Batting Practice (M, Everybody Wants Some!! [movie], Glen McReynolds)

[Owlinatree]

This is a tiny fandom with very few works in it, but I recently watched the Linklater film Everybody Wants Some!! and with Tyler Hoechlin playing such a repressed, competitive character, I couldn't resist. If you haven't seen the movie, it's about a college baseball team at the very beginning of the school year in 1980. McReynolds is the best player on the team, a draft pick, and the whole team respects him, but he has anger and self-image issues about being perfect. Clearly, I wrote about him having awful seasonal allergies. What else was I to do?

*NOTE: several uses of the f-word have been removed for this versionof the ficlet; the movie contains incredible quantities of vulgar language, given that it's about a 1980 college baseball team. This may have made the resulting story less accurately in-character, and/or I may have missed some f-bombs. Sorry!*

 

“Yeah, fall training’s tough, but there’s one thing that makes scrimmage fair the first few months.”

“What’s that?”

“Nobody’s got a chance at taking out Mac in the Spring. Man’s a machine!”

“What, and they’ve got one now? He a werewolf or something?”

“Nah, he’s just operating with half the air he needs. Dude’s got the worst fall allergies in the team. Probably of most athletes. He’s lucky he’s good or else it’d be enough to kick him from pros.”

“Why doesn’t he take some pills for it?

“He does, sometimes, but Mac on antihistamines is like Coma on a drowsy day. He’s too fucked up to be okay with being slow. Just wait ‘till October. Dude is practically Jekyll and Hyde. He’s like half zombie and half, uh, sneezing his brains out.”

Jake gazes out at the field. He’s not sure if Roper’s just hyping up his buddy while providing an excuse for him to be crappy.

“Here he goes. Bet you $5 he sneezes before he gets to plate.”

“Crap bet, Nes. Nobody’s gonna counter.” Mac is walking out to home plate, knuckles grinding at his nose. He pauses halfway, lifting a hand and blinking at the sky, other hand clutching his bat.

“Fine. I’ll toss a better damn bet.” McReynolds has hunched over, both hands supporting his weight on his bat as he directs a harsh trio of sneezes toward the pitch. A wave of ‘bless you’s drifts over from the freshmen. Finn pulls out a notebook and puts down three tally marks.

“An impressive start to your season! Three, and you haven’t even played yet!” Mac flips him off without turning around. Finn continues, now to the freshmen “No need to bless the man; you’ll only lose your voices.” Nesbit brightens.

“$5 says he strikes the first pitch sneezing.”

“Think Mac’s stupid enough not to signal when he’s incapacitated?”

“Nah, think Detroit’s stupid enough to pitch anyway.”

“Fuck it, I’ll take the bet. Detroit’s crazy, but he doesn’t seem freaking suicidal.” McReynolds is at plate, bat bobbing above his head as he readies for the pitch. Jay screams something, kicks a glove, and then sends out a pitch that would almost justify his crazy— if they were playing a real game. Mac swings, misses, and calls him out. Once his batting practice tirade ends, Jay is livid.

“Dale. We’re even if he does it now.”

“Fine, Nesbit, but only because it was such a reach.” Mac is at bat again, but again has an arm up as he gears up for another bout of sneezes.

“Dude, is that even allowed? I mean, he doesn’t exactly have enough warning to actually request time.”

“Well, usually it’s not as much of an issue by the time actual games roll around, but the college umps know him by now. Mac has clearance to request time even once the pitcher’s in set.”

“He that special?”

“Nah, it’s probationary. He’s on a one strike policy. He’s serious enough about the game that he doesn’t mess around with it. Besides, we’re the only umps here, and we need Mac a lot more than we need Raw Dog over there.” Jay doesn’t seem to have heard about this, winding up and pitching anyway.

“Seven, baby!” Finn crows.

“You’re the worst, Niles. The hell is your problem?”

“We won’t call that a strike, Mac.”

“No, give it to him. 0-2.”

“Detroit’s gonna die.” McReynolds settles into his batting position, preparing for the pitch and hitting it out of the field, over the fence, and out of view.

“Dude, holy shit!”

“What did I tell you, man?” Mac jogs around the diamond and back home.

“Dude!” Roper claps Mac on the shoulder, passing over his bag.

“That was awesome, man!” Jake is not surprised when he’s ignored, but it stings a little. He understands, though, a few seconds later, when McReynolds retrieves a towel from his bag and muffles a sneezing fit into its folds.

“Hh-hHMMFSHuh! huhhh-hhURSHHew! hMFF-shew! Hhih— hhUSSHH-URSHH— ISHiew!” McReynolds takes a few stuttering breaths, sneezing once more before directing a honking blow into the towel. Jake stares at Mac, taking in his ravaged face: red, puffy eyes, nose pink and swollen, nostrils flaring widely as his mouth opens slightly. McReynolds’ eyelashes are loaded down with allergic tears, his mustache damp with the thin, clear mucus that streams from his irritated sinuses. His chest heaves under his tight jersey, rising erratically as the allergy attack continues.

“Going for thirty today, Mr. All-American?” Finn conscientiously allows Mac’s second attempt at a cuff on his shoulder to connect, the first having smacked Plummer instead.

[Elyze]

I haven't seen the film and I know close to nothing about baseball, but who cares...? I'm absolutely loving this story! That face and terrible terrible allergies - yup, I'm in Also, there's just something about the thought of a pro athlete in that state that makes it extra yummy. Are you writing more of this?

