Kid Coach
"Hey, coach!" Brian called out, as he walked across the soccer field towards the kid who was his assistant coach.
"Hi, coach," Bobby replied.
Brian was 38 years old, big, red-haired, 6'2" and 195 lbs. He had played soccer himself as a kid, and still played in a men's league. He had been coaching kids for 7 years, and Bobby Morgan had been assigned as his assistant for this under-12 team. Bobby's brother, David, was one of the players on the team.
Brian's own kids were 1 and 3 – still too young to play soccer, but they would come to the games with their mother.
Bobby was 17, a junior, and varsity high school soccer player. He was 5'10" and weighed about 160 lbs, with blond hair and blue eyes, and was in condition like a finely trained race horse. He played basketball and volleyball, as well as soccer himself; and now he was helping Brian coach the Panthers – a name the kids had chosen for the team.
Brian and Bobby hit it off well together. Both were excellent athletes, although Bobby was one of those phenomenal natural talents that just amazed you the more you watched him. Bobby was also extremely respectful and polite. The kid was an astonishing example of how an adolescent young man should conduct himself.
At practice, both Brian and Bobby would play along with the kids on the team, and both of them would show the players moves and techniques to develop and use. But Bobby was dazzling! His footwork with the ball could fend off and out-maneuver 6 players on the team, and then aim a bullet-kick at the net from half-field.
Running up to him, and towering over him, Brian would grab Bobby's arm and the back of his neck, and shake him gently. "You are some athlete, buddy, you know it?" Brian would say.
Bobby would always just smile and say, "Thanks."
One Saturday morning, at 8:15 a. m., Brian and Bobby were at the soccer fields, waiting for the team to arrive for a 9 a. m. game. Bobby was wearing his soccer cleats , shorts, and the team coach's jersey, hanging untucked. Brian also wore shorts, running shoes, and his own coach's jersey – tucked into his shorts.
A traditional soccer rule – and a rule of the licensing organization, as well as the league in which they played, -- was that the jersey must be tucked in. At about 8:45 a. m., the referees arrived and began inspecting the players.
"The jerseys must be tucked in!" announced the ref. Brian reminded Andrew, Bryan, and David (Bobby's brother) to tuck in their shirts. It took a couple of times to get David to comply.
"Better tuck in your shirt," Brian remarked to Bobby, but there was no action or response.
At 8:58 a. m., the captains returned to inform the coaches which goal they were gong to defend, and who would have opening kick-off. Brian and Bobby walked to the sidelines, where the team bench was. Bobby's shirt was still untucked. Reaching over, Brian grabbed Bobby's left elbow, and gave him a solid swat on the behind. "Get that shirt tucked in, buddy. You're no exception. We've got to set the example."
Bobby jumped instantly, and turned to pull away from Brian's grip. "Ayuumph!" Bobby exhaled, and with a strained, distant look in his eyes, he immediately tucked in his shirt.
The game was a good one, with the Panthers holding on to a 2-1 win. After the game, Brian and Bobby walked with the players from the field to their parents. David and Bobby walked over to their mom and dad, and then the four of them left together in the car driven by Bobby's dad.
At Monday's practice, Bobby astonished everyone again with his ability to play almost single-handedly against the entire under-12 team. Brian stayed back by the goal as defense, and Bobby moved the ball down field, around players left and right, front and back, taking the ball to a point where he unleashed powerful kicks on goal.
After practice, Bobby invited Brian to attend a basketball game on Friday, when Bobby would be playing with a team. Brian told Bobby to let him know the time and place, and he would try to go. Then Bobby left with his mom and David.
As he went to get in his car, he noticed Bobby's wallet on the ground, along with his sweatshirt, by the fence at the practice field. He went over, picked them up, and put it them his car. He would take them to Bobby later that evening.
Bobby lived across town, and Brian knew it would be at least a 20-minute drive to get there. So, he decided to head home first, get some dinner, and then take the wallet and sweatshirt over to Bobby's.
About 8:30 p. m., Brian drove off to Bobby's house. At about 8:55 p. m., Brian drove up to Bobby's house. It was a nice two-story, brick house, with shutters, dormers, and a large, leaded-glass window door. Parking along the side of the street, he got out and started walking up to the front door. He noticed that Bobby's mother's car was not there, but only Bobby's dad's car. Walking up the steps of the porch, he heard a sound very much like Bobby's voice, but it was shouting (something he had never heard Bobby do before!).
"NO! NO!! STOP!! STOP!! I'M SORRY!! DAD!! DAD!! I'M SORRY!! STOP!! PLEASE!!
OOOH! OWWW!!! OWWWW!!! OWOWWW!!!
Then he heard it – the cracking, snapping sound a belt makes when it is striking something. Every time he heard the cracking, snapping, he heard Bobby yelling:
CRACK!
"OWOWOWWW!! NO, DAD!!"
CRACK!
"YEEOWWW!! DAD!! PLEASE!!"
CRACK!
"OOOOH! PLEASE!! AIYEEEOWWW!!!"
At the front door, Brian peered in the glass light. There, in the family room was Bobby and Bobby's dad. Bobby was in his stocking feet, still wearing his t-shirt and shorts from practice. Bobby's father had a thick, black belt in his hand, and was swinging it over and over again against Bobby's behind. Bobby was jumping and yelling each time the belt smacked his bottom.
