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Last night, Roomie deigned to attend a softball game. I have played with some of these folks for a while now, and it was the last game of the regular season. Plus the temperature was in the high 60s - low 70s and nary a mosquito was harvesting blood meals to serve to her prospective young.
Once the beer arrived, it was all downhill: Roomie got to see the worst pasting we have experienced in the three years that I have played.
We arrived short handed, but fortunately substitutes from one of the friendly other teams were willing and able to play. I have to say "friendly teams" because our opposition this night was not one of the friendly teams. In retrospect, the first clue was that their team was composed of failed jocks and total bimbos. The guys probably played some ball in high school, but were not scouted and ended up in fraternities, where they routinely taunted each other and anyone else of whom they were not afraid. But why bimbos? My theory (derived from high school experience) is that only bimbos date failed jocks. Self-respecting jockettes and aspiring lesberados such as the women on our squad would never play alongside men whose lack of self-esteem compels them to make a nice game like softball look ugly.
Without a doubt, we helped the game look ugly too. I was placed on first base, where I can reliably catch the ball when it is thrown to me. However, the mark of a real first baseperson is that s/he can scoop the ball when it is thrown off the bag, yielding the single but preventing the extra base. This is a skill that I have yet to master, and indeed may be one that must be learned earlier in life. Two outs were converted into extra bases by wild throws that a competent first baseperson (which, unfortunately, we have lacked all season) would have controlled. On offense, I actually played all right, getting hits in all three at bats. I even scored one of the two runs we ended up with, sparing us the humiliation of a total skunking.
It must be admitted that our opponents could really swing the bat. Some of their hitters hit only foul balls, but a few routinely hit long balls over our fielders. You might think that their obvious superiority in this skill might make them taunt and complain less. One of their players complained loudly when called out for bunting because he made a full if purposely weak swing. He and some of his teammates never understood the counsel "It is not whether you win or lose, but how you play the game." When our pitcher began to get frustrated with our opponents, I began to join the rest of the team in wishing for the usually-dreaded "mercy rule" to be called.
Memory of the loss will fade in time, but I hope to long remember my comrades and the taste of cheap beer on this cool and pleasant Minnesota evening.
Posted by Underblog at July 28, 2005 7:45 AM
wouldn't it be "substitutes WERE willing to play"?
Posted by: Grammar Gremlin at July 28, 2005 1:10 PM
Well done, Commodore!
Posted by: RT at July 29, 2005 2:02 AM
" Balls!" said the queen," If I had two, I'd be king!" ( graffiti on the bathroom wall of Printer's Inc.)
Posted by: heather at July 31, 2005 12:10 PM