Ep3: A Little League of Her Own

It’s a lovely spring afternoon in Lincoln Heights park, complete with chirping birds, swaying tree branches and contented locals. CRACK! A homerun inspires a wave of excitement among Little Leaguers as they energetically round the bases of a nearby diamond. And there, watching the game through parted bushes, decked out in a silly frilly dress better suited to a six year-old toddler than a young adult woman, is neighborhood hoyden Tommy Boyd. Despite the frustration of her ongoing Proper Little Miss reorientation, an enthused Tommy watches these kids hit homers and steal bases as if she hadn’t a care in the world. Sadly, it’s a reverie that doesn’t last very long.

“Tomasina!” a very young but commanding female voice suddenly rings out. The tomboy winces, then turns away from the baseball game.

Emerging from the bushes somewhat sheepishly, Tommy is soon surrounded by a quartet of impeccably dressed, conservative little ladies. Glowering right at her is the impatient Gwendolyn Joffe, leader of this group and Ms. Boyd’s designated personal keeper. She instantly reprimands her misbehaving, much taller charge for even thinking about boy’s sports when she should’ve been jumping rope with the other girls. Tommy can’t help but break into a smile. “Now look, I know I agreed to this crash-course in girlie stuff. But I’m almost ten years older than you guys, and --”

“And you’ll do exactly as Miss Gwendoyln says,” Celine Fisher’s snide, challenging voice cuts through the afternoon breeze. Clinging to greaser boyfriend Frankie’s arm, she and her beau saunter over to this sidewalk scene and both view it with enormous relish. “That’s right, Tomasina,” Frankie adds snidely. “Your aunt’s expecting to see some progress here. Now, pick up that rope like a good little girl and start jumping. I wanna see those cans of yours bounce. You heard me! Come on, start jumping! RIGHT NOW!”

CRAP! That tears it. Putting up with Gwendolyn and her snooty bunch is bad enough, but taking orders from creep-o Frankie? No way! Tommy totally loses control and lunges at her perennial nemesis. Caught off-caught, he’s slammed against a fence by an infuriated Boyd, who briefly knocks the wind from his black leather sails. Celine, alarmed and outraged, tries to pull the struggling figures apart... but seasoned fighter Tommy’s way too strong for her. Finally, TB makes a powerful fist and aims it right at Frankie’s chin. Gwendoyln simply folds her arms and looks to Heaven for guidance, exasperated by the decidedly unladylike outburst of her ’student.’

Despite his predicament, Frankie remains an unflappable foe. “Uh-uh-uh!” he suddenly laughs, admonishing Tommy with a waving finger. “Proper young ladies don’t beat up their betters. Come down on me or my guys, Tomboy, and you’ll be rocking dolls for the rest of the season.”

Damn. The bastard’s right. Realizing she’s fighting a battle she cannot win, at least not at the moment, Tommy lowers her fist and lets the wiseass greaser go. With a howl he and his girlfriend depart the scene, Celine blowing frustrated Tommy a kiss as they triumphantly saunter off. Finally, almost nonchalantly, “long-suffering” Gwendoyn presents Tommy with the little girls’ jump-rope. About to toss it away in anger, Tommy reconsiders, then starts jumping rope for personal therapy. Lost in her own thoughts, the jumping becomes more intense, like a professional fighter working out. Gwendoyn just sighs and shakes her head. “Hopeless.”

Setting: Proper Little Miss Finishing School for Toddlers, with the curtsying little girl statue in front of this austere-looking institution greeting us happily. “You must brace yourselves, ladies,” Miss Merribrook’s voice is heard from the downstairs living room. “I’m afraid Tomasina’s problem is even more serious than we thought.”

Inside, tea is sipped casually by three impeccably-dressed women: Miss Merribrook, fussy middle-aged headmistress of this privileged school; Edwina Strictland, Tommy’s no-nonsense battleaxe aunt and guardian; and sly Marcia Sloan, instigator of the tomboy’s enrollment at PLM as a shrewd way of knocking her out of local sports competition so boyfriend Chad Parker can thrive. “Is she having difficulty adjusting to her new life?” Marcia innocently asks. “After all, thinking and behaving like a young lady is a novel experience for Tomasina. Deprogramming her boyish instincts and replacing them with a soft and feminine personality takes time.”

“A public spanking is what that little heathen needs,” Aunt Edwina adds with Old World certainty, folding her arms. “But truth be told, I promised her father I’d spare the rod whenever possible. Instead, I’m supposed to conjure up other methods of getting this ragamuffin to see sweet reason…”

“Now don’t misunderstand me, Mrs. Strictland,” Miss Merribrook finally explains, placing her tea cup on the table. “My dedicated staff and I are determined to set this deluded child on the right path. We’ll just have to increase both deprogramming and disciplinary actions to suit her well, rather extreme case.”

