At first, Coach is startled. Tiny is taking over his team, winning them over with his song. Once he realizes this, he storms off.
At another point, Billy should probably run back from the batter’s box and join in. We wouldn’t want him to lose out on the fun just because he’s up at bat.
The key thing here is that, as should be obvious from the lyrics, Tiny has no idea what he’s talking about. He’s not identifying as gay to his teammates—he’s just asking a question. And it’s clear that he has no answer. He hasn’t thought about sex much. He’s eight.
[“SECOND BASE”]
TINY:
What’s second base for a gay man?
If you can’t tell me,
I’m hoping somebody can.
When I hit the field,
I want to know where to run.
Don’t want to be tagged out
before the fun’s begun.
What’s second base for a gay man?
Is it tuning in Tokyo?
I can’t see how that would feel good,
but maybe that’s how it should go?
CHORUS:
Hey, batta batta!
Swing, batta batta!
TINY:
Is it spooning or sporking?
Parabulating or torquing?
Hot or cold, fast or slow,
holding close or letting go?
CHORUS:
Hey, batta batta!
Swing, batta batta!
TINY:
Is it carnal or karmic?
Pastoral or tantric?
Is it Ontario or Saskatchewan?
Eyeing Iceland or petting Pakistan?
Send the answer in a bottle
or beam it in from outer space—
just somebody please tell me
how a gay man gets to second base!
Largely instrumental interlude for homoerotic baseball dance number. Containing the refrain:
CHORUS:
Swing low, batta batta,
coming forth to carry us . . .
home!
Swing low, batta batta,
coming forth to carry us . . .
home!
TINY:
Do I glide to second base
or slide in headfirst?
Can I steal when no one’s looking
or is that asking for the worst?
I’ve checked my Bible and skimmed Sedaris.
I’ve even consulted my Deathly Hallows.
Please please please—I haven’t been to first yet
but I’d sure like to know what follows!
CHORUS:
Swing low!
Swing hard!
Swing low, batta batta!
Swing hard!
At this rousing finish, the audience will hopefully drown you in thunderous applause. Use this as an interval to clear the stage. Only Tiny remains. He should take his AGE: 8 button off before he speaks.
TINY:
Even if Phil didn’t have answers to all of my questions, like the location of second base for a gay man, he still became the most important person in my life. In middle school, I ended up punching Coach Frye in the nose in Phil’s defense. Meanwhile, Phil’s defenses of me were a little more . . . subtle.
He was my best friend. But still there were some things we couldn’t talk about.
Phil comes walking out onstage, wearing the clothes of his seventh-grade self. He gives Tiny a badge that says AGE: 12. The following exchange is spoken.
PHIL:
Hey, whatcha doing?
TINY:
Not much, what’re you doing?
PHIL:
Not much. (Pauses. Looks at Tiny.) Look, Tiny. If you ever want to talk to me about boy stuff, you know you can, right?
TINY:
Boy stuff? Like snakes and airplanes and war?
PHIL:
No, like . . . boys. Just because I don’t crush that way, it doesn’t mean we can’t talk about it. I mean, I groan about girls to you all the time.
TINY:
I have no idea what you’re talking about. Did you see the Bears game last night?
Phil looks disappointed and leaves the stage. Tiny, meanwhile, turns to the audience.
TINY:
It’s always easy to blame other people for holding you back. But sometimes, the only person holding you back is . . . well . . . you.
ACT I, SCENE 5
The batboy comes out and gives Tiny a new button, which reads AGE: 14.
TINY (spoken):
Sometimes a long, dark night of the soul can last for weeks, months, or even years. In my case, it was weeks, but still. Those weeks had years behind them. Because even though I was born gay, and grew up gay, and liked boys in that way and didn’t like girls in that way, there was something holding me back: that one simple word—gay—spoken out loud.
It was a glass closet. Everyone could see me inside. I waved to them all the time. But I was trapped nonetheless. I had supportive parents, but I’d never really had the conversation with them. I had a best friend, but I’d never had the conversation with him, either. I’d never had a boyfriend. I’d never really tried. I’d lost myself in football, in school, in jokes and fashion. But by being lost in these things, I was losing myself.
I know it’s hard to believe, but it took me a while to actually say it. Sometimes it’s hard, even when it shouldn’t be. And sometimes it’s hard because it is.
That’s what this song is about. Normally in a coming-out story, the big scene is when the main character tells his parents. Or his best friend. Or the boy he loves. But ask anyone who’s ever been through coming out—and I’m not just talking about coming out as gay here, I’m talking all kinds of coming out. We all know: The first person you have to come out to is yourself. So this scene is just me alone on a stage. Because that’s how it was. Me alone, singing to myself, and finally hearing it.