Attitude Adjustment


by Graham

Attitude Adjustment The radio was playing loudly; the car window, down, let cool rushing air push in against his face; and Rob was driving about 70 on the skyway, as he hurried his vehicle towards home. All the while, he kept shifting, squirming, moving in the car seat, as the pain in his rearend throbbed and ached, burned and smarted, like he was sitting on hot pins.

He couldn't believe what had just happened. His face was red and tear-streaked, his eyes blood-shot, and his hair just swept back by the blast of breeze entering the window. Yet, he couldn't forget what had just happened either. His mind kept replaying what he had just been through.

An hour and fifty minutes ago he had been on the ice, in uniform, gear, and skates, playing his last shifts of the third period, as his team, the Tornados, suffered down the humiliation of being beaten 8 to 1! Rob was 40 years old, 5'9", with dark black hair and cool blue eyes, he was a sinewy, solid 155 lbs. He had played hockey since he was 5 years old, and now played as captain for the Houston Tornados, a men's competitive league team of guys over 35, and under 50.

He was a hard-charging winger – usually left – who was left-handed, left-footed, and shot left. "Scrappy and competitive" were terms often used to describe him, since he had passed the 35 year-old mark and left behind the earlier descriptions of "fiery and aggressive." He backed down to no one, still, no matter how big, fast, talented, or tough.

It had not been a good game for Rob. His skates seemed dull, and he fell at least a dozen times during the game. He had missed four perfect passes across the slot that should have been deflected of shot directly into the net. He had gotten three penalties allowing power plays during which the Ice had scored goals. All in all, as he pushed himself to fight through each shift in the last ten minutes of the third period, he felt deep in his weary body that he had almost single-handedly lost this game. His teammates felt it too, he could tell – from their looks, and their silence.

It had not been a good game for Rob, but it was another in a series of 16 or 17 "not good games" for him. The coach had talked with him privately, yelled at him on the bench and on the ice, and benched him for all of one game, and whole periods of several previous games. Nothing seemed to work; nothing made a difference.

Practices had been a drag, with little enthusiasm or incentive for Rob. He floated and loafed through drills, team skates, and special team situational practices. Yet, he would not accept that his team and coach were increasingly losing patience with him, and with what was happening because of him. More and more, he evidenced an attitude that he just didn't care.

He felt lousy, but he was also mad. How dare his teammates blame him for this long, long losing streak! How dare Coach shout and talk at him – alone and in front of the team – as if he were the problem!

The final buzzer rang, and the teams skated to the bench, and then off, carrying their extra sticks, as they headed to their respective dressing rooms. As he walked into the room, he noticed that no one had started showering, but those still getting undressed, and others already having taken off their helmets, gloves, skates, and gear, were just sitting looking at him. The coach stood by the door as he walked past him to enter the dressing room.

"What's the matter with you guys?" he yelled at them. "Don't blame me, you jerks! If you can do better, go ahead!"

No one spoke.

"Oh, leave me alone. You guys stink, and you want to make me the scapegoat!" he hurled at them. He sat down, unlaced his skates, and began tearing off socks, pants, shinpads, elbowpads, and jersey and shoulderpads.

Finally, the coach, Ted Munson, walked over to the locker room door, turned the deadbolt locked, and then addressed Rob directly.

"Rob, I don't know what to think. None of us does. We don't know what is wrong with you. You are without a doubt the most talented guy on this team, and you've been acting like a spoiled twelve-year-old throwing temper tantrums. Well, your team is fed up."

"Oh, yeah? Is that so? Well, what d'you want to do about it – you and the rest of these leftover scrubs that couldn't play 60 minutes of decent hockey if your lives depended on it!"

As soon as that outburst exploded, he could tell that it was a mistake to have said it. Sitting there in sweat-drenched underwear, he felt the tension of mounting anger, and saw the hostile reaction in the faces of the coach and the team.

Almost as one, they got up and lunged forward, surrounding him. Coach walked over and sat down on the bench right next to Rob.

"For one thing, you're forfeiting your 'C'. You don't deserve to be the captain of this team with your attitude, mouth, and actions . . ."

"Go on and take it," Rob blurted back. "It's no honor with this gang, that's for sure!"

". . . and, since you've been acting like a spoiled brat, and nothing else has worked, we're going to respond and treat you just like a spoiled-brat's tantrum deserves."

Rob's tired body, and angry mind, were swirling with trying to decipher what Coach was talking about. He started to look around the room, but found himself suddenly grabbed by many hands and arms, lifting and dragging him up, and over Coach's lap.

"Wait a minute! What in the . . ." he started to yell, when he felt his arms yanked up behind his back, toward his neck, and a quick turn of hockey tape around his wrists, tying them together. Then his head was pushed down over Coach's left leg, and his own feet and bottom were shifted up higher on Coach's right leg.

"WHOAAAH! NOAAAARRGHHPHH!!" he roared, as he felt his shirt being pulled up his back, over his arms and hands, and his briefs yanked down over his hips, knees, feet.

"NO, YOU DON'T! STOP IT! -- NOW!!" He thrashed and bounced, pushed and twisted, kicked and tried to lift himself up, in a furious, violent effort to get away. No success. The vice had locked him down, and held.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Suddenly he felt a strong, solid block of the coach's hand pounding down on his bottom again and again. Whewh! He had long ago forgotten what that felt like!

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

Now the swats were coming faster and harder, with continual intensity.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

He couldn't lay still any longer. Kicking and bucking, he was grunting and grimacing, moaning and gasping, as the fire heating up his butt was beginning to ignite a torch to his behind.

"Ummphaa!" SWAT! "Aaaughh!!" SWAT! "Haiyaaa!" SWAT! "AAAUMMMPH!" SWAT! "GHAIIIYAAAAUMMM!" SWAT! "AIYAAOWWW!"

