Page 1 of Nailed at Home Plate

Workin’ On It

MEGHAN TRAINOR

“Alright, put your damn shirts back on!” I shouted to the team, in between my breaths of laughter. “We don’t want to blind the poor people in the stands with your god-awful farmer tans.” Another day, another choreography practice of utter chaos.

I wouldn’t have it any other way.

I’d been with the Philly Sillys teams since their very humble beginnings. The Philadelphia Phillies finally decided to start their own Entertainment League Baseball, or ELB, team. Which was decidedly overdue.

All of this nonsense started with the quick rise to fame of the Savannah Bananas and Party Animals. Both teams played a new twist on baseball. It was more about entertaining the crowd than scores and stats. From there, numerous other teams across the country quickly joined the league, with more being added every season. The Bananas had been kicking ass and taking names, showing the industry that you could have fun and play baseball. Well, their version of baseball. And damn, was it ever fun.

The Sillys had their small stadium south of the city by the train tracks and industrial docks near theDelaware River. It was a bit out of the way from the big sports complex area, but I didn’t mind. There was less city traffic here and I enjoyed the view of the river from the stadium.

When I heard Philadelphia was adding its own ELB team, I jumped at the chance to find a job in the organization. I’d been a huge fan of Philly sports since the day I was born. All thanks to my dad who was also a product of the City of Brotherly Love. I was born and raised in the northeast Philly suburbs, on the other side of Roosevelt Boulevard from the Northeast Philadelphia Airport. My blood was made of wooder, soft pretzels, and cheesesteaks “wit wiz”. Where the polite greeting to strangers during the appropriate seasons was “Go Birds!” and “Go Phils!”. My roots were deep in the area from generations of Andrews’ living here since the pre-Revolutionary War era.

I was athletic in my own sense. My background was in dance and gymnastics. I just happened to be well-versed with the Bananas’ method of baseball, after watching any game I could that was aired on ESPN. So, when I saw the job listing, I jumped at the opportunity. I submitted a resume and audition video for the position of Team Choreographer.

To prepare for my interview, I rewatched every Bananas game I had access to so I could understand the format of the game-to-entertainment ratio. I made sure to wear every Philly sports jersey throughout the audition video. They were always hanging in my closet, waiting for their season. Between my talents and knowing the ins and outs of the new sport, I got the job.

It also helped that baseball recently moved up the hierarchy of my sporting loves. Eagles football had been my first for the longest time. But when a particular dreamboat was traded to the baseball team, that brought my attentionfullyto baseball for the past few years.

Football and hockey players wore helmets, so it was difficult to discern the hotness of the players during the games. With basketball players you only got a fleeting look as they ran past. But baseball? Most of the time was spent with the players in stationary positions so you were able to get an eyeful of each one every so often. So, when I locked the icy blue eyes of the new Phillies catcher, Jamie Rheems, it was all over. Goodbye football. Baseball was now my life.

The infatuation initially started when the team unexpectedly ended up with a Wild Card spot in the postseason. Seeing that they had a chance to get to the World Series for the first time in almost two decades, I was glued to my television as the team managed to inch closer and closer to the Commissioner’s Trophy. Being a Philadelphia sports fan, we were used to our continued disappointments and holding our breath for an entire season. When the Eagles nabbed their first Super Bowl win, it started a wave of varied success throughout the city with the sports teams.

I started watching just to see my home team, hopefully, get to the World Series. Instead, I ended up with a brand-new crush and yet another disappointment in my history of watching Philadelphia sports. The team ended up losing in game seven. But damn, what a ride.

Even with the demanding schedule of the Sillys, I watched baseball games live when I could. If not, I caught up with them later on the recorded replay. On the rare occasion I had a day off while the Phillies were in town, I usually tried to scoot down to the stadium and take in a game. Even if it was standing room only. The vibes at the ballpark were absolutely unmatched.

