Outside the Foul Lines
But first:
Gay Marriage Rights

I can remember being a California Dreamer as a youth. Everything worth anything started there and traveled east, until it reached around the world. California was a beacon of progressive values and inclusion. The name caused me to smile.

It’s a dark day indeed, the day California writes discrimination into its constitution. How sad a day, the day the ‘golden state’ becomes a land of intolerance. The legend of California is dead.

For anyone who cares there are further comments at the end of this chapter of Outside the Foul Lines.

RB
 

Outside The Foul Lines  by Rick Beck 

Editor: Gardner Rust

Part III - Captain John

Chapter 4

Final Bell

        Someone was talking to me but his voice seemed so far away I couldn¹t understand the words. There were more people and more faces but I couldn¹t
tell who was who. I felt like a television must feel once it loses the signal. I knew I was picking something up but it was blurred and the picture kept rolling up and down and from side to side.

I didn¹t know where I was and I didn¹t know where they were. There were too many of them and I wasn¹t too clear on what was going on. I should have been going to first base. I did know that much, but this had become a strange game.

That¹s the way it seemed for a while. There were more faces, different faces, and then I was in a cool dark room, where I began connecting all the pieces. It was like waking up from a bad dream and not knowing what was real and what was part of the dream. I was pretty sure this fog had something to do with the baseball I was unable to escape at home plate.

Man, it felt more like the pitcher had hit me with the bat. I winced when I remembered the sound the ball made before checking to see if all my body parts worked. They all moved accordingly. Except for my headache, there was nothing unusual but a sliver of light that forced me to squint once I became aware of it. When I turned my head, I saw Coach Bell with two fat fingers holding a single slat in the window blinds open so he could gaze outside.

“It hurts my eyes,” I said.

“Ah, had enough sleep?” he asked. “I had them bring you in here to get you out of the traffic.”

“Jesus, my head hurts,” I revealed, rubbing my temples. “Did we win?”

“John, you just got beaned with a pitch. Don¹t you want to know about that?” Coach Bell quizzed.

“Yeah. Sure. Did we win?”

“Yeah, 5-0. They never got their bats going. They finally pulled that damn pitcher and we scored three in the sixth.”

“Good,” I said satisfied. “Where were you,” I objected, realizing I¹d spent the game checking the bench to see if he¹d finally shown up. “Coach Briscoe doesn¹t inspire us the way you can. When we check the bench we want you to be there.”

“That¹s why I¹m here. I wanted to talk to you before I left, John. How do you feel?”

“I¹ve got a headache. What did he hit me with, a brick?”

Coach Bell reached for something on my bed stand. He handed me my batting helmet. Just in front of where my ear would have been was a neat baseball sized splintered indentation.

“Will they make me pay for a new one?” I asked, tracing the indentation with my finger.

“Very funny, John. You must feel okay?”

“I have a killer headache. How long have I been here?”

“An hour. I had them give you a room so you weren¹t in all that confusion downstairs. I wanted to talk to you in private.”

“College Hospital?” I asked. “What about?”

“Yeah, you may have a concussion but the x-rays didn¹t show anything. They¹ll give you more tests to be sure, but they said they didn¹t see anything. You got your bell rung.”

“So, when can I get out of here?” I asked.

“They¹ll probably want to do the tests tonight if they can. If you feel like going back to the dorm after that it should be okay. You¹ve got Andy, Chance, and Wertz downstairs waiting to find out how you are. They¹re still in their uniforms. They came right from the game. I told them to go get a shower but you kids are all hardheaded as hell. I guess they¹ll be there to escort you back to the dorm.”

“My parents?” I asked. “Do they know?”

“No, I¹ll call them if you want me to. It might get to the news. It¹ll be a big story in the school paper, after they did that spread on ‘Dooley to Chance¹ last week. It¹ll be a follow up they can¹t resist, but it has a happy ending.”

“Let me call them. That way they¹ll know I¹m okay. Can I get up?”

“Let me check, John,” Coach Bell said, going out into the hall.

“Turn on the light,” I said as he came back in the room.

“Yeah, there¹s nothing to keep you in bed.”

“Ah, Mr. Dooley,” a nurse said as she came in the room. “We can do the MRI right away and have you out of here in no time at all. How do you feel?”

“I have a headache. I feel like I¹ve been hit in the head,” I explained to her as she looked at me curiously.

“Oh, of course, I¹ll have a prescription to help the pain once they¹ve cleared you to go home. I¹ll send someone up with a chair to get you to where you need to be. I¹ll tell your friends you¹ll be along shortly. Are all your players this cute, Coach Bell? I might become a baseball fan if they are.”

“I¹m afraid all I look at is how they play baseball. You¹ll need to draw those conclusions yourself, Maryanne.”

“So, where were you?” I asked, realizing the only shoes I had were my cleats.

“It¹s why I¹m here, John. I¹m not in any official capacity with State, but I was hoping to find a way to talk to you. As far as anyone else is concerned, I’m here out of concern for one of my players.”

“You¹re still my coach. What¹s with the subterfuge?”

