4

The door of the Bentley opened. Then out came the man I had seen goofing around with the plastic bat outside Matryoshka Restaurant. He looked like his car - I mean he was short, neat, wearing nice clothes, hair combed back with care and he was all smile.

I also recognized the other taller man, who looked like his car too. He was bulky with massive shoulders and thighs like the sides of meat you see hanging in the butcher's shop. His long hair, pulled back in a ponytail, was black and glossy like the Bentley. Black leather gloved hand adjusted his black shiny sunglasses as he looked our way. When he turned his head to smile at the smaller guy, there was a flash of studs he wore in each ear.

As the two of them walked towards us, it really was a weird sight. The big man took his time, taking slow but powerful steps. And the smaller guy was talking all the time with his hands flying around making sharp neat gestures. The big one listened and nodded.

"Where did you find these men?" I asked Margaret. Every day on her way home from work, Margaret stopped at the Matryoshka to have a cup of coffee. There was always a pack of Russian guys sitting at the tables out on the street yabbering to each other. Surprisingly enough, Margaret found a sense of peace there.

"I was desperate to find this team a coach," she explained. "So I bowled straight up to these gentlemen and asked if any of them would like a job coaching a girl team. Don't be scared by their intimidating appearance. They're the nicest gay couple I'd ever met."

Then she laughed. She'd give up hope that those Russian guys had taken the idea seriously.

With a beaming smile, Margaret turned to drag them over.

"Thank you so much for coming! Introduce yourselves to the girls!"

They stood in front of us, smiling kind of nervously.

"I'm Felik," said the smaller man, stabbing his fingers into his chest as if we didn't understand English. "And this is Grigor."

The big man nodded hello.

Felik was polite and formal but very friendly at the same time.

"We hear you girls are looking for a coach," he began. "Me and Grigor happen to know a little bit about baseball. So we thought, today, we'd keep out of your way and have a look, if that's okay with you."

The ump blew the whistle.

"Ah, the middle of the inning," said Felik with a smile. "Good luck."

We dragged ourselves to our feet. There didn't seem to be enough luck in the entire universe to save the Rejects.

~*~

Thirty seconds into the game, I sneaked a look at Felik and Grigor. They were sitting at the dugout, talking and watching.

Felix was maybe thirty. But the big guy, had to be younger. Mid-twenties, at most.

Grigor looked so cool and powerful like a body-builder standing there with his arms folded across his massive chest. Felix was not bad himself, he could pass as a male model who moonlighted as a cage fighter. Plus the glossy black clothes, those sunglasses, he was what you'd imagine James Bond would look like in real life.

Together they seemed like a powerful couple, like you could give a light bulb to them to hold and there'd be enough energy to make it burst into light. Their eyes darted over the ground, following the players, their brain whirring, not missing any tiny detail.

I was so curious about these two unusual guys, I didn't play enough attention to the game. A yelp of pain from Olive made me turn back. She'd tried out some fancy curve ball and hurt her shoulder, her face scrunched in agony.

The umpire held the game up while I ran to help Olive off the field. Margaret borrowed the first aid kit and ice packs from the Strikers's coach.

Meanwhile, Harper appeared at the corner of the street. She belted across to the field, breathless and flustered, and found Margaret looking after Olive's shoulder.

"Sorry, I'm late...I couldn't find my contact lens..." babbled Harper. "And I left my gloves at my friend's place. Does anyone have any spare gloves?"

Of course, no one did and Harper couldn't bat without them. But a minute later, I saw Felik trot over to her. He took his gloves off and handed them to her. The gloves fitted Harper perfectly.

"Wow," she gasped. "These are some expensive material."

On the field, Susan's loud growling was really rattling Olive.

"Can you ask her to give it a break?" Olive said to me.

I made a deer-in-the-headlight look. Why did everyone think I could control Susan of all people?

"Darci, what position should I play?" Harper asked.

"I...I don't know," I mumbled. "I don't think this team has positions anymore."

Why were they all asking me stuff? Just because I'm a coach's daughter, it doesn't mean I know every rule of the games.

I was as confused as everyone else on this lousy team.

A minute later, we went back into the field. But it didn't take long for us to fail when Tonya and Melissa went for a ball at the same time and crashed into each other.

Melissa hit the ground first and Tonya toppled on her. When they untangled themselves, Melissa was clutching her knee, which was split open and bleeding.

"Oh sorry...oh no...sorry," said Tonya. Huge Susan scooped little Melissa up in her arms and carted her off.

By this time, Margaret had become a battlefield medic with Olive and Melissa laid out on the sideline for the medical treatment.

Tonya felt terrible, hating herself for her clumsiness. So it seemed especially nasty of Stefanie to have a go at her.

"Try not to bash up your own players, will you?"

I sneaked a sideways look at Felik and Grigor. I felt ashamed that these Russian guys would see how useless we were.

"Seven runs!" squawked Stefanie. "Is this team for real?"

"Oh shut your big mouth, Jenkins," Nora said.

"Fine, I'll leave then," Stefanie sneered.

"Yeah, get lost."

So Stefanie stalked off the field. The ump counted how many players the Rejects had left. Then he turned to me as if I was supposed to be in charge.

"You've got only seven players," he told me like I didn't know how to count. "Under the mercy rule, I can end it there. Is that what your team wants?"

I shrugged. It wasn't up to me. But the ump kept staring, waiting for my answer. Nora butted in.

"No mercy rule," she announced, eyes flashing fiercely. "We keep playing."

The ump thought Nora was crazy but he restarted the game. I thought Nora was crazy too. Mercy seemed like a pretty good idea to me.

I must admit that Nora played her heart out. But that didn't save the game.

That's when Susan started monstering the opponent team.

"Give me that ball! Give me!" roared Susan.

The ump ran down and broke up the fight and sent her off the field.

"What?" yelled Susan. "You're sending me off? For what?"

I thought she might jump on the ump too.

"Susan," I hissed and threw her a look that said, 'don't do it.'

Susan's growling dropped to a muttering and she stomped off the field.

The ump turned to me.

"Mercy rule now?"

Even Nora had to admit that it was time to put this team out of its misery.