....And The Coach, Too! By Ozriker
DISCLAIMER: This is totally, 100% not real. In other words, it never took place. Any similarity to actual events, people, places, etc. is totally coincidental.***
At the age of 28, Mr. Elliott was one of the youngest people in the entire state to be certified as a school administrator. With that wonderful designation-and living in the middle of nowhere where jobs as school administrators aren't exactly plentiful-he ended up as Assistant Principal for Discipline Management at Eisenhower High School. In this small medium-sized school in the middle of the Bible belt that meant he frequently administered the community's punishment of choice-licks with a paddle-on the students, interspersed with a few detentions, suspensions and other punishments here and there.
On this particular day, Mr. Elliott had pretty much had it 'up to here' with the students, faculty and administration. One pompous teacher sent him ten sophomore boys with a note reading, "beat their bottoms, I'll turn in the paperwork later." Of course, any student being paddled had to know why and, for that matter, so did the person doing the paddling. Mr. Elliott was forced to make the boys wait almost until the teacher's conference period so she could explain to him why the boys deserved to be paddled. After all, each one of them had a different story, and some said nothing at all.
Plus, Mr. Jones, the Assistant Principal for Student Instruction, complained that Mr. Elliott wasn't hard enough on students with tardies, and the Principal, Mr. Williams was upset because the 10 sophomore boys missed a period and a half of class!
Then, to top it all off, Coach Craft, the soccer coach, asked Mr. Elliott to stay after school to discipline senior members of the soccer team. (According to district policy, only the assistant principal for discipline management and the principal were allowed to administer corporal punishment, which was a huge hassle.)
So, starting at 1:30 p. m. (school was released early once a month to facilitate insect spraying) Mr. Elliott waited. And waited, and waited, and waited. Of course, since he was catching up on a mound of paperwork and was used to working late, he was shocked when he noticed the clock said 4:43. So, he left his office and wandered through the hall to the far east exit door. He then walked across the open fields toward the athletic practice field on the other side of the school grounds.
As he entered the gate and walked in, the team members were running laps around the track. He noticed that the students looked more hot, sweaty and fatigued than usual. He also thought several looked curiously sunburnt. As Jason Alexander, a senior member of the team passed by, he whispered, "Mr. Elliott, make him stop," before running on.
"Exactly what the Hell was going on here?" wondered Mr. Elliott.
He walked up to Coach Craft, a _c_o_c_k_y 24-year old college graduate with family money Mr. Elliott taught history to just four years ago. (Everyone in the town was pretty wealthy and, for some reason, came back rather than move elsewhere.)
"Exactly what is going on here," he asked.
"They're running laps," replied Craft coyly.
"No _s_h_i_t_, dumbass. I can see that. I mean, why do they look like they are about to pass-out. This is the best soccer team in the region. Running a few laps shouldn't tire them out," said Mr. Elliott.
"Well, they've been running more than a few, Mr. Elliott," the coach said with a grin.
"They've been running laps since 2:00."
"For THREE HOURS? Are you out of your mind? It's 104 degrees out here with at least 90% humidity," Mr. Elliott exclaimed.
"Well, not non-stop. They get a five minute water break every half hour," said Coach Craft.
"Coach Craft, are you a sadist or something? Get those kids off that field and sent home, and the ones that I need to see in my office in 15 minutes, or you'll be reported," said Mr. Elliott.
As he walked up to his office, Mr. Elliott thought about how much he usually loved his job. He didn't care too much for having to cause some kids a lot of pain, but for the most part, he knew that what he was doing was for the good of the school and the kids.
In this case, however, he was somewhat torn. He usually hated giving licks to some kids, especially those who were scared of them. But, because of the district's requirements, he often had no choice. He also didn't like it when coaches paraded half-naked students down to be paddled in their work-out clothes or the like. He knew it hurt them more than necessary, but that there was no choice. For the most part, the kids never complained.
He was pretty upset, though, about having to give licks to six seniors who had already been run into the ground (literally) by their sadist coach and was thinking of a way to make him pay for what he had done.