“No, I¹m not, John. I¹m leaving State. You¹ll read about it in tomorrow¹s school paper. Look right beside the story about you being knocked out of today¹s game. I made an agreement so the school isn¹t forced to forfeit any post-season opportunities you boys earn or scholarships and I agreed to slip away quietly.”

“I just got hit in the head, Coach. You¹ve got to go a little slower. What are we talking about?”

“They¹ve been looking at my association with the team that signed Monty so he got the rehab he needed last season. We talked about it being a bit over the line because I called people on a minor league team on Monty’s behalf. I went to school with their General Manager. It has the look of impropriety. We all knew Monty was leaving after last season one way or another. I merely sped up the process but what I did broke the rules. No harm, no foul if I walk away without comment.”

“Coach, we¹re winners because of you,” I argued. “Coach Briscoe doesn¹t have any appreciation for who we are beyond the baseball field. He can¹t handle us the way you do.”

“No, John, you¹re wrong. You¹re winners because of you, and Chance and Andy. I don¹t do anything. I apply motivation when it¹s needed, but you boys are as good a team as I¹ve ever coached. I never got to a championship with you, but you men were as close to champions last season as I can ever hope to be.

“What happened to end it was beyond anyone’s imagination. If we¹d had a few games to adjust to Monty’s leaving, we may have been able to recover and make it into the NCAA Championships. It wasn’t meant to be. There was no time to regroup and that¹s so much history.

“That wasn¹t me. That was all you men. You put your heads down and pushed yourselves to the limit. I stood back amazed at how you performed under pressure. You played each game to the best of your ability. You were champions to me. You showed them how it was done. It¹s how champions play. It¹s how I expect you to play the rest of the season.”

“ “I never felt any different, Coach. I play it one game at a time because it¹s how I see it. You let us have the room to do that. You didn¹t put pressure on us or ask for anything we weren¹t ready to give you.”

“You and Chance are two of the finest infielders I¹ve ever coached. Watching you grow has been a pleasure for me. That¹s why I¹ve spent so much time keeping you in the game, John. You both need more seasoning, experience under pressure, but you¹ve got everything you need.

“Your bat presents a challenge, but you’re improving. With how the game is played today, a team might want you for your glove work. I¹m just sorry I¹ve got to leave before the job is done.

“It¹s not easy leaving State, but things are the way they are. Life is what it is. I knew the rules and I got caught doing something for one of my players that broke one. I did it for all the right reasons, but opposing coaches don¹t care about good intention. Monty needed to be in a first-class facility to make sure his arm healed properly. I couldn¹t standby hoping he¹d get it right on his own. I knew the General Manager. I called to ask him to offer Monty a contract. I knew better and I’m not sorry. It was the right thing to do, but like you must follow the rules, I’m even more responsible for setting an example.”

“Didn¹t you tell the school that?” I asked, concerned for him and our team.

“No, John, that isn¹t the issue. The issue was I did what I was accused of doing. That’s what I told them I did. It’s best I take the hit rather than have my team take it. I didn’t ask you what I should do. What kind of coach would I be if I put myself ahead of my team? I was allowed to secure certain concessions for my agreement to leave quietly. It is the main reason we needed to talk.

“I¹ve signed your letters and it guarantees your scholarship and room and board through your senior year. It¹s a little early but I wanted to do it to bind the school no matter what happens. Coach Briscoe is not your biggest fan, John. He¹s going to make it hard on you. You know why. He holds a grudge and he thinks I¹ve been protecting you. Keep your head down and don¹t let him get under your skin.”

“That¹s what makes you a good coach. You don¹t hold grudges or base your decisions on your personal feelings. You¹re about what’s best for the team and Coach Briscoe isn¹t. You can’t convince me he doesn’t have a hand in this somewhere?”

“As far as I¹m concerned, he can¹t afford to take you out of the infield. Chance and you are a well oiled machine. You¹re too important to the team and he knows that. Whether or not he is behind how I was asked to leave, we’ll just say it doesn’t matter now. I can¹t do anything about him. He¹s the boss but he can¹t undo your scholarship if you keep your grades up and show up to play every day and every practice. “He can¹t take your spot away, but I want you to give him your best. And remember, I¹ll be keeping my eye on all of you, even though I¹m not going to be with you. I still have connections to the program, even if I¹m not here with you. Don’t let me catch you boys dogging it or you’ll hear from me.”

“Where will you go?” I asked.

“I¹m not without offers. Last season didn¹t hurt me at all. I¹ll land on my feet and you¹ll hear about me one day. I¹m really not able to tell you any more than that. I¹m not even supposed to be talking to you now. My official duties have been terminated. I was watching the game. As captain I was looking for an opportunity to talk to you. This wasn¹t what I had in mind but it will do. They don¹t want me talking to the team so you can pass the word. You don’t need to tell them how you feel about the change. You’re still in a battle in our league.”

“You mean Briscoe doesn¹t want you talking to us?”

“Coach Briscoe! Don¹t go making it hard on yourself, John. It’s his team now.”

“I don¹t want to play for another Coach,” I complained.

