Always hustle

There was the training, but of course there was also the team meeting. We headed off with a short and formal meeting. We play in the 6th (and lowest) regional division of our national league. That is really the bottom of the pit. Last year they missed 1st place by a game. We need to get out of here a.s.a.p. If we get our pitching somehow sorted, I think we have a chance.
After some general club and team rules, Coach brought up topics of a more specific nature. Like bench brawls. It has never happened in the last seasons, but we're playing in a different district this year with a couple of redneck villages. 'Always look out for each other. Make sure you help out if somebody is surrounded. Never leave him alone.' I really hope it isn't that kind of league. Anyway, there's no way I'm gonna lift a finger against anybody, are you mad, this is baseball we're talking about. And I don't think we ever need to, because Coach can work himself up to the most intense infuriation I've ever seen. I consider this an invaluable talent for a coach.
Then there's the there will be only after-batting-practice- pre-game-smoking behind the dumpster at the parking lot rule. That's a league rule. Coach is probably the most avid smoker of us all, but there's no smoking for him while in uniform. "It looks pathetic" and it does.
And "There's no walking between the lines. Always hustle." And hustling we did, eager as we all were to get it going with the exercise.

After the training the sixpacks came down from the bar upstairs. Shower beer time equals instant male bonding. Steam came from the showers and the room was blue with smoke. As everybody was walking around talking to whoever was closest, stories traveled through the room, went under the shower and came back to dry. There was talk about the fysiotherapist who was definitely supposed to be a hot chick. The Coach apologized to the Bench for the size of our dicks, which was a true observation and a very courteous gesture on our behalf. Half of the guys used the cold shower excuse, somebody muttered that he left the real deal at home. We marvelled over the new tattoo on one of the guys wich read DUCK ROCK in huge type. There was Spanish chattering going on. Talk about bats and other equipment. The door opened and more sixpacks arrived. I heard belching. Somebody was shouting into his phone that he would be home later. This is going to be a great season.