"If you think for a single second I'm going to pay a fucking 2,500 dollar fine for missing practice you're Gucci scarf is too damned tight," John Cena stormed into her office.

Joey looked down at her scarf, "its Fendi, Mr. Cena. And I actually went easy on you considering it was a first time infraction of one of the most primary regulations." She stood and walked around to his side of the desk sitting on the edge of it, "I can promise that the next time I won't be so lenient."

"Joey,"

"Is there anything else I can help you with Mr. Cena? Do you need a pen to write that check perhaps?"

She smirked. "Or would you prefer to pay by cashier's check or money order?" She knew what she was doing, driving a frustrated man into further frustration. But the wonderful thing is he was in the wrong and Mr. McMahon had given her full reign unlike other teams in the league her owner wouldn't be breathing down her damned neck.

"No," he threw the fine slip on the floor, "and it'll be a cold day in hell before you get that fine."

She smiled her signature hell's angel smirk, "Cash is always acceptable too." He turned to leave, "If you refuse to pay the fine, which is certainly your right then not only will be a cold day in hell before you run a yard on my football field but Satan will be giving out free snow cones at the door."

"Bullshit." He called her bluff. "I'm the best running back you have."

"According to you," she sighed studying her French manicure. "Don't get the Beyoncé syndrome darling."

"The what?" he sneered at her.

"Don't ever get to thinking you're irreplaceable." She looked him in the eye. He scoffed at her, "Look Cena, there are 2 other capable running backs on this team," she let her sentence dangle. She didn't have to say anything else.

"We'll see about that." He said. She just looked at him, the smile in her eyes taunting him.

"So we shall," Her smiled widened when she noticed he realize she wasn't going to back down.

"I don't know who you think you are,"

"I am Coach Josephine Rodriguez," she reminded him, "just in case you were asleep yesterday during the meeting. My signature authenticated that fine slip." She looked down to where the small slip of paper still lay on the floor to her office. "You keep trying me and it will be at the bottom of a suspension form next."

His jaw began to tick knowing that she wouldn't be intimidated but she could see that this wouldn't be the last of him.

"You might want to remind your team mates that practice starts at 10:00, at 9:55, you are late. For every minute late that means 5 suicides for the team, and 10 personally for the infraction. And that doesn't take the place of the fine, it is in addition to." She looked to him, "Tell them to look to you as an example. Advise them well." He picked his slip up and exited the office silently. She reclaimed her seat behind her desk to finish looking over her practice plans.

I think that went well.

--

"How did it go?" Dave Batista, strong safety, asked.

John was so pissed he was damn near purple with emotion. "That bitch has got to go!" he seethed.

"She's only been here a day," Dave said smiling.

John didn't find any humor in the situation, "Do you know she had the gall to threaten me with a suspension?"

Dave's smile faded as he just looked at him, "She's bluffing."

John pulled his gym shorts on, "I think so too. She doesn't have the balls, but the fact that she thought enough of herself to make the threat. She'd better watch her damned step."

Shelton Benjamin, John's back up running back chimed in, "Who the hell does she think she is?" he asked, "She just got here."

"I feel the need to keep reminding you who I am," she said from the door, "I'm Josephine Rodriguez," she stated calmly. "Head coach to the Boston Cougars." Everyone looked at her with their mouths slightly ajar, "By the way, female on the floor." She walked further into the locker room as the guys scrambled to cover themselves. "Don't worry, I'm not impressed," she smiled. "Since a great majority of you obviously didn't pay attention during the introductory meeting, as I stated I'm Coach Joey Rodriguez, feel free to call me Joey. I feel the need to explain something as I'm sure Mr. Cena didn't get a chance to through his ranting and raving. I have outlined all of my expectations in the new Cougar handbook. I am not discriminate; I don't give a damn how many TDs you have in your stats column or how many sacks recorded by your name. Don't follow my rules and you'll find yourself witnessing this season from the sidelines." She paused to look at them for any comments, when she got none she continued. "So, as you already know practices start at 10, as of 9:55 you are late. That gives you five minutes to report to my field ready to work." She turned to leave and returned to her stunned players, "Oh, and for those of you that think you want to be cute and half ass me, I'm using these practices to determine who I'm going to cut, trade and bench. Starting jobs are on the line so those of you thinking I'm bluffing," she put bluffing in rabbit ears, "try me." She looked around, that trade mark heaven and hell smirk on her lips, "I'll see you on the field gentlemen."