CRACK!
"OWWW! DAD!! PLEASE!! STOP!!"
CRACK!
"YEEOWWW!! DAD! I'M SORRRRY!! OOOOH-AAAAH-YEEEOOW!!"
"Keep your hands away from your behind, young man!" Bobby's dad ordered.
CRACK!
"YEEEOWWW!! OWOWOWW!! I CAN'T HELP IT, DAD!! PLEASE!! PLEASE!! STOP!!"
"That's it, Bobby. I'm tired of telling you to keep your hands away from your bottom. Now you get yourself over her – RIGHT NOW, YOUNG MAN!!"
Bobby's dad sat down on a sofa and called the boy over to him.
"NO, DAD, PLEASE!!" Bobby pleaded. "NO MORE!! NOT THAT!! PLEASE!!"
"You heard me, young man? Do I have to get up after you?"
"N-NO, DAD!! BUT PLEASE!! NO MORE!! I'M SORRY!! NO MORE!! PLEASE!!"
Slowly Bobby was walking toward his dad, pleading and begging.
When he reached his dad's right knee, his father reached up, grabbed his left arm, and quickly and firmly pulled him down and across his dad's lap.
"AW, DAD!! PLEASE!! I'M SORRY!! I MEAN IT!! PLEASE!!
"You will be sorry, young man, before this is over."
With his left arm, his dad pushed him down, while shifting Bobby's bottom up farther on his dad's lap. Bobby was balancing himself with his arms and hands, with his feet up, off the floor. Then Bobby's dad grabbed Bobby's right arm from under him, and pulled it up behind Bobby's back, holding it up toward Bobby's neck.
With his right hand, Bobby's dad then reached over and grabbed the waist of Bobby's shorts, along with his briefs. Swiftly and forcefully, he pulled them down over Bobby's hips, past his knees, where they gathered at Bobby's ankles.
"AIYERGHUAMPH! NOOOOO!! NOOOOO!!" Bobby exploded.
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!
Bobby's dad was pummeling Bobby's bare behind.
"OH NOOOO!!! OH-AH-OWWW!! OW-AH-OWWW!! OWOWOWWW!! AIYEEEOWWW!!! OOOOAAAYOWWEEEEOWWWW!!"
Bobby was bouncing, bucking, thrashing, and kicking wildly – straining to try to get free from his dad's grip. But as fine a condition as Bobby was in, he was no match for his dad. He squirmed and wiggled, he tried to move up, to turn over, to get away! There was no escape from the fury of his dad's snapping belt.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK!
Brian stood there, paralyzed, as he watched Bobby's dad snap the big, black belt harder and faster against Bobby's butt.
CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACK! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!! CRACKCRACKCRACKCRACKCRACK!!!!
Bobby was sobbing and choking, gasping and yelling, as he began to exhaust himself furiously in trying to flee the flying belt.
"UH-UH-AIUGH!! UH-OWWWW!! OOOOO-UH-UH AIEEYOWWW!!! UH-UH-UHAAA!!! UH-UH-UH-OOOOAAAHUMMMMM!!! UH-UH-UH-OOOOAAAHUMMMMM!!!
Bobby's shorts and briefs had long ago flown off his feet, and he finally submitted to the fact that he could neither avoid, nor curtail, this spanking. His scorching, blistering bottom was burning like blazing flames, so he no longer was aware of each lick of the belt on his behind. He just lay there, dangling over the left side of his dad's lap, sobbing and sobbing – although involuntarily he automatically jumped each time the belt bit his bottom.
"AAAYAAAOWWW!! OH! UH-UH NO!! UH-UH-HAAYUHGH!! OOOOOO!!! UH-UH YEEOWWWW!! OOAH!! UH-UH-OOOAHHYAUGH!! UH-UH-UH-YAIEEAUGH!! UH-UH-AIUGH! UH-UH-UH-OOOOAAAHUMMMMM!! UH-UH-UH-OOOOAAAHUMMMMM!!!"
When it was over, Bobby still lay over his dad's lap, sobbing, gasping, choking. Finally, his dad reached under Bobby's arms, and lifted him up off his knees. Bobby's face was soaked and his eyes were red, dripping tears. His butt was purplish red.
"You go get yourself to bed before your mother and brother get home, young man. This strap is no stranger to your backside buddy, and you know better than to defy your mother and me. Next time you toy with the thought of disobeying, remember how you feel right now. Each time gets worse, Bobby! Now, get upstairs and get yourself in bed!"
"Y-uh-y-yes, sir," Bobby stammered, as he stiffly hobbled over and picked up his briefs and shorts. "I'm-uh-uh sorry, Dad," he added.
"I'm sure your are – now --, Bobby. But you better remember – because this belt will help your memory whenever you need it," his dad admonished.
Then Bobby limped bare-butt up the stairs, and out of sight, where his bedroom must be.
Brian breathed in deeply, like he had been holding his breath for a long time. So this was why Bobby had jumped with such a jolt when he had swatted him last Saturday. The boy was used to getting his butt blistered and having a tender, sore, aching behind.
Brian took out a piece of paper and wrote on it: "Bobby, you left your wallet and sweatshirt at the practice field. I thought you might need them, so I ran them by. Brian." Then, he left them at the front door, and quietly walked back to his car and drove home.