Softball #4
May 6th, 2008 11:09 PMOkay I missed retelling softball #3 versus the really cool hippies with the Down’s Syndrome catcher. Well we lost, 9-10.
Softball #4 was crushing. We were the visitors and we came out strong in the first inning. Hit hit hit hit. Our manager has noticed my luck, as I’ve been ascending the order: I started out dead last, unlucky #10, but my bat has been slowly rising. Monday night I was the 6 hitter. That’s right, I was almost in the heart of the order. The heart’s basement.
So in the first inning the top of the order was already on base and the heart of the order was beating. I came up with the bases loaded and took the second pitch the other way, smacked through the gap between the second baseman and first. I don’t know what it is, and it’s perplexing, but my stroke has become the other way. My natural disposition has been to hit the ball to right field, which for most right handers is a lot harder than left. My strategy has been pretty simple: wait. Wait for the ball to come. And then I think I might be just slapping it, poking it to right. It’s not very manly but it gets the job done. Sometimes.
So I smacked my ankle biting liner to right and rounded first. The throw came in to third and got bobbled, so I advanced to second as the ball followed me there. I slid in hard, like a snow angel in the dust, laying on my back, bulldozing the bag. I ripped the knee out of my gray jeans and began bleeding. “Scottr!” chanted the dugout. “Scottr!” We scored seven in the first inning.
But then The Seamen started coming back. They responded with four runs in their half of the first. Then we shut them down with a series of incredibly lucky line drive catches. Like, 3 line drives, mercilessly hit, crushing line drives, hit right back at the pitcher and somehow into his glove. Violent drives turned into outs. My next shoetop liner didn’t make it through, but we scored some insurance, 8-4. Then all hell broke loose.
The Seamen started bleesting in the fourth. This guy with a blacked out hat and an extremely wide, swaggery stance hit one so deep to right center it ended up in the eucalyptus trees above the bathroom. It was a cannon blast. They were hitting thundering drives all over the place. The fluorescent yellow softball was getting slaughtered as every hit sounded like an iceberg cracking. Or sometimes their hits sounded like huge pieces of styrofoam that were being turned into mush. The plate umpire couldn’t resist, he started complimenting their skills, “Nice tomahawk!”, “That ball was crushed!” And it was.
The hitting just wouldn’t stop. Our team grew tense, and a few bloops turned into hits. And then a cascade of more blasts came. And more bloops. And blasts!
Our poor pitcher, he takes things way too hard, he actually thinks about calculating ERA in slow pitch softball. He was suffering. He took the cascade of blasts squarely upon his shoulders. He started walking guys. He fielded a comebacker and while trying to remain calm chucked the ball over the shortstop’s head into center field. The runs came down like rain as he turned red, screaming, “FUCKKK!”
Come on dude it’s just City League; the mercy rule got applied in the fifth, 24-8.