“Amen to that,” Edwina can’t resist adding. And Marcia can’t resist a sadistic little smile. Her master plan to straight-jacket athletic wonder Tommy Boyd is going better than she ever dreamed possible.

Just then, Miss Merribrook is informed that, ironically enough, "friends of Tommy Boyd" have congregated outside the front door of Proper Little Miss, and would like to discus something with the "lady in charge." Aunt Edwina is utterly befuddled. “Friends? Why didn't we know about this? Who are these friends??” Tomasina herself is summoned to the main living room.

“Guys! How cool is this!” beams an overjoyed Tommy Boyd as she greets three of her Little League teammates standing before her in the PLM main room. She gives each of them an enthusiastic hug, and cute, dirt-smudged youngsters Mike, Stevie and Nestor are so embarrassed they actually blush.

“Tomasina!” shouts a horrified Merribrook. “Shame on you! You've already forgotten your most basic lesson. Is that any way for a proper young lady to greet visitors? Such as they are...”

Tommy rolls her eyes. “Oh yeah, right…” She forces a cheesy smile and curtsys to the boys like a dorky four year-old. “Good day, kind sirs,” she says with cheery, semi-satiric unreality. “How may I please you?”

“Well for one thing, you can play center field for us his afternoon,” Nestor says rather directly. “We’re getting clobbered, man. That Frankie’s got his little nephew Chuck in the game. We’ve got more dirty tricks to contend with than local politicians!”

On reflex, teammate/coach Tommy starts asking her friends questions about the various plays, and offering a seasoned player's advice on how to counter them.

Then Mikey walks over to Miss Merribrook. “Have a heart, lady. Tommy's our coach. She was supposed to play with us this weekend, before you locked her up in this place. We need her back, real bad.”

Tommy looks at her adorable little friends wistfully. It’s always nice to be appreciated! But alas, Miss Merribrook will have none of this.

“That's completely impossible,” she says with grim finality. “Tommy – I mean Tomasina -- needs to purge herself of all boyish behavior, and we intend to see that she does. Watching nonsense like ‘baseball games’ is offensive enough for young ladies, and we strictly forbid it here at PLM. But a girl actually participating in such an activity? Disgraceful. Unheard of. Vulgar in the extreme!”

“Oh come on, Miss Merribrook!” Tommy can’t help blurting out. “I'm the best hitter on the team! These nice kids really need my help!”

“Never!” shouts Aunt Edwina, who looks as if she’s about to have a stroke. “Now that we’ve finally got you in a dress, I’m not about to let you shed your femininity so quickly.”

Quiet through most of this, Marcia finishes her tea, smiling enigmatically. “Personally, I think Tomasina should be at that baseball game this afternoon. And tomorrow afternoon, as well,” she announces with silky-smooth mock sincerity. "After all, the young woman did make a promise.”

Everyone’s disbelieving eyes turn toward Marcia… Tommy’s among them. How is this possible, she thinks to herself? Chad’s ruthless promoter Marcia Sloan, of all people, an ally to her athletic cause? Makes no sense whatsoever!

Until the particulars are spelled out, of course. And then it makes perfect sense. Tommy winds up attending the afternoon baseball game, all right, but as just another kid in the stands, not a participant in the contest itself!

Outmaneuvered and pissed-off, looking idiotic in her schoolgirl outfit, a glum Tommy sits next to Celine and Lavinia, the nasty, catty, girlfriends of Frankie and best pal Pimples. “What’s the matter, tomboy?” Lavinia says with contemptuous glee. “I thought baseball turned you on.” Boyd, ready to explode, shoots her the dirtiest of looks. “I don’t enjoy seeing my friends getting clobbered, Lavinia!” The two snooty girlfriends laugh openly at this, taunting the fuming tomboy with a chorus of “awww”s.

And indeed, Tommy’s Little League charges do get clobbered. Now these feisty kids can certainly hold their own against any comparable local team. But their opponents this weekend, the aptly-named Dirty Dealers, are captained by an obnoxious gum-chewing snot named Chuck, who just happens to be Frankie’s kid nephew. Not surprisingly, old Frankie and his reprobate pal Pimples have been bestowing their most underhanded tricks to the little cretin-in-training. “Sorry guys, this wasn't my idea” a guilt-ridden Tommy tells her crestfallen comrades as they gather to lick wounds in the Lincoln Heights locker room. But that doesn’t remedy the dire situation, and Tommy knows it.

