Chapter Text
“Welcome to the team! I’m sure you’ll fit right in! What did you say your name was again?”
“My name, huh? Well, you’ve gotta have something to cheer when we win the world series, I guess. You can call me…”
“Greaseworld. Coach Greaseworld.”
~~~
“Coach, we can’t throw eight kids off the team! This team was already all-new from the last Coach! It’s just not–”
“I see you haven’t heard enough about me yet. You wouldn’t question me if you had.”
“...you literally showed up out of nowhere. Nobody knows who you are. I don’t even know why we hir–”
“If you just fuckin- listen. My job is to get wins. This team will get wins. Your current kids? They’ll flop before they even face Pablo.”
“Who the hell is Pablo??? Whatever, fine. Do what you want. Just remember what’s riding on your performance here, Coach. Remember what you’ve bet on this team. You’re a nobody. If you flop here, nobody’s even gonna hire you to mow the grass.”
“...I’m aware. Trust me.”
~~~
“Hey, I’m not gonna take up too much time. We just have a short sensitivity training that we need to do–after the last coach they made it mandatory–basically, don’t glare at the kids like your life depends on them hitting a screaming line drive into and through another kid’s forehead, don’t threaten them with bodily harm, don’t try to adopt any of them, don’t swear in their vicinity, don’t–”
“Hey, I didn’t do all that.”
“–throw by the pigtails over the fence… what?”
“Uh… Ok.”
“...Cool. Well. Don’t kill any kids. Good luck, Coach.”
~~~
A light breeze was the only sound across the ballpark, with every eye on the dugout. The new coach had appeared, seemingly out of thin air, to replace their previous coach, and he was not taking his time to get settled; almost everyone on the roster had been replaced, and the newly inaugurated Blue Fishes, in their fresh black uniforms, had no idea what they had gotten themselves into.
“LISTEN UP, EVERYBODY. WE HAVE ONE GOAL, AND ONE GOAL ONLY. TO WIN.”
Nobody spoke for a moment, and the words echoed around the ballpark. Only after Coach Greaseworld’s mustache twitched in annoyance at the silence did anyone speak up. Angela, the only one brave enough to raise her glove, stood up in the midst of furrowed brows and confused frowns. She fixed her cap, looked Coach in the eye, and asked,
“What are we trying to win?”
Though he would later swear up and down that it must’ve been a trick of the light, Coach Greaseworld had a twinkle in his eye, piercing through his jaded gaze, as he looked out on the team, the kids he had put his faith in, his second chance at glory, his final shot.
“Everything.”