When the kids and Coach Craft arrived at the office, they all filed in through the door on the left of the office. (The door on the right was for leaving.) After Coach Craft came in, he shut the door.
"Coach Craft, I don't think you will be needed at this time. Would you kindly wait in the lobby," Mr. Elliott said.
"Hey, I ordered this and I have a right-under the discipline code-to stay," Craft said.
"That's great and all, but I out rank you and I'm telling you to leave this office and wait in the lobby," said Mr. Elliott.
In the deafening silence that followed, no one moved, save Coach Craft, who quickly made his exit.
"Guys, I know you've been through a tough workout today, and I don't want to make this any harder on you than it has to be," said Mr. Elliott.
"Tough, my ass! Oh, excuse me, sir," said Sean Wilson, one of the six seniors.
"Sir, it was Hell what we were through today," he said.
"I don't care about licks. Licks are licks-and he can have me take as many as he wants, but I don't ever want to have to do that again-can't you tell him not to do that," said Sean.
"That's not the point, since you're getting licks for mooning the photographer taking the team picture, but I guess we can talk about it," said Mr. Elliott.
"Mr. Elliott, we asked the other kids not to say anything about what Coach did, because we told them we were going to talk to you about it. I mean, we like him and all, and he led this team to two state championships when he was in school here, so we don't want to loose him, but we don't want to be exercised to death either," said Kyle Darton, another team senior, and leader of the so called 'Senior Moon."
After some discussion, Elliott asked the kids what they thought he should do.
Everything from a public apology to making him run laps until he puked was mentioned.
Finally, Elliott-who wanted to go home-called an end to it.
"Ok, guys, that's enough. I'll take this under advisement and let you know what I come up with, OK?," he said.
"Good, then, we'd better get started. Do you guys have an order you want to go in, or shall I pick.
"Uh, no sir. We drew straws," said Jason Alexander, the team captain.
"All right then, you know the drill. Out in the hall. First one, come back in. I'll open the door when I'm through and the next one will come through," he said.
Mr. Elliott was getting his paddle out as the door shut. He moved the chairs from the center of the room and opened the door.
In walked Sean Wilson.
"Sean, I'm sorry we have to do this today. I'll do my best to get it over with for you pretty quickly," said Mr. Elliott.
"That's OK, Mr. Elliott, I'd rather just get it over with today anyway," said Sean.
"All right then, Sean. You know the drill. Turn around and face the far wall. Now bend over and grab your ankles," said Mr. Elliott.
Each of the kids was wearing their soccer practice clothes, and most were still covered in sweat, since the school air conditioners cut off at 5:00. The practice uniforms were black soccer shorts and yellow soccer sleeved jerseys, and tennis shoes or soccer cleats with socks.
Sean bent over and grabbed his ankles.
Mr. Elliott got ready to give him his three licks. He pulled the paddle back and swung. SMACK! The first lick hit Sean, and Mr. Elliott noticed he winced his eyes closed and waited a long time before opening them again. SMACK! The next lick crashed down, and Sean flinched a little this time. SMMACK! The third and final lick came. Sean nearly jumped up, but held himself back, knowing that would cost him an additional lick. Fatigued and exhausted, he rose on Mr. Elliott's cue.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Elliott," Sean said, rubbing his butt as he exited through the other door.
Mr. Elliott opened the lobby door again and in came Jarrod Dennis. Jarrod was probably the skinniest kid on the team, but he had a lot of muscle and was pretty strong. Mr. Elliott wasn't really concerned about how he would take his licks.
"Jarrod, go ahead and turn around and bend over and grab your ankles," Mr. Elliott said.
"This'll be over pretty quick, I promise," he said.
"Thank you, sir," Jarrod said from just above his kneecaps.
SMACK! Mr. Elliott administered the first lick and, like a lightening bolt, Jarrod was up with his hands on his ass. "That hurt really bad," he said near tears.