The following morning, outside Tomboy’s Treehouse. We notice that there are two ways up: a rope and a much safer-looking ladder. Tommy in her dumb dress runs over and is about to climb up the rope, as she generally does. Then she suddenly stops, glances at her delicate frills, and reconsiders. Tommy swings over and climbs up the ladder instead.

Already inside, Harold (who obviously uses the ladder!) hears someone coming and abruptly hides his Playboy magazine underneath a smattering of comics. Tommy pulls herself into the treehouse, careful not to get her dress dirty. Wow. Harold can’t believe what he’s looking at...and neither can an exasperated, pushed-to-her-limit Tommy. “Ooooooo...if I have to spend another second in this ridiculous outfit I’m gonna SCREAM!” So she pulls the old-fashioned blouse over her head, practically wrenching it off. Then she storms into the back area of the treehouse, unfastening her dress as she goes. When she emerges a few seconds later, she stands before Harold... relieved, fists-on-hips, wearing her signature undershirt, shorty-shorts and sneakers. “Wow” marvels the nerdy comics fan. “It’s kind of like Batman keeping an extra costume for emergencies.”

Now looking like herself again, tomboy Tommy paces back and forth, deep in thought. This afternoon’s Little League game is an all-important one for her pals. Somehow she must please Aunt Edwina, by wearing that idiotic dress, and not disappoint her baseball buddies. Naysayer Harold just shakes his head. “It’s impossible,” he tells Tommy. “You’re good, TB, but even you can't be in two places at the same time.”

Suddenly Tommy’s beautiful face lights up and a smile spreads from ear to ear. “Oh no?” she says with sass to spare. Harold at first responds quizzically, then slips into hapless, “here we go again” resignation. Another wild-and-crazy tomboy scheme is about to be set in motion!

It’s afternoon now, and the game’s just about underway. Frankie himself shows up to cheer his little brother on, smooching in the stands with floozy Celine. He announces that Pimples will be joining them soon. A glum and girlie-dressed Tommy, meanwhile, sits next to the low-life couple and stares straight ahead. “I think I’ll get a hot dog,” she says under her breath. Frankie catches this, and can’t resist a lewd response. “Is that all you babes think about?” he laughs, prompting Celine to giggle. Tommy makes a face. “Frankie, you’re disgusting. I'm sorry I share the same planet with you." And with that, she stands and storms away from the unrestrained lovers, electing to sit elsewhere.

It takes a few minutes before Frankie and Celine unlock their lips and look around for the missing misfit. Then Frankie beams nastily as he points to the opposite side of the stands. Sure enough there’s a hot dog-toting Tommy, or should we say Tomasina, looking even sillier in that girlie getup from a full distance. “Why didn’t you stick around, Boyd?” obnoxious Frankie shouts out to her with a cupped hand. “You mighta learned something really useful!”

Typically, it’s an absolute rout on the playing field. The Little Leaguers are trying their best, but Chuck and the other tricky players are simply too savage for them. Then, from out of nowhere, a new kid steps up to the plate. This super-stoic “guy,” dressed head-to-foot in a baseball uniform, has a peculiar, slightly lumpy figure and pronounced circular freckles across his face... almost “Archie Andrews”-like, totally cartoonish.

Yep, it’s Tomasina disguised as a boy batter, her hair completely concealed beneath a baseball cap. So who the heck is that in the stands?

“This is so embarrassing,” a mortified Harold mumbles to himself. He’s wearing Tommy’s little girl dress, surrounded by a bunch of unsuspecting, yelling parents sitting in the stands. And he doesn’t even like hot dogs!

Pitcher Chuck sizes up the new hitter and concludes this kid’s “another loser.” But a few seconds later... CRACK! It’s a homerun! The first of several cheer-provoking, vaguely familiar hits delivered by this mystery ballplayer. In the space of a half hour the entire direction of the game changes, and Chuck’s dumbfounded Dirty Dealers are helpless to reverse it.

Finally, Frankie takes notice, his lovey-dovey demeanor totally evaporating. Now he’s pissed and getting angrier by the second. He looks across the way at “Tommy” sitting with the other boys, still in her dress... and “she” actually waves to him in a mock-friendly gesture! “Man, something weird’s going down,” he tells a confused Celine. Then he charges away from the stand. And so does “Tommy” across the way. “Excuse me,” says Harold in a faux-girlie voice, practically stumbling over the bewildered parents sitting next to him.

