Rookies versus Demons

I finally figured out how to pitch a damn softball. Which, is hilarious, since I am one of the pitchers for my beloved team, the Rookies. Before yesterday, I thought I had it down. I had this habit of starting off a game throwing more balls than strikes. My old team used to call me, lovingly, one in five...meaning one strike for every five balls. Not a good average. Usually, around the second inning, I work it out so that I throw enough strikes that the opposing team can't risk not swinging. But, it was more luck and prayer than actually knowing what the hell I was doing (plus umpires that felt sorry for me out there...all alone...walkin' folks like they were in a parade).

Well, yesterday I discovered that if you actually hold on to the damn ball, firmly, and then release it...instead of letting it roll off your finger tips, the ball tends to go where the hell you want it to go.

I am a genius.

Yesterday, we played the Demons. The Demons (at least in attitude) lived up to their name. The first game was not a shining moment for our team. First of all, I was too terrified to pitch against the damn team. I chickened out right before we began, which put Scott on the pitcher's mound and me at 2nd base.

I had never played any base...let alone 2nd base...(outside of the bedroom) in my entire life. The first game was hilarious as both the umpire in the in-field and Mason, playing shortstop, coached me between almost every pitch. Mason, who I just adore, would tell me where I should throw the ball when it came to me. And come to me it did...a couple of times I did what I was supposed to do...a couple of times I sure as hell didn't. At one point, Dan made a minor error in calling time, and Mason, aka Miss Softball Rules 2009, let him know that he hadn't done it quite right..at which time the very loving “Blue” out next to me exclaimed...”See...it's a learning experience for everyone.”

Lord have mercy.

During the first game, we were the home team, which meant that we were entitled to the last at bat. By the time the 7th inning came around, it was 15-0. The Demons were shovin' their pitchforks in our collective culos.

At one point, I was on first, and Mason was the 1st base coach. He gave me the usual coaching around when to run and when to stay put and when to put my booty up in it and get on to 2nd base. Whoever was batting after me smacked the ball, and I sprinted to 2nd base...only to have the ball go foul...and I waltzed back...at which point Mason declared, "That's ok honey...they all wanted to see your ass when you run anyway."

Mason knows just what to say to make a gay's day. (David snapped a couple of shots of me bent over on base...and I can say with some pride that the lunges and squats are working their magic).

At the end of the 1st game, it was my last at bat, and I saw the pitcher beckon to the outfielders to move in closer. That, of course, pissed me off, and I whacked the ball away out into left field.

That'll show 'em.

And then, I believe it was Joe...though I can't quite remember... came to bat, whacked the ball good, and we ended the game 15-2. Someone from our team exclaimed...”Ha! So much for a shut out.”

And the Demons were pissed.

I mean come on people...you were beating our booginas into poontang dust, and you are going to get all uppity because we finally managed to score in the last inning of the game. It's only GAY softball people.

Oh yeah, that's right, more than half of their team was straight.

Well, at least we were playing gay softball. We have our token straight, Antony, but, you know, he's sensitive, so that doesn't really count.

The second game was much better. First of all, I was pitching...which was better for the infield since Mason, Dan, the Umpire, and the Lord Jesus Christ didn't have to spend half their time coaching me and the other half praying I would be where I was supposed to be when I was supposed to be there.

My first couple innings pitching sucked, then I had the revelation of which I wrote earlier, and from that point on, I believe I walked one or two people for the last six innings of the game. How about that!

My most shining moments came in the second or third inning of the second game when two line drives were hit directly to me. I snatched both of them up and managed to get them to 1st base without overthrowing it or takin' out any wildlife. My team, as always, was loving...and Reggie was catching and kept smiling even when I was throwing balls directly at the damn batters.

But, even more impressive than my bachata-ing while pitching, was the fact that we were giving just as damn good as the Demons. They were the 1st place team, and for almost the entire game we were never more than one or two points behind them. Going into our last at bat, we were three runs down and, thanks to some crazy shennanigans by Dan aka Speed Racer and Mason aka Mama's Boy...we scored two runs. The Demons looked mighty mighty pissed.

I repeat...it's only gay softball.