Mr. Elliott, told Jarrod he was now subject to a penalty lick and to bend back over. Jarrod did, and Mr. Elliott, to prevent causing the kid any more pain than necessary," placed his hand on Jarrod's neck to prevent him from jumping up.
"Ouuu!" Jarrod said when he did. "That's sunburnt!"
"What a sadist Craft is," Elliott thought. "Ok, Jarrod, I'll not hold you so tight, but it's for your own good so you don't have to take anymore licks," he said.
SMACK. The second lick caused a good deal of flinching from Jarrod.
SMACK. Jarrod was now quietly crying.
SMMMACK! The fourth lick caused Jarrod to buck against the restraint, groaning.
"That's all," Mr. Elliott said, lifting his hand. "You can go."
Jarrod wiped his eyes and left through the hall door.
Mr. Elliott opened the lobby door and in walked Todd Andrews, no stranger to Mr. Elliott's paddle.
"I know the drill," he said as he bent over and grabbed his ankles. "Can we just get it over with," he asked.
So Mr. Elliott obliged, giving him three hard licks which produced some low grunts of pain.
"As always, a painful experience, sir," said Todd with his dry sense of humor that always left Mr. Elliott smiling.
After Todd left, Mr. Elliott opened the lobby door again and in walked Kyle Darton.
Not looking very happy to be there, Mr. Elliott said to Kyle, "Cheer up, kid, it'll all be over in half a minute.
"Just bend over and grab your ankles and you'll be out of here," Mr. Elliott said.
And, true to his word, about half a minute later and after three hard licks, Kyle left through the hall door.
Then came Brett Darby in much the same manner, and finally, team captain Jason Alexander.
"Jason, guess you drew the short straw," said Mr. Elliott sympathetically. "Yes, sir." Jason replied.
Since Jason was involved in a lot of activities, and Mr. Elliott had now been in his job two years, he knew one thing about Jason: more than anything, he hated getting licks. Mr. Elliott didn't know if Jason was spanked as a youngster or had a bad experience at school, but in the two dozen times Mr. Elliott has had to give him licks-all for various offenses, including losing games-on athletic teams, he wondered why Jason stayed in the activities that made him face his worst fear.
"Jason, I know you don't want to be here, but we'd better get this over with, don't you think," asked Mr. Elliott.
"Yeah, I guess," he replied.
Jason never cried when he got licks, but he always groaned a lot and made it clear to Mr. Elliott on numerous occasions that he hated licks. He once took two weeks of detentions to avoid one lick for a tardy.
"All right, Jason, bend over and grab your ankles. And don't move, I don't want to have to give you extra licks," Mr. Elliott said.
"Yes, sir," Jason replied.
Mr. Elliott reared back the paddle and let the first lick go. SMACK! Jason flinched and his entire body moved up on his toes and back down flat again. He was obviously in pain. SMACK! "Augggghhh," Jason groaned after the second lick. SMACK! The final lick almost sent him reeling, but he caught himself before he lost his composure.
"You can get up now Jason," Mr. Elliott said.
"And I promise, I will see to Coach Craft, said Mr. Elliott.
"Yeah, I know. What he really needs isn't laps, it's licks. Too bad you can't bust his ass, or his face for us Mr. Elliott. He deserves it," Jason said near tears.
"Well Jason, I'm sorry to say that's not the way it works," Mr. Elliott said thinking that was just how it could work.
After Jason left, Mr. Elliott called the coach into his office.
"Jake, come in here please," he said to Coach Craft.
The _c_o_c_k_y coach came in mouthing. "I heard those licks. That was weak! You really should have busted their a.." he was saying as Mr. Elliott cut him off in mid sentence.
"Jake, sit down and shut up," he said. "If I hear another word out of you, I can assure you that your sorry lame ass will never teach in this state again," Mr. Elliott boomed.
"Now, lucky for you, the players on your team asked the seniors to refer this matter to me for resolution. They're not going to tell their parents, they're going to let me deal with you," he said.
