It's Just A Little Orange Crush

Last Saturday, I left my house at 7:30am and hustled on up to the Upper West Side to meet my dear co-Rookie Joe. Joe and I had signed up for the first annual Pride Classic Friendship Softball Tournament (PCFST for short), which was hosted by the Big Apple Softball league. At 7:30am the Sun had already decided to be a big orange bitch and lay a solar flare smack down on this big blue and green ball we call Earth.

Joe and I hailed a cab at 72nd and Broadway, we climbed in and informed the cabbie that we were going to Randall's Island. After a couple of minutes when we realized that we were heading down island towards Roosevelt Island, we re-iterated to the driver that we were heading to Randall's Island, and he nodded sagely and kept driving. Now, sometimes cabbies know things that we mortals do not know, so we sat back, chitchatted, I ate my breakfast bagel, and we let the cabdriver do his thing.

Error number one. New York cabdrivers work for the Devil.

As we began driving over the Queensboro Bridge, I remarked to Joe that Roosevelt Island was just below us, so, for the third time, we informed the driver that we were going to Randall's Island. At that point he said, "I thought you said Roosevelt Island!" If it hadn't been so damn early, I would have dislocated my jaw, chewed through the Plexiglass shield, and ate his soul.

We finally made it to Randall's Island, and though I despised the cab driver, I missed the air conditioning, and for the gift of air conditioning, I forgave him the $25 cab ride, which should have cost $12.

Then the day got fun. So, the premise of the Friendship tournament was that folks signed up individually and then someone at the league headquarters (sort of like the Bat Cave) mixed up all the players making sure to evenly divide folks from the various divisions.

Joe and I arrived at about 8:15am, and the Sun was already shining down on us with all the force of a grand old ass-whooping. I was having flashbacks to cuttin' switches out of the tree in the yard...and genetic recall of my ancestor's days in bondage...as a matter of fact, I started walkin' and talkin' like a slave, singing Negro spirituals, and saying, "Lawd, Lawd!"

Joe left me for Team Lavender (which was a running joke as the gaggle of queers debated hotly whether or not it was lavender, lilac, or some other gay shade of purple). And I skedaddled and went to find my fellow Orangies.

It is no coincidence that I happened to land on the team with the cutest shirts, the color that looked best with my skin, and the coolest cats in the ball yard. Team Orange Crush kicked ass! First of all my friend Melissa Sklarz rolled up, and it was so fun to get to play ball with her. She was a demon in left field.

From the gate, Orange Crush dominated. As the sun got hotter, we got better, and in a double elimination tournament...we never lost. HIYYYAAAA!

At one point, however, we all got to see what happens when God reminds sinners of their offenses to the Throne of Heaven. On the field behind us, little leaguers were playing in some sort of championship tournament. I was in the outfield, when I noticed the wind pick up on the field behind us. It was a little odd as the wind wasn't blowing at all on our field some 100 yards away. At first I was jealous of that mighty wind that was blowing, until I saw it pick up a giant sun umbrella and launch it directly up into the air like a bullet. Then a straight up giant dust devil blew up on the field. It looked just like a miniature sand tornado, and for a second I thought maybe one of the X-Men villains was about to lay a smack down on the Little Leaguers of Randall's Island.

For a moment, as the sirocco twisted into the sky and the sun umbrella hovered above the field, everyone stared in awe at natures minor fury...then twenty little boys shrieked and ran as the umbrella shot down to ground level and then burst in a straight line across the field directly at the ball playing little people. The sand started blowing as if a giant herd of camels had farted in the Sahara, and I dropped and covered my face while shouting out to Allah to forgive us for our sins (I figured since we were in the desert, I should call on the appropriate deity).

In the end, the children survived, and we continued playing ball. The entire team was friggin' awesome and whether it was a spiritual connection amongst the teammates that led us to victory or the fact that we were determined to get out of the Devil sun, we pushed through and remained undefeated to win the first Pride Class tournament.