The day had some amazing plays, particularly by our returning Rookie Tom Ward...who kept running with Mason basically waving a stop sign in his face....just missed being tagged out...and politely hopped onto home plate. He scored...and I had to use the defibrillator on Mason.

Did I mention that I also caused several team members a minor heart palpitation when my third base coach waved me in...and I kept right on running...almost right into the catcher...who was holding the damn ball. I made it back to third, but I think I permanently damaged one of Scott's aorta.

In the end, we lost the second game 8-7, but we had a good time...and with only 10 people actually showing up to play....a bitch was real tired by the time we left.

Much love to Rich aka Pom-Pom McCooties and David aka Tight Booty Berube for cheering us on...and much love to the boys for the ride back into the city.

PS Steve Bowman also made some power plays...and once revealed his mean face over the Demons anti-social autistic antics...I love Steve.

Rookies versus Dish

So today marked the first game in the Big Apple Softball League. Where the girls are guys and the guys are ladies and they all have tramp tendencies. Except me...I am a straight up slut.

But I digress...so today's adventure begin at 6:30 this morning when I was sure that the alarm going off was some sort of karmic retribution for sins I must have committed in a past life...like killing Jesus or shooting Abraham Lincoln. Nothing short of murdering a religious icon or civil rights leader could possibly justify me having to wake up before the sparrows on a Sunday morning.

David was a gem. He made breakfast, packed snacks, made sure we had bandanas to wipe the sweat from my brow, and filled a water jug covered in silverbacks for our journey to Red Hook Park in Brooklyn. Now only in America could an Ikea co-opt a pier and set up their own ferry service across the East River to shop. The ferry goes from the Upper West Side in Manhattan to Brooklyn. It takes about a half an hour...making the trip quick and painless. It also doesn't run at 7am on Sunday morning.

So David and I took a train to a bus to Ikea...and then had to walk across a giant park of baseball fields until we reached a much more humble softball field, where my game was already in session. I thought, for a moment, we were going to have to hire a camel, a pack mule, and a porter to finish our trip. Instead, turns out, I just needed a port-a-potty. I know peeing in public is a liveability crime and should not be done. But peeing in my pants is a crime against humanity, and that is worse.

The first game was fun. I was an extra hitter, and I managed to smack the ball. I think I even had an RBI. The Lord was with us, and we trounced the Dish thoroughly...something like a katrillion to four. David and Rich...the softball wives...were seated on the benches cheering us on...and the team was in good spirits.

Then we took a break between games

When we came back for game two versus the Dish, we were a little bit like Aretha Franklin....fabulous...but we let ourselves go a little. To start off with...I was now pitching. Ooops. A combination of nerves, rising temperatures, and, well, good old fashion shitty luck and not having pitched in two years brought back the days of yore when I was as surprised as the batter if I pitched a strike. After walking about two dozen people (or four)...I begged Reggie to take me out. He obliged. My team, all the while, was very supportive. That was very awesome actually.

In the meantime...back at Dish Headquarters...the Dish coach must have been handing out spinach and steroids cuz the bitches came back with a vengeance. All of a sudden, every ball they hit smacked the ferry driver three blocks over.

And then Mason got really upset. He was playing third base, and one of those steroid enhance spinach eatin' gaysians stepped up to the plate and hit a line drive directly at him. Mason spun around circles, burst into flames, and now in a red thong snatched the ball out of the sky with a look on his face that said, "Now what. Bitches."

I love her.

Later in the game, I did have one shining moment. One of the Mega-Hitters decided that cuz I couldn't pitch...and cuz coach put me out in right field...that I couldn't catch either. If I see her at the bar I am going to punch that one in his pate. So he smacks one away out to right field...and I caught the spirit...and the ball. Redemption is a sweet sweet liqour.

And karma is a cold dose of water.

My next at bat...I bounced the ball into center field. My old coach Titi told us that once we hit that ball you run to first base like you was a slave in the Old South heading towards freedom. What he didn't tell us was that in the New York league they don't tie down the damn bases, so not only am I out, but I hit first base, trip on it, and end up flying through the air like one of those crazy ducks in Duck Hunt. I hit the ground, roll, end up with a scratched knee, leg, and about half the grit from the field in my boxers.

I am butch as hell.

In the end the Dish won by something like a googleplex to six, but our team was way prettier.