Softball: Surrounded by Losers

By Pat McCarthy

On Tuesday while participating in the typical co-ed slacker beer league softball game and duffing the ball twice, booting the ball so often you'd think it was soccer and overall sucking at softball, I came up to bat to redeem myself. Somehow we were only down two runs in the bottom of the fifth and decided I should do what I could to cut that in half.

While approaching the plate as a lefty and hearing the familiar "Hook!" (which in itself is inexplicable - Hook? Huh? How? I am not being followed around by a bumbling pirate named and afraid of crocodiles and/or ticking clocks. No, I am not going to bust out a harmonica and miraculously put on 200 pounds to be a mid-90s John Popper and sign the Blues Traveler hit by that name (although it'd be sweet, and I fully endorse the song about absolutely nothing) Anyway, Lefty I can understand, but anyone even remotely paying attention can see that I'm batting from the opposite side of the plate as the majority of humanity. No one yells Crook or something equally non-sequitorish when a Righty comes up to bat or gives the Barry Bonds shift.) I decided, you know what, screw it, I've been sucking at hitting, the entire state of Minnesota is on the right side of the field, I'll bat right handed and see if I can hit it where they ain't. Of course the opposing team, being the adept students of the game, now proceed to walk their entire team to the left side of the field. Not being much of a right handed hitter, I decide I'll take my chances left-handed, what with it being my natural side of the plate and it being a couple steps closer to first base and all.

The umpire then calls time and tells me that I'm making a farce of the game. I inquire rather politely, considering the situation, how I am doing so by moving two feet in a legal manner. He responds that in his infinitely wise opinion I am making a farce of the game. I laugh, shrug my shoulders and somehow bite my tongue to prevent the following stream from rolling off my tongue: "I'm making a farce of the game? Did you look in the mirror before you came? You with your aged, distending gut that prevents you from bending down to clean the plate are not making a travishamockery of the game? Have you seen the guy on the other team who is single-handedly keeping the clothing portion of the Iowa bookstore in the black? What about the other guy who was swinging two bats in the on-deck circle? Or the d-bag that needs a map to field a ball, but you would think he's playing for the World Series by his repeated vociferous updates on the number of outs and where the play should go? No, of course not, you, with your officially licensed American Softball Association are the last hope at protecting the sanctity of beer league softball.

I was half pissed and half amused at the absurdity of the situation and stepped back in the box and proceeded to hit a single to center field, perhaps a double if I was running hard out of the box; the ball rolled under the center fielder's glove and I continued around the bases, rounding third I was sure I was going to get tossed after trying to decide between either: Is that outfielding making a farce of the game?, or, Did my farce-making look as bad as your clock clipped between the buttons of your league issue polo?, but due to indecision or better discretion I said nothing as I crossed the plate. And I'm glad to because later in the game I was more prolific in my farcical skills after boning several routine plays to essentially lose us the game.

I was mildly upset after the game, I never like losing to douchebags, but a couple beers and a maxim that I learned a couple weeks prior: we may have lost the game, but the umpire and offending members of the opposing team will have to go through the rest of their respective lives a loser.