Coach Scar

"Welcome, scum," said a man in shorts and a blue polo shirt. The man wore a black hat with the letters HTH on it. A whistle hung around his neck. There was a scar that started from the back of his head and down his spine. He had a clipboard in one hand and a pencil in the other.

A group of teenage boys stood and sat before them. Most of them riddled with the dreaded acne. The smell isn't great either. Most of the boys are lacking in hygiene. Their hair was matted and greasy. There are a couple of exceptions like me. "You may call me Coach S. Baseball is a military sport. It builds muscle and builds teamwork. When you are in this room, you are no longer friends or enemies. You are equals. I will push, I will bend, mold you into a man. This school has never won a baseball tournament ever. That's going to change. I'm going to give you all hell." The man glanced down at his clipboard he was having a hard time reading