He broke down into shouting out from the pummeling pain in his buttocks and thighs.

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"OWW! OWOWW! YEEOWW!! OWWWEEEYOWWW!!"

WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK! WHACK!

"OK! OK!! YOU WIN! OWW! OWW!! OWWW!! STOP NOW!! OWW!! YEEOWWW!!! OWOWOWWWW!!! I'M SORRY, COACH! OWOWOWWWW!!! I'M SORRY, GUYS!! YEEEOWWWWW! OOOOOH!! STOP!! STOP!! P-PLEASE!! YOWWWEEEOWWWEEEOWWWW!!!! WOWOWOW!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!! OWEEEYOWEEEYOWWW I SAID I'M SORRY!! OOOOOAAHYOWWW!!

The constant blistering of his bottom stopped all at once. He started to try to get up, when his head was pushed way down, and he heard and felt a belt beginning to bite into his backside.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

"YEEAIII!! NO! NO!! YEEAAAIIOWWW!! NO MORE!! COACH, NO MORE!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!!" CRACK! CRACK! "YAIIIEEEOWWWOWWW!! STOP! STOP! PLEASE!! AIEEEYOWWWOWOW!! I'M SORRY!!" CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! "OOOOOH-UH OWWW!!"

His begging and pleading was beginning to collapse into sobbing.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

"OOOOOH! NOOOOOO! PUH-LEEZE! NO MORE!! NOOO-UH OWWWW!!! AIYEEEOWWEEEOWWW!! I'M SORRRRRRY! I WON'T DO IT AGAIN! O-UH-YOW! YEEAIIKES-UH-OWWW!!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!! I'LL NEVER DO IT AGAIN!! I PROMISE!! OWOWOWWWEEEE!!! I PROMISE, COACH!! COACH! I PROMISE! UH-UH– NEVER AGAIN!! OOOOOH-UH-YOWWWEEEOWWW!! STOP IT! PUH-LEEZE!! I PROMISE!! UH-UH-UHYAIEEOWWW!! PLEASE!! I PROMISE!!! I'LL BE GOOD!! UH-UH-UAGH! I'LL BE GOOD!! I PROMISE!! UH-UH-OOOAAH-NEVER AGAIN!!! AIIEEYOWWEEEYOWWW!!! NEVER! NEVER!! UH-UH NO MORE!! PLEASE!! NO-UH-UH- OAAAYOWWW!! OOOAAYOWOWOWEEE!!"

Desparately, he was writhing, bucking, kicking bouncing, begging, pleading, as he lost more and more ability to think, to speak, even to cry out. Finally, exhausted and spent, he stopped wriggling and convulsing about, as he tried to escape the unrelenting belt. He lay hanging, dangling, over the coach's knees, sobbing, gasping, choking – and broken from the arrogant plane on which he had positioned himself for the past couple of months.

CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!

The coach did not lessen the lesson he intended to give, and Rob just sobbed and jumped each time the belt blistered another lick at his butt and upper thighs.

"AHHH UH-UH- OHHH-UH-UH! AUGHH-UH-UH! OOOOOAAA!! UH-UH-UH!!! UH-UH-UAGH! UH-UH-OOOAAH! UH-UH-AAUGH!! OOO-UH-OOO-UH-AAAWW!!

When the coach finally stopped, the players lifted Rob up, like carrying a canoe, and set him down, naked and sobbing, gasping and choking too hard to speak, under the shower. Then, almost in an instant, they all packed up, and left, without waiting to shower themselves, leaving him alone in the locker room.

For a long time, he just lay there, in a fetal ball, sobbing and crying as his backside blazed and scorched, smoldered with throbbing pain.

Finally, painfully and stiffly, he got up to his knees, and reached up for the shower handle. Turning it on luke-warm, he slowly stood up and let the water wash off his sweat and stickiness, and many of his grimy tears, while trying gingerly to avoid the pelting of the water stream on the fiery stinging on his butt. At the same time, he continued to break down and sob and sob, tears rinsed away in the shower.

Turning off the shower, he slowly hobbled out to the dressing room, cautiously put on the clean underwear he had brought in his bag, and wincingly pulled on his jeans and a t-shirt. Stuffing everything into his bag, he carefully picked it up, trying to make sure that it did not touch his backside, as he carried it and his sticks to his car. He opened the trunk, stiffly placed the bag in it; and then opened the driver's door placing his sticks alongside the seat running to the back. Then he dreadingly lowered himself into the car seat.

Immediately, flames ignited on his behind, and he winced and whimpered to himself as he tried to settle lightly into the seat. Turning the ignition, lowering the windows, and turning on the radio, he pulled out into traffic. As he drove along, in a teary trance, he couldn't believe what had just happened to him. His coach and team had tanned his backside with a spanking like he had been ten years old. He couldn't believe it! He was no longer captain, and they had spanked him so he wouldn't be sitting easily for a week. How could they do that?! He was way too old to be treated like that!!

Then it dawned on him. As long as he was on this team, he had better get with it, and start working and using his talent, get off his high-horse, or he might be looking at regular strappings to get his attention, cooperation, and humbling.

The Tornados' next game was the following night, and Rob scored two goals, and had two assists, as the team won 4-2. After the game, Coach picked up a big fraternity-like paddle, walked over to Rob, grabbed him around the neck, and announced, "Guys, I think we know how to get to the bottom of Rob's problems, and now we can overturn – and lick! -- any problems he may present in the future!"

Everyone laughed, as they looked straight at Rob. He only smiled a trace as he felt good about the night's game, but cringed remembering the embarrassment and pain of the previous night's punishment.


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