And I went home sunburned like a Icelandic white woman that walked for three days, butt naked, in the Gobi Desert without a lick of sunscreen on.

Happy Pride.

Rookies Versus Barbarians: East River Park

This Saturday, the ladies and I gathered for our first weekend of softball since the end of the Mesozoic era. For what feels like the last 200 years, it has rained every weekend. So, though this weekend past was Gay Christmas (aka Pride)…the Rookies sucked it up, sobered up, and showed up at the East River Park to play a double header versus the Barbarians.

When David and I arrived in the hot June son, my eyes were greeted by two Little League teams playing on our fields. Immediately, I had a PTSD flashback to Roosevelt Island. For a moment, I saw the ghosts of angry parents, public safety officers, and drama queens overlaying the Astroturf.

As the boys began trickling in, we set up camp behind a bench full of cheering parents to smack our gums. Surrounded by children, Reggie began talking about his early morning sexual adventures.

“Girl, this morning I was surrounded by cock…”

As Reggie’s voice trailed off as he realized that he had just taught several 1st graders a new word, Joe came to his rescue with an artfully placed…”-aroaches.”

With only a slight pause between the cock and the aroaches…we all breathed a sigh of relief that we had perhaps, this time, escaped creating a mob of parents angry not only that the faggotry were taking over their fields but also teaching their little ones the finer language points of power bottoms.

much fanfare, the Little Leaguers exited the field, and we took over. Now, I am one of the team’s pitchers (take that how you will). Before each game, I pray that Reggie will name me an extra hitter or that he will put me off somewhere in right field…preferably in Brooklyn. No such luck this week. As the game started, I took the pitcher’s mound, and started off with a bang.

If by bang you were to infer that I walked several people.

After a terrible first inning (neither the pitcher nor the fielders shone during the first 10 minutes or so), we all seemed to get our stride a little bit. At the end of the first inning, we had managed to bring the 10 run lead of the Barbarians into a 2 run lead.

My first at bat, I shocked the Hell out of myself and everyone else. I hit a home run.

When I say I hit a home run, I smacked that ball to the other side of the rainbow. I was so surprised that I almost didn’t run…considering that there were two other folks on bases, that would have really sucked. But, I managed to shoot around the bases, although I almost stopped and punched the shit out of the Barbarians’ 2nd baseman who said, as I passed, “Wow. I didn’t expect that from you.”

I contemplated running past home plate, grab a bat, swing by first and take out the 2nd baseman's knees.

I ran home to the cheers of my teammates, wish I tried to return, but I couldn’t breath.
As the game progressed, not only did we catch up to the Barbarians, we overtook them. My pitching improved slightly (very slightly), but the Rookies are a shit-talkin’ but loveable bunch and they cheered me through the process.

And I have to say the team was an offensive power house…Herrick, Joe, Scott, Tom Poteat, and Vinnie were pinging balls way oh way out yonder. Scott and Vinnie also hit homeruns! Almost every person up ended up on base, and the first game ended with a win for the Rookies: 16-15.

The game also ended with some drama. The catcher from the Barbarians decided, after we took the lead, to throw his glove. The Ump tossed him from the game, and then decided to both give lip to Blue and tell his own team that they should be ashamed of themselves.

He should have been ashamed to come out of the birth canal with that face.

In the end, the drama was resolved, the Rookies won, and we moved on to Game Two. But not before I reminded myself that damn....it ain't life or death...it's just gay softball.

Game two was much less eventful…there were some great hits…and both teams were fighting their asses off…so much so that we found each other to a stand still. The second game ended with a tie (12-12), and we ended our second best weekend of softball of the season.

Thank you to my teammates for the love and support out on the mound. The pitcher stands at the loneliest place on the field…and if I had been pitching for the Barbarians…the would probably have skinned me, built a raft, and sailed my fleshy carcass across the East River.