“You’re a baseball player, John. You don¹t get to pick the coach. Just do what you do and don¹t worry about who sits in the coaches seat. You¹ve got nothing to worry about. Coach Briscoe knows you¹re the shortstop. You might miss a couple of games with a headache, but who is going to replace you?”

There was a handshake as the chair came in the door to take me for an MRI. Coach Bell smiled at me as I looked back over my shoulder while the nurse talked to him. I felt like a child who was seeing a friend for the final time. Everything was happening too fast for me to process it all. I still wasn¹t feeling any too hot from my introduction to the beanball. Coach Bell¹s visit had certainly gotten my mind off my headache. I didn¹t like it. I didn¹t like Briscoe. I didn¹t like how it made me feel. Baseball is relatively predictable. You may never know who will win or lose when you take the field, but the pitcher would pitch, the hitter would try to hit him, and the fielders were there if he did.

This news had changed everything I knew and trusted about the game. It’s predictable
aspects had been turned upside down. With a handful of games left in our season it was like we were starting over. It was like spring practice was just around the corner. The unknown was far greater than the known.

I did want my final year at State and Coach Bell made sure it was going to happen. I¹d bite my tongue and keep my mouth shut. We¹d be well into the second semester next season before Coach Briscoe would become a serious issue. I¹d do what Coach Bell suggested for the remainder of this season. It wasn’t going to be easy.

It took another hour for me to be poked and prodded and have my brain examined.
I felt like shit and what was on my mind made me uncomfortable, but I was ready to get out of there by the time they wheeled me toward the door.

My three teammates were waiting for me as I came into view. They all stood at the same time, looking a little like road kill. I couldn¹t help but wonder how I looked.

“Can you walk?” Andy wanted to know, as he held out my tennis shoes from my locker.

“Don¹t be silly,” Chance answered. “They wouldn¹t be releasing him to us if there was anything wrong with him. Besides, he got hit in the head. Nothing to worry about there.”

“Thanks, Chance. I love you too. I have a fond attachment to my head.”

“Hey, Do, can you play the next game?” Wertz asked, getting right down to his main concern.

“I¹ve got a headache and I¹m hungry. They¹re trying to starve me in this place,” I complained as I pushed myself out of the chair, once I tied my Shoes. I handed over my cleats for Andy to take.

We headed for the door.

They told me who else had been there.

I reminded them I was hungry and immediately got a pain in my gut.

Coach Bell was gone.


*****

Gay Rights


It becomes our duty to deny consumer dollars to the people who hate us. We need to identify the gay friendly businesses, spread the word, and we need to identify the people who hate us and spread that word. In this difficult time of near depression, your ole mighty dollar speaks loud. Hit them where it hurts the most, their lust for wealth.

These initiatives are all promoted by religious institutions. The LGBT community needs to fight tax exempt status for religious institutions involved in politics. I don’t mind they hate me but I refuse to fund the hatred?

Hit them where they feel it most. Money is your most powerful tool.

As we celebrate President-elect Obama’s victory, civil rights takes a leap forward as a man of color has been elected to the presidency. This isn’t the end of the civil rights fight, it’s a milestone. As long as any group is excluded from the table, the fight goes on.

Mr. Obama’s election is a certain sign we’ll triumph one day and our contributions to this society will be recognized openly and with pride.

As my generation made a stand on Christopher Street in August of 1969, the torch has been passed the new generation. You must find your place to take a stand. My generation may not live to get there with you, but we’ll be with you when you get there. As we rally to fight for our rights in the latest battle, there is no doubt in my mind, you’ll finish the fight and you’ll be able to walk proud.

Contact the Lambda Defense Fund or the ACLU and make certain they have the funds to carry the day. The final word has not been written yet. Let the sound of your voice be heard.

Our Drag Queens Freedom Fighters

The beginning of the modern gay movement started with drag queens refusal to take the beating the police had been issuing to them for ages. Silent submission was always the response before, but not this time. The drag queens pushed the cops out of the Stonewall bar and then they pushed them down Christopher Street.

The police retreated.

‘No more,’ came the battle cry.

The police returned with re-enforcements. They would teach the queers a lesson they’d never forget, except Greenwich Village was alerted. The battle was on. Gay men and women and their allies poured onto Christopher Street. The police were badly outnumbered.

Barricades were set up. The police felt obligated to take the Stonewall bar from the queers. How would it look if a bunch of faggots had their way with the NYC police?

Once again they made a move to take the Stonewall. Once again they were pushed back to the barricades.

City leaders were called. They called the gay leaders of the day. The international media heard about the gay riots and came to Christopher Street. The standoff was on. The negotiation began. The world watched.

It went on for several days, until the police agreed not to beat gay men for fun, a popular activity of the day in most major cities. It was illegal to be homosexual and there were laws against female impersonation, but it was no longer cause for them to be beaten.

Shortly after this conflict the laws were reviewed and changed. It was no longer illegal to be homosexual. The laws against us having sex didn’t change; one step at a time.

This is your history. Drag queens fired the first shot in the modern gay movement and peace was restored to Christopher Street.

This is when the laws started changing. It will be forty years next August. We need to have one hell of a party to let everyone know we’re still here.
Peace,
Rick