After Joey took her leave the men stared around at each other, "Still think she's bluffing?" Randy Orton, starting quarterback asked John Cena.

"She keeps trying me and that bitch going to end up in the river some damned where." John Cena stated as he pulled his shorts up.

"I can't front," Dwayne Johnson, number one wide receiver commented as he prepared to head out to the field, "She's fine as shit."

"Hell yeah she is," said Bobby Lashley, strong safety.

"She's a dyke," John muttered.

Everyone looked at him like he was growing antlers, "She ain't no dyke," Paul Levesque countered.

"You got another reason for why McMahon hired her?" John asked. "I mean she walked in here in front of all this dick and didn't flinch."

Paul smiled, "It's called self control and will power, ever heard of it?"

"Suck my dick Paul," John threw his towel at him. "How do you look at this and not blink unless you like pussy." He looked back over his team mates, "that's probably what she needs to loosen herself up a little. Some good dick," John thought about it. As much as he hated to admit it, the latest head coach was one of the hottest pieces of ass he'd seen in a long while and he would love nothing better than to listen to her scream his name as he slammed into her from behind.

Dave rolled his eyes, "Well be that as it may and since I have no interest in losing my starting position I'm headed out to the field." He looked around for those ready to join him.

John scoffed, "I'm not letting that bitch rush me." He looked around, "Ya'll run out there like a bunch of lil' bitches but I'll get there when I'm good and ready."

Dwayne smacked him in the back of the head, "I'm not running no fucking suicides because of you." He pushed him toward the door, "Get your ass on the field." He lowered his voice, "I also don't want to see you lose your starting position or pay any more fines so tuck in your skirt and carry your ass."

John shook his head, again, he hated to admit it but he knew that Joey wasn't bluffing about more fines any more than she was bluffing about putting him on the bench. He shook his head, he wasn't gung ho about following any bitch and especially in an all male world but it was the predicament they faced. What the hell was Vince McMahon thinking? A bitch, to lead of a team of men, he shook his head once more; they were going to become the laughing stock of the league.

They headed onto the field and took in the vision that was Joey Rodriguez; she wore a wife beater, nylon sweats and sneakers. Her curly auburn hair was pulled back into a pony tail that swung like a pendulum between her shoulder blades; her baby soft skin taut as her muscles ripped with every move she made. She was stretching as if prepping to do drills with them. Not that any of them doubted that it was all a show. Their average was approximately 300 pounds a player, she looked like she was all of 170 pounds, but there she was stretching as if she had what it took to pull their drills. It was obvious she was a fire cracker, she'd shown that already. As they approached her, her head snapped up her sharp green eyes seemed to be looking directly through them.

"How good of you to join me gentlemen," she address them. "I have been watching your film, and we have a hell of a lot of work to do. Meet me on the fifty yard line." She moved toward the middle of the field. "Alright gentlemen, we have a hell of a day ahead of us so let's commence to stretching. I don't need anyone sitting on the sidelines with pulled, strained or torn muscles. Let's go." She blew her whistled and waited for them to join her in stretching.

Secretly underneath all rough exterior, Joey Rodriguez was as giddy as a school girl. All she'd ever wanted to do with her time was football. She studied film while most girls her age wandered the malls. She knew stats like most women knew their bodies and all she wanted was the respect that she would be given had she had all this knowledge but been born with different genitalia.

She blew her whistle again to get their attention, "I need two lines, horizontal. Offense, to my front; defense to my back and special teams I want you to divide up equally and take your positions at either side of the field goal line." She waited for them to take their positions. "Now, I cannot deny any of your heart, I won't. But I can deny your conditioning so…offense, defense from where you are to the 20, I need 30 suicides, let's go." She moved toward her special teams' players, "from where you are to the 13," she blew her whistle, "Let's move it."

She watched as they all stood about and stared at each other. She smiled on the inside; she was the queen of rebellion. "Okay, I see we are going to start with the basic basics, when I blow my whistle," she blew her whistle, "You move. When I blow it twice," she demonstrated, "you stop." She looked at where they stood, "and if you can't get those perhaps you shouldn't be starting. So who in this crowd can handle doing these thirty suicides so we can get on to the next tier in our warm ups?"

Grumbling, they began to sprint down the field. She would be a lying fool if she said that as a woman she wasn't enjoying watching them getting all sweaty as they tore up and down the turf, men in all different shapes, colors and sizes and she was in paradise. As a coach she was disappointed to see that they were breathing heavily and they were barely half way through the suicides. She sighed.

They had a long way to go.