The Homerun That Almost Wasn't: Rookies vrs Renegades

So, this past weekend, we played our last games of the regular softball season. Let me tell you, this summer has seemed to sprint by. It has been as if Lady Summer got up on some methamphetamine, smoked some crack, and shoved some speed up her butt while riding the Energizer Bunny across the last few months. It's seems only the day before the day before the day before yesterday that I was on a cold Astroturf field in Chelsea, in 55 degree weather, freezing my ass off, trying to pitch a ball with frozen fingers (and testicles) during softball try outs. Now, it's hotter and wetter than Carnie Wilson's coochie up in here, the softball season is over, and we are staring down the sweaty throat of the playoffs.

We ended the season with a whimper...then a KABOOOOOOOM!

The first game was about as special needs as it could get. First of all, my arm seemed to have decided that it didn't give a fuck what my brain was telling it to do. It was going to throw the damn ball wherever the hell it wanted to throw the damn ball. I tried chanting on the pitcher's mound, I called up my ancestors, I invoked the Spirit of God, and my hand flipped me the bird and pitched the ball to center field. Thank GOD Reggie pulled my ass off the mound. After doing a great infield shuffle, I ended up spending the rest of the first inning at first base (foolishness).

Fairly quickly Reggie realized his mistake by putting me on first. I was then banished to right field. The Renegades saw a weakness..and to their credit I did miss two balls that they smacked out my way. The third ball, however, and I caught and they learned some respect (though it was temporary).

The Renegades are a very good team, and they are a sweet team. They don't give attitude, they smile when they are beating us, and have almost as much fun as we do. I like them.

After one particularly terrible inning, we found ourselves down by seven runs. Thank GOD Mason showed up. I like when Mason gets real angry (but not at me....ooooooooooooo not at me)...and after they tried pullin' some shenanigans...all of a sudden Mason was flipping and rolling on the ground, catching balls like they were flying at him off the Rock (God Bless Dwayne Johnson's fine ass).

It was during the first game, that I hit the home run that almost wasn't. I got up to bat, and I smacked the ball all extra hard. I was sure one of the bionic bitches in the outfield was going to catch it...but they pulled a me...it hit the tip of some one's glove and kept going...and so did I. I ran right up to and OVER first base without touching it. I realized my mistake and tried to run back, but Mason started screaming for me to run. Now, Mason is possible the God of Softball, and he knows all the rules, so I thought...damn maybe there is some special rule that you don't actually have to touch 1st base, so I kept on running. I got to third and started to slow down, and Reggie almost punched me in the face. I kept going and basically danced around the catcher to make it home. Thank GOD no one from the Renegades saw that I had missed first. The next pitch went and it was a moot point. The run stood, and I was a lucky mo fo.

The second game was magical. Everyone on our team was doing their thing. Mason was killing it in the outfield. Lenny pulled some magic in the in field. Scott was pitching fire and struck out MULTIPLE people. And Steve Herrick was doing some Go Go Gadget bullshit in the outfield and was making my penis get mightily erect. Of course, every one's favorite heterosexual ANThony...was doing it to it too. And....lo and behold by the Grace of Softball God (Mason), we BEAT THE RENEGADES!


Miss Reggie walks over and lets us know that we, by winning, kept the Renegades out of 1st place in our division. For about the time it takes for a neutrino to burst into and out of existence I felt badly...between the Renegades the the D!cks...I mean Demons, I would much rather the Renegades win. Of course...I would much rather US win most of all, and I take the win with a smile and a giggle.

In the end we had a blast, we played well, and it was so hot that soul got a sunburn (and so did Vinnie cuz the punk wouldn't put on sunscreen when I told him to do so).

I sure do hope we play fall ball.

Rookies versus Saints: Parking Ramp Softball

Yesterday morning, before the cock crowed, and before my morning wood had time to fall…I was already up, showered, slathered up in Icy Hot, and on a train heading down to Hudson Park to play some gay softball.

I followed the directions from the softball league’s website, which led me first to the Spring Street stop off of the C/E. Let me tell you, the far western edge of Manhattan, at the northern border of the West Village and the Southern limit of Chelsea on a Saturday morning is as dead as Walter Kronkite. God rest his soul.

Walking a block off the West Side highway and it being quiet enough to hear the voices in my head scream at one another was damned spooky.

Now, I have to begin this by saying thank you to Rookie Joe who had the foresight (I almost typed foreskin) to warn the Nookies on our team (aka me and Vinnie)…that the fields we would be playing on this week…were on the piers…meaning actually sitting above the river…and indoors.

Huh?

Sure enough, as I turned down Houston, I caught sight of what looked like a giant parking garage that had Pier 40 emblazoned across the top. I asked the bored looking female guard in the security station where I might find a gaggle of softball players, and you could see the visible strain and summoning of energy it took for her to thumb over her shoulder deeper into the parking garage.

I thought she might be high, which, considering she was on security detail, would have been very irresponsible of her.

But, sure enough, when I looked down what I had thought was a parking ramp but turned out to be a broad pedestrian tunnel, I saw that the parking ramp was hollow in the middle and contained a massive chemical green Astroturf multi-use field. One of those rubberized numbers, with the fake grass growing up out of the Dupont dirt that had all kinds of lines crisscrossing it so that it could be any number of sporting surfaces. Like me, it was very very versatile.

Only a tiny bit tardy, I showed up (before the coach I might add), and immediately fell in love with Rynnie…Scott’s adorable niece visiting her uncle. Rynnie was a softball player, a cutie patootie, a fierce Southern Baptist that had a wicked giggle and loved her big old gay uncle. How could one not fall in love with her instantly?

Immediately, folks asked me where oh where was Vinnie. To which I said…am I my neighbors keeper?

The bitches said yes.

It was then that I checked my phone and discovered that Vinnie hadn’t woken up until around 8:30 am (the games started at 9)…he said something about an unfortunate wax accident involving the dining room table, some candles, and lots and lots of Grey Goose.

Vinnie should have brought the candles to light a fire under our asses cuz we could not wake up for that first game.

We were playing the Saints, and, bless their hearts, they are the last place team in our division. They have solid fundamentals, but they just don’t have much power. Well…Saturday morning they were the motherfucking Electric Company and shocked our asses by pulling out a win in the first game.

Alas, they had no idea that once the sun truly passed over the Prime Meridian that all their earlier victories would come to naught. Once the sunlight cleared the horizon…the Rookies were on that ball like Reggie on…well…balls.

First of all, Noah had returned from exile in New Jacked Up Unemployment Rate City aka Detroit. And you know Miss Noah may wear a corset, but instead of the vapors she channels her antebellum feminine oppression into her bat. Combining that with Tom Ward, who was once again acting like Derek Jeter was a bitch compared to his batting, and with some 50 and loving it acrobatics by Joe…we were feisty and swinging our low hangers way out into the field.

In one inning we scored 10 runs. I almost peed on myself with joy. As a matter of fact, I did. But I blamed it on Noah’s dog Ludo. Them’s the breaks when one person can talk and the other one can only bark and look guilty.

In the end, we had a blast. Rookie-in-Absentia Eddie Buggie was with us, cheering us on, and base coaching. And everyone acquitted himself mighty well. Great games Rookies. Heyyyyyyyyyyyy.