The game is over, and Tommy’s sluggers have indeed triumphed! But instead of celebrating with the rest of the Little League team, their star hitter makes a beeline for the Lincolns Heights locker room. There, Tommy is reunited with best-pal-in-the-world, Harold. “You okay?” she asks, out of breath but deliriously happy. “Sure, sure. I live for this.” Tommy can’t get over how funny Harold looks, and they both start cracking up. Tommy looks just as ridiculous. She uses her tears of joy to wipe away the crazy, “mini-circle”-like freckles she drew on her own face as part of the disguise.

It is a pretty outrageous sight... a girl disguised as a boy chortling with a boy disguised as a girl! But there’s no time for laughs...both teens immediately start wriggling out of their crazy costumes, knowing full well that the ecstatic winners will be invading the locker room shortly. Harold’s out the door first, tossing the dress to Tommy who grabs it and whips behind some lockers to change.

On the field, Chuck’s dumping on his confederates for blowing the game. Angry, frustrated and confused, they begin to blame each other for the debacle. Finally getting in a few licks, some of the Little Leaguers taunt them with stuck-out tongues and some choice, unflattering comments as they scamper by for refreshments and congrats. Getting more and more pissed, and smelling a rat, Frankie notices that “Tommy” isn’t in the stands. He instinctively heads for the locker room. Less than thirty seconds after he storms away, Pimples finally shows up. “Hey, where’s the game?”

A few minutes later, Tommy, back in her dress - she’s adjusting the too-tight collar - charges out of the locker room. She runs smack into a just-arrived Frankie, who forces her back in. “My team lost, ya little witch!” he snarls, advancing. “Well, you know what they say, Frankie,” Tommy responds with a gleam in her eye. “‘You can’t win ‘em all.’ Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a doll-rocking lesson and I wouldn’t want to be late.” The defeated tough guy is practically foaming at the mouth. “You have an appointment with the Sandman, punk!”

Losing it, Frankie grabs a nearby bat and starts swinging it at Tommy! She instinctively jumps back, avoiding the blow, then jumps back again, as he swings the bat again. “Whoa, Frankie...no need to go ‘caveman’ on me... It’s just a Little League game...” But Frankie’s too far gone. He swings the bat wildly, smashing lockers, his super-hot temper completely out of control.

With catlike reflexes, Tommy leaps atop an equipment table and starts hurling boxed baseballs at her attacker. He tries to protect himself, but a couple of these balls smack him right in the face. Taking advantage of his momentary disorientation, Tommy torpedoes into her adversary, knocking him over the center bench and onto the floor. As he tries to stand up she drives a fist into his stomach, then another across his face. Wobbly, dazed, Frankie clasps his hands over his sore face. So Tommy punches him in the stomach again. Frankie then holds his stomach. So Tommy punches him in the face again!

Frankie’s had about enough of this. He grabs Tommy around the throat and forces her against a locker, choking her. But Tommy responds with a powerful knee to his stomach! The greaser reels! Tommy runs backwards, then turns and charges into her foe with the most incredible drop-kick of her bully-bashing career. Stunned, Frankie goes crashing into a locker...which in turn crashes into another locker, and another, causing a rather loud domino effect.

Tommy winces cutely as she listens to all the lockers crash. When this crude symphony is over, she walks over to the “disaster area” and looks at her unconscious adversary, sprawled on the floor like a beaten warrior. Then she hears a familiar voice yelling “Frankie! Hey Frankie!” from the field outside. Tommy swings behind the door just as Pimples blasts into the locker room. She taps him on the shoulder, he turns and -- WHAM! A right to the jaw! Pimples crumbles as Tommy shakes her aching fist. She turns and looks down at the kayoed Frankie, placing her fists on her hips in that familiar, Wonder Womanesque power pose.

But then our heroine glances up. Sees her reflection in a full-length mirror. It’s Tommy the triumphant tomboy, sure ...but it’s also Tomasina Boyd in a dress...and she’s held for a curious moment. On a whim, Tommy abandons her “macho” stance and indulges in classic “girlie” gestures, like toying with her hair and trying to behave seductively (overdoing it absurdly). She laughs at her little game.

Then she takes a look at the dress itself. In spite of the brawl with Frankie, it’s still in perfect condition!

Just then, laughing up a storm, the triumphant Little Leaguers finally pour into the locker room. They are astounded by the fallen lockers and out-cold Frankie and Pimples. “Tommy!” shouts one them. “What the heck’s going on here?”

“No biggie,” the teen dynamo cheerfully explains. “I just had to clean their clocks again. And guess what?” Standing back like a princess, she displays the full spread of her little dress. “Not a frill out of place or a rip in sight. How’s that for precision brawling?!”

She saunters out, and the agog kids shrug their shoulders. Little Mikey smiles with a combination of befuddlement and pure admiration. There’s only one Tommy Boyd!

NEXT EPISODE: IF THE SNEAKER FITS...