This morning, after a night spent in deep battle with my explosive colon, I woke up at 9:30, look at David, kissed him, and started to panic. This morning was the second and final draft for the Big Apple Softball League. I was supposed to get a softball glove last night on my way to chanting, but, due to marital strife, I was unable to do so.
So, this morning, not only did I have to be in Chelsea by 11am, I also had to get to City Sports (in the opposite direction of the park), get a glove, and then get to Chelsea.
We did it.
I walked up to an astro turf field on West 27th, that was slowly being filled by queers of multiple genders, wearing numbers stuck to their backs, and eyeballing each other as they warmed up with some ball throwing. I met a kid named Memo, and we managed to throw the ball to each other (well I threw it to him and he threw it to the fence about 100 feet behind me) exactly twice before the Comish (Reggie) called us all together.
All roughly 60 of us pooled together, huddling like the Daddy Emperor Penguins in March of the Penguins, cussing at NY One which had promised us a 60 degree day and we got 49 with -2000 wind chill.
Then the exercises started.
We chose positions on the field and begin a series of drills. Surrounding us were the managers from the teams looking to draft players. I felt like the fat kid with thick glasses and and an afro in gym class. I just knew I would be last picked.
first turn to field a ball came up and the woman hitting the ball hit it to short instead of 2nd base. I decided to be a superhero and ran across the field, jumped to grab the ball, missed, tucked, and rolled across the astro turf. Titi would have been pissed cuz I never did shit like that on the Slammers.
Then came batting, which is when the called for the pitchers. Now, I was the backup pitcher for the Slammers. Sometimes I was on fire and other times I was fired and pulled off the field. So, I was a bit nervous to get up and have to lip sync, I mean pitch, for my life. I stepped to the mound and low and behold, I pitched a strike. As a matter of fact out of roughly 15 pitches perhaps three or four were outside of the strike zone. Not only that, I was catching pop flys that were hit by the batters. Miracles do happen.
After about 2.5 hours, everyone had been put through their paces, and then came the selection process. One of the other pitchers was first pick. My little heart fell. Then, all of a sudden, the commissioner pointed at me and said "Come here." He informed me that I would be pitching for his team. And a guy standing next to him smiled and said, "I told him to pick you."
I was a first round draft pick. Selected before the other managers began meeting to dole out the remaining 58 players. I felt like I was walking on air! I felt so good I let loose with a TRIM SPA BABY! You like my body? (that's for you Slammers out there).
So there you have it. I tried out for the Big Apple Softball League. I wasn't picked last. And I will be back on the softball field this summer. Feeling a little bit like Sporty Spice (and lookin' like Scary Spice). Rock on! And thank you to my beloved man for standing in the freezing as cold with me, snapping pictures, and cheering me on.