baseball. In fact, I pretty much lived for it until high school."
"Did you get tired of playing or something?" she asked before hollering, "Come on, Teddy! Strike him out!"
"No, not really," he told her. "I was a pitcher and my elbow started hurting my junior year, but the real reason was discovering how much more I liked girls than baseball."
The girl, or maybe young woman sitting next to him, laughed in an understanding way.
"Ah. I see. So girls were your downfall, huh?" she said in a humorous way.
"It was...an equitable trade," the older man said with a faint smile. "As much as I loved playing baseball, I found that I liked girls a whole lot more."
"And you couldn't do both?" she asked still being very nice.
"I tend to be a bit obsessive about the things I like. Baseballs, girls, work, exercise. When I commit to something I kind of go hog wild."
"Strike three!" the umpire called loudly.
"Atta boy, Teddy! Keep mowin' 'em down!" she yelled.
He wasn't sure how old the girl next to him was, but he was very sure she couldn't possibly be the mother of a Little Leaguer. These boys (and two girls) looked be around 10 or 12 although he wasn't sure about that, either. Regardless, it seemed very unlikely she could have even a ten-year old child.
"I take it you know the pitcher," he said not wanting to ask if she could somehow be his mother.
"Yeah, that's my little brother, Teddy," she told him.
"He's got a smooth motion and a pretty good fastball," the man told her.
"I guess in at least one sense, my brother is like you used to be. He lives for baseball. In fact, it's about the only thing he enjoys these days."
The man squinted and looked at the boy on the mound and could tell he was fairly overweight as he once was, and he also was pretty sure the boy's teeth protruded the way his once had.
He noticed the girl was glaring at the kids on the other team's bench. They were chanting something, but he couldn't make out what they were saying. It sounded like 'huck, huck, huck,' or maybe 'yuck' but he couldn't quite understand.
"Kids can be so cruel," he heard her say. "I can't understand why their coach let's them get away with that."
"What are they saying?" he asked.
"They're making fun of my brother because of his teeth. They're calling him 'buck' for bucked teeth, and it kills me because he's so sensitive about it now," she said still glaring at the other team. "There's no way we can afford braces, but if I could, I'd get them for him tomorrow."
"Then he and I have something else in common. My teeth were even worse when I was his age," he told her. "I was nicknamed 'Bucky Beaver' from elementary school on and got razzed about it pretty much every day until the start of my senior year."
She turned and looked at him then said, "Your teeth are perfect. You had to have had braces."
"I did. I wore them for two years," he told her. "I was also um...pretty heavy...and I took a lot of ribbing for that, too. You know. Fatty, fatty, two by four and a whole lot worse."
She looked at him again then said, "That's really hard to believe. I mean, you're well...you're a very nice-looking man who doesn't seem to have an ounce of fat anywhere."
"Oh, thanks," he said modestly. "I owe a lot to my my parents, my orthodontist, and a wrestling coach who took a personal interest in me. I guess I owe the Navy the rest of the credit."
His comment about the Navy went right past her.
"I wish I knew what to do for Teddy," the girl said. "It just breaks my heart to see him hurting like this. He's such a nice kid, but the teasing is relentless. This was the one place where he could come and forget about it, and now we're getting this...crap...here, too. It just makes me so...angry."
"I take it your parents aren't here?" he asked.
"Um...no," she said quietly. "They were both killed in a drunk-driving accident last year."
"I'm so sorry," the man said with utter sincerity. "I really am."
"Thank you. I'm handling it okay now, but Teddy is still really struggling with it and then this...mess...gets piled on top of it. It's just so unfair, you know?"
"Would you save my place?" he asked politely.
"You gotta use the restroom already?" she teased.
"I'll be right back," he said after smiling at her comment.
Lloyd Mullens was 43, and although that might seem ancient to a girl her age, he wasn't old enough to need to take Flo Max or anything like it. Still, it made him chuckle to think he was old enough for someone to even joke about it. She was obviously teasing, and that was fine, but more importantly she'd made him laugh, and he honestly couldn't remember the last time he had.
The girl wasn't model-beautiful, but she was very cute with a lean, lithe body and short, dark hair, with the brightest blue eyes he could ever remember seeing. Adding to her appeal she seemed like a genuinely pleasant person. If she was raising her little brother on her own she was also more than likely very responsible, as well. The fact that she could maintain a sense of humor through the tragedy of losing her parents on top of all that was one more huge plus in her favor.
He stood up then slowly walked around the back of the bleachers then made his way to the other side of the field. He opened the metal gate then walked right into the other team's dugout and stood next to their coach.
"Can I help you with something, buddy?" the younger man said with a heavy dose of attitude when he saw Mullens standing next to him.
"Yes, you could. I'd like to ask you to tell your players not to pick on the other team's pitcher for something he can't help."
"If you don't get the hell out of my dugout on your own, you're going to need help getting out," the coach hissed.
Lloyd ignored the threat then said just as calmly, "I'm asking you nicely, coach. It's okay to pick on something he can control, but his teeth aren't one of them. So please ask your kids to stop, okay?"
The coach, who looked to be around 30 or so, and who was rather well built, turned toward the visitor who was a couple of inches taller and obviously quite a few years older than him, but at least equally well built if not more so.
He put his finger in Lloyd's chest and began pushing as he spat, "Are you fucking hard of hearing, asshole?"
"Please don't swear around these kids," Lloyd said quietly and calmly.
"And what are you gonna fucking do it about it, asshole? Huh? That little buck-toothed-fat fuck out there pitching for the other team needs to toughen up. It's snowflakes like you trying to coddle him that are chickifying this country I spent four years in the Army protecting—something pissants like you wouldn't understand!"
