Progess! At last!
Our softball team played well over the weekend. We narrowly lost our game on Friday to Dahh & Connors, the team that trounced us in our first game of the season and beat Team Barrete, who trounced us in our second game of the season.
I finally got someone out behind the plate after I caught the ball when they fouled it. I’ve been dying to do that all season. The pitcher was calling me off the ball while it was still in the air but I was like, “No way, this bitch is mine!”
My base running wasn’t as good as my back catching. I was hitting the ball and getting to first and was able to get to second but then I overran the base and was tagged out. Truth be told, I thought I was out before I got to base and sort of fagged out. The lesson there is: Always stick second, even if you think you’re out.
Midway through the game my boyfriend surprised me at the dugout with a kiss. His aunt is town and so I figured he would be out sightseeing with her.
“I brought my aunt,” he told me.
“You brought your aunt to see my play softball?” I said. “I don’t want her first impression of me to be how I poorly I play softball!”
I’m sure I must look like an old man when I’m back catching. I’m still getting over this neck thing and walking around like I have osteoporosis. Luckily I was on my game and didn’t fuck up horribly.
Our team wasn’t thrilled with the umping on Friday’s game. Bomber got into it with the ump when he called a strike when she wasn’t in the batter’s box.
Bomber likes to slow the pitcher down so she’ll keep one foot out of the box and set herself up. Most of the players will hold up their hand to let the umpire know they aren’t ready, but even I could tell Bomber wasn’t in the box from where I was standing at first base. She must have channelled her frustration into the bat because she got a really good hit out it.
We were leading the whole game. There were a couple of innings where it was 6-5 for us, but it looked like we were going to pull the win. Then Dahl & Connors kept scoring singles in the last inning; they needed 4, and they got them.
I felt robbed the last play of the game. The shortstop threw the ball to home to prevent the winning run; I made this amazing catch and was positive I had the guy out, but the umpire called him safe. I thought I deserved the out just for the pizzaz alone.
I bumped into my old coach at the Pumpjack on the way home from the game.
“You played well tonight,” he said.
“Thank you for noticing!”
Miss WESA came up in the conversation, as it always does, and he nearly fell over when I told him our team was entering a contestant. He spent the rest of my beer trying to convince to enter.
“You would be such a hero to your team,” he said. “I have all the stuff. I’ll even help you put it together.”
The word “hero” did have a nice ring to it, but I knew what I was imagining in my head would never materialize on stage so I decided against it.
The team played just as well on Sunday despite the game was first thing in the morning and everyone was sleepy, hangover or both.
I got someone out at home when the runner didn’t touch the plate, (which was awesome), I was hitting the ball (some might almost say I was hitting it well), and I batted a runner in. I did fuck up running from third to home. Someone popped the ball and the third base coach told me to run so I did. He took the blame for it, but it was obvious even to me I should have stayed. Like I always say, most games are won on errors.
My most embarrassing moment came when I was squatting behind home base and and I farted. It was a loud one too; it sounded like a standing fucking ovation. At least I didn’t shit my pants.
We won the game soundly which was nice. Barette’s a good team with strong hitters, so we felt a little vindicated after our loss on Friday.
There’s still life left in this team yet!