Before the coach could utter a word in edgewise, Elliott continued. "Jake, you had those kids out there running laps for almost three hours straight in 100 plus degree weather and god awful humidity! They are sunburnt and probably dehydrated because of your stupidity. They told me you made them do that because their passing, in your words, 'sucked ass' during last week's scrimmage. Now, I've known you for a while. I taught you when you were a student here, and we went to school together and played on that soccer team together, but I will not have you putting those young men in danger like that, period," Mr. Elliott said.
Jake Craft, now stunned and in utter fear for his job, asked "what are you going to recommend to the principal,"
"Recommend? Recommend! Hell, if I recommend anything, he'll can your ass and you'll be seated in front of a grand jury for child endangerment. There's no way you can save your career if I mention this to the principal," Mr. Elliott said.
Dead silence followed.
"So, I thought I could dish out to you a little of what you had the kids take today."
"Hell, you're going to make me run. I'm a tri-athlete, John, and an Olympic caliber soccer player, I can take all the god_d_a_m_n_ running you want to give me. Bring it on," he said _c_o_c_k_ily.
"Running wasn't what I had in mind, Jake," Mr. Elliott said smiling.
Coach Jake Craft turned as white as a sheet. All the color drained from his face as he thought of taking licks from an all-state baseball, tennis and rugby player that, above all, knew how to swing things.
"You're kidding," he said, half prayerfully.
"No, I'm not." Mr. Elliott said, as he stood up, paddle in hand.
Jake Craft sank in his chair.
"Get up, Jake," the assistant principal told the coach.
"No, wait, please isn't there something we can work out here, can't I apologize to the boys," Jake Craft said.
"I'm afraid it's a little too late for that, Jake," Mr. Elliott said as he physically pulled the coach from the chair.
"Now, we can do this two ways, you can cooperate, and do as I say, and we'll get it over with, or I can make your life-and your ass-an instantaneous living hell," Mr. Elliott said icily.
"If you think you're big enough to give me licks, then you do it," Coach Jake Craft said.
"You asked for it," Mr. Elliott said, as he grabbed Jake's wrists, pulling them behind his back. With one foot, he spread Jake's legs and used the other hand to force him into a bending position. Jake Craft didn't know what hit him. Before he could protest, he was bent over with his wrists firmly gripped behind his back.
"Now, we can add a little more pain to this," Mr. Elliott said pulling on Craft's arms, "or I can let go of your arms, and you can grab your ankles like a good little soccer boy," said Mr. Elliott.
"OK, OK, I'll do it, just, ow, let go!" Jake Craft said.
With that, Mr. Elliott let go of his hands, and Jake grabbed his ankles.
"This is ridiculous," he said.
"Shut up, Jake said, his hand firmly on Jake's neck to keep him from getting up.
"All right, soccer boy, you were in a frat in college, you know the drill. Count 'em outloud!" Mr. Elliott said.
SMACCK. "Ah, one, that hurt you dumb motherf...." SMACK!! "Ow! Two, you stupid ass idio...." SMACK "AHHH! Three, you bastar...."
"ON second thought," Mr. Elliott said, don't count them, I'm just going to whip your ass for being a _c_o_c_k_y fool," he said.
SMACK SMACK SMACK SMACCK SMAAAACCCK! The paddle continued to hit Jake Craft's ass with a ferocity he'd never felt. He was crying, moaning, and pleading for his boss to stop busting his ass.
"AHHH! Please, come on now, that hurts, this isn't fair," he said.
"Too bad," said Mr. Elliott as he kept on administering licks.
After fifty licks, he finally let Craft up.
The embarrassed coach was wiping tears from his eyes and mumbling his apologies.
"I hope you've learned your lesson, Jake," Mr. Elliott said.
"Yes, sir, I have," Coach Jake Craft said. "But, please don't tell the other coaches, I'd never live this down," he said.
"Oh, don't worry, you can't tell either, or I'd be in as much trouble as you," he said as Jake left the office rubbing his butt.
"Hummm. I don't think I can tell the kids I gave their coach licks, but I guess I can tell them I made him cry-they just don't have to know how," Mr. Elliott thought to himself.