“Hey Cadence, next time go easy on us.” First baseman, Benson Haldeman, huffed at me as he gathered his water bottle and shirt he’d shed during practice. Why he and Truitt chose to have a beard while playing a summer sport was beyond me. The only part of baseball season I didn’t like was the insufferable temperatures of summer we had to contend with.

“My secret is I always go easy on you guys.” There was a chorus of groaning from the team, and I could only laugh. For the most part, they were cooperative with what I threw their way. But it didn’t mean that I didn’t get sass for it. It was a playful love/hate relationship with the guys.

One would think that spending the better part of my spring and summer with a bunch of hunky guys would be a single woman’s dream. For some, sure. As for me, the novelty wore off pretty damn quick.

I justcouldn’t. First of all, they were coworkers. Secondly, I saw them all more as dorky, goofy little brothers. Little brothers who had very nice bodies. Not that I ogled them anymore. The stink of sweaty man bodies and locker rooms had a permanent place in my nostrils. Knowing what they smelled like at their worst deterred any sexy factor for the lot of them.

The guys saw me as just another guy on the coaching staff. Which also meant that none of them scattered when I had to walk through the locker room while they were changing. Most managed to somewhat hide their junk to avoid any embarrassment, but I did my best to avoid walking through in the first place.

Philly Sillys’ coach, Bert Topper, made me feel like an equal on his staff. With a few decades of minor and major league ball under his belt, the organization had to drag him out of a cozy retirement.Hadbeing a strong word. Turned out he was rather bored anyway and was willing to give the new sport a chance. Despite his usual monotone demeanor, he was a great fit for the team. All business and no-nonsense. A stark contrast to the rest of the team

He’d call me into his office, which was only accessible through the locker room, from time to time, not caring what sort of minefield I’d have to walk through to do so. Between the team and coach, I was thankful that they saw me as one of their own. Just because I had breasts and a vagina didn’t mean that I should be treated any differently in the workplace.

The guys were more of a walking HR sexual harassment complaint toeach otherthan they were to me. What was it with guys in sports and spanking each other? Kinky. They wouldn’t dare touch me like that. I was just someone who they got goofy or smart-assy with from time to time.

Skinny jeans and team T-shirts were my usual go-to for the ELB season. For practices, it was typical workout or dance gear. Tank tops or sports bras and Soffe booty shorts for the hot days. Ball caps andponytails were the only suitable hairstyle. I typically cut it into a shortish sort of bob before the start of the season after letting my hair grow over the winter.

“Aww come on guys, you know you liked it.” Catcher Schmidt Sullivan chimed in, which only brought on more groaning. Schmidt was my sidekick, giving the guys a much-needed morale boost during practice and games. Party guy extraordinaire, he usually gave the mascot and my best friend, Tiffiny Roberts, a run for her money in getting the crowds hyped up, right along with the team. I’d never seen the man have a grumpy face in the entire time I’d known him.

“Schmidt you’re such a kiss ass.” The left fielder, Truitt Lancaster, chided as he stroked his beard. I felt like I was roasting if my hair even brushed against the back of my neck. No wonder he kept it wet all the time. It made more sense to cut it all off instead of dousing it with water every chance he got. But, to each their own. Guys are weird.

“You still love me though.” Schmidt grinned as the last of the guys joined us to head back to the locker room. “I’m irresistible.”

There was a more avid chorus of groans. Schmidt was one to milk his audience, whether they liked it or not. The fans were keener on his nonsense. The guys were to a point, even though they didn’t openly admit it.

“Now boys, be nice to each other. Or else practice tomorrow will involvequietyoga.” That earned a proper grumble and a few swear words from the team.

“Yeah, y’all remember what happened last time.” Right fielder, Arlow Rivera, reminded theguys with a smirk. The man was dark and hunky, with wavy black hair that came over his eyes. Women were constantly trying to woo him, but he was cautious. He was a single dad and wanted to be a good role model for his adorable daughter, Lily. Sometimes Arlow would bring her to practice to hang out with us, but most of the time she was a permanent staple in the front row at games. She was more of a hardcore Sillys fan than I was.

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