[Owlinatree]

On 10/16/2017 at 1:06 AM, helyzelle said:

I haven't seen the film and I know close to nothing about baseball, but who cares...? I'm absolutely loving this story! That face and terrible terrible allergies - yup, I'm in Also, there's just something about the thought of a pro athlete in that state that makes it extra yummy. Are you writing more of this?

I also know very little about baseball, except the research I did to see what happens if a player has to sneeze at bat (results were inconclusive; not addressed in the MLB rule book.) Yeah, the mix of competence and incapacitating allergies is...nngh...Good. Thank you for your kind words! 

I have a part here that, like the movie format, is a somewhat disconnected vignette. Still McReynolds and allergies. Finn is the pseudo-intellectual smartass of the team, played by Glen Powell. He's a lot of fun to write

 

“$5 for five minutes without sneezing. I won’t touch you or throw a flower at you, you just gotta listen real close.” Finn sounds bored. McReynolds is doing some reading for class, draped over the living room couch.

“Fuck it. Anything’s better than this bullshit.”

“Roper, get the timer going.” Finn presses a stopwatch into Roper’s hands, pulling out a clipboard. An actual fucking clipboard.

“Alright, go!”

“You’re really excited to lose $5, huh, Finnegan?”

“I’m not Nesbit. Ok McReynolds, you’re standing in a field.”

“Dude, the fuck?”

“It’s overgrown. The grass reaches your shorts, and there’s a light breeze running through.’

“Fuck you, Finn.”

“It’s hot and dry. It hasn’t rained in a week, and the air is gritty with the dry, dusty soil and loose pollen it’s picked up.” Mac is scowling, hand moving toward his nose as if in sympathy. “No touching.”

“Fuck off.”

“You take a breath, fast, and all that dust, all that pollen, it swirls in through your nostrils, catching in your sinuses and sticking in your throat. The crap’s in your eyes, too, and they start to itch, starting in the center, near the bridge of your nose, travelling down the expanse of your eyelids.”

Mac shoves a finger at the corner of his eye, rubbing at the delicate skin. Finn doesn’t stop him; it might actually help him reach his goal.

“Your eyes are fuzzy, tears springing into place to right it. Your nose does the same thing, in an attempt to flush out the allergens. You feel the liquid creeping down from the back of your sinuses, until there’s danger of leaking, and you have to—”

“Snnf!”

“You inhale sharply, to stem the flow.”

“Man, this is actually rad. The fuck? He’s reacting. Holy shit!”

“The sniff was a mistake, though, managing only to pull in more of the airborne irritants. A tremulous tickle is blooming in the base of your nose, just far enough that you can’t reach it. You can’t scratch it; you’re just at the mercy of the fluttering sensation, waiting for it to expand, to amp up into a burn, running up and down the insides of your nose, up the bridge and down to the tip.”

McReynolds’ nose is actually twitching. There’s a minute and a half left.

“Youhhh’re thhh— hih! The fucking worst, Finn.” Finn only grins, sensing imminent victory.

“You have no choice but to let it expand, pulled with the tide of the sensation. Your breath is uneven, involuntarily pulling in tiny bursts of air. It’s only feeding the flame, coaxing the burn.”

McReynolds is looking intently into the middle distance, eyes narrowed and breath hitching. His mouth is pulled back in a snarl, fighting desperately against the overwhelming urge to give in to the sneezing fit that sounds more and more appealing as the seconds drag out. He wants to sneeze a hundred times and then rub his nose off with steel wool. His eyelashes brush each other, tears blowing out the edges of his vision; the sensation of his eyelashes being stuck together leading him to fantasies of getting rid of his fucking eyes, too.

Fuck if he’s going to lose, though.

“Come on, Mac, just let it go for a second. Just one sneeze, to scratch that itch. It’d be so easy.” And he’s right. It would be easy. It would feel so good to just satisfy the need that spreads through him, converging in the center of his goddamn fucking face. He wants it. He practically aches with the need. It’s a bet, though. McReynolds takes in a cautious sniffle, wet and desperate, and presses his tongue into his palate as hard as he can manage. It hasn’t worked before, but this time what’s on the line is losing. No way can he let it go.

Finn doesn’t actually care if he loses, because it’s for an assignment and $5 is worth the grade he’ll get. It’s also worth it because this is actually fucking working. McReynolds is fighting it, but slowly his mind is urging his body to follow the pattern it’s so used to. His chest is moving erratically, breath hitching and catching with every inhale and exhale. There are twenty seconds left. It’s a losing battle. McReynolds’ eyes are sliding shut, lashes fluttering slightly as his face draws further into pre-sneeze position, head tilting back minutely and eyebrows pulled together. It’s quiet now, save for McReynolds’ desperate breathing. There are five seconds left. Roper says this, which takes two more. He's taking breaths more rapidly, air stuttering its way more in than out, fists knotted at the chair below, chest expanding. The timer is finished, blaring its signal. Finn and Roper stare at McReynolds, who is taking one last sharp breath in.

“Alright Mac, y—”

“HHRRUSH-OOo! URSH-iew! hhH-IIISH-ew-ISH!”

“You won! Jesus, was it even worth it?” Finn pulls a towel from his back pocket, which he had thoughtfully brought in the case of a sneezing fit, a near inevitability with McReynolds in the fall.

[Elyze]

I really like the descriptions in the story Finn makes up. They are so mean teasing poor Mac like this. And it actually works, he has to fight it so hard! I love it!