The baseball field was full of kids and parents this weekend gearing up for the season ahead. It gave me chance to think about my own ball playing adventures.
If you don’t know,…I like to work out a little bit. It’s a moving meditation and it makes me happy. Sometimes this results in me being misidentified as an athlete. I’m not. I wish I was, but I’m really not. If you have any doubt about my athletic-ness, take a look at the rims of my car. Not one is unscathed. Depth perception is an important part of sports, and I simply don’t possess it.
Over the years, the misidentification has resulted in me being asked to play some sports. Since sports are like working out, I generally say yes to these opportunities, then spend the time leading up to them praying for some sort of rain out or cancellation.
My parents enrolled me in athletic things as a kid. I “played” softball for maybe 6 years. I was a proud junior high Roadrunner on basketball and volleyball teams. But I really sucked at all these things. I was the kid who got no more than her obligatory play time and her participation trophy.
Nevertheless, when I grew up I had a chance to try again.
Some of the women I knew had been fellow softball kids. The rules about play-ability change quite a bit between age 12 and age 30. If you had a glove, could trot 75 feet, and were available Tuesday and Thursday nights, you were a commodity ripe for the picking.
On teams where most are smoking sipping beer in the dugout and adjusting both of their knee braces, I found something like a stride. I got to play in this place I could never really see from my childhood post in right field. A place called “the infield.” It was glorious and fun. Like a proud child, I invited my mom to watch a game. I caught balls, darted for grounders, and hit consistently. They didn’t even put me at the bottom of the lineup.
My pleased-self talked to my mom after the game. I asked her if maybe I’d had more ability as a kid, but just never got a chance. My mom plainly advised me that was not the case.
My nearly-athletic days were numbered though. I didn’t suffer injury, nor did I take up smoking and drinking in the dugout. I just, shall we say, plateaued early.
I’ve still played some though. I was never anywhere as good as those 2 knee brace wearing folks who hit the ball out of the park perhaps for no reason other than they don’t want to run. Still, I enjoy all that it is and felt just enough moxy still be something like confident. Moxy up to and including wearing a particular pair of sassy tall socks. Socks with arrows that pointed up to me and boldly said “Badass.” I wish I was kidding.
Parks and Rec softball has it’s own culture. And a subculture within that group is made up of stallions of the game. The ones who probably have their glove, cleats, and couple decent bats in their car right now just in case they are spontaneously recruited. The ones who make it all look easy and have some innate ability to predict softball futures. They may have only seen you hit once or twice, but before the pitch even leaves the mound, they know exactly where you’re going to hit. They go by many names, but one I know the best is Katie.
So there I was,….happy to do my part on whatever poor team had me at shortstop. Wearing my aforementioned socks and feeling pretty good about myself. But the team was short a player. Luckily Katie just happened to be there and able to play.
When you have a Katie, you’re an idiot if you keep a Crystal at shortstop. Coach wasn’t an idiot. Katie sauntered out, and I quickly traipsed out to left field. Unfortunately for me, Katie had seen my socks. Even more unfortunately, Katie wasn’t about to let it slide at all. She waited until I was out in the tall grass and gopher holes before loudly calling out “I can’t see your socks from here!” and gave a well deserved laugh.
To this day, she gives me shit about those socks, and to this day I absolutely deserve it.
I am thankful to have Katie and other reality checks in my life. I’m also grateful to have experienced my substandard version of sports as a kid and adult. Here’s hoping that the coming ball seasons are amazingly fun for all!
Bifocals and Barbells 