We defeated our first opponent via the mercy rule last Monday. The next night brought us stiffer competition in the double-elimination tournament, the undefeated top seed. It didn't look good early, as we gave up five runs in the 1st inning. Our defense held up well after that though. The only problem was our offense. We weren't making contact, which led to a couple 1-2-3 innings.
We were down 9-1 when we figured out what the problem was: their pitches were nowhere near the plate. Evidently, their regular pitcher was out for the season with an injury. We started taking pitches, and we started walking. And walking. And walking some more.
The walks and runs began to mount. The opposing team was visibly frustrated. They must have tried four or five different pitchers. Same result with each one, however.
***
I've mentioned before about the unsolicited coaching I've received over the season from my teammates. The most vocal have been some of our most unreliable, least athletic players. I'm not sure how that dynamic originated. All season, I've bitten my tongue and nodded acknowledgment at the supposed words of wisdom. On this night, I released a little of the tension at a situation so insanely ludicrous it required a response.
Our team was on a roll with all of the walks when I stepped to the plate. The most nerve-wracking times I've experienced during the season have occurred while batting in a clutch situation. I've actually been relieved while in the on-deck circle, watching the hitter in front of me make the third out before the game was on my shoulders. I really don't want to be the one to kill a rally and then have to walk back to the dugout to face the team. Why I put that kind of pressure on myself is beyond me.
All of these walks preceded me, so I figured I needed to take at least one pitch. Ball. I took another. Ball. The count was 3-1. (At-bats in our league start at one ball, one strike.) It was at this time that I hear a timely remark screamed down the third base line, near my dugout: "Don't swing at the first pitch Brian!!!" My immediate response was, "What are you talking about?!?! I didn't swing at the first TWO pitches!" I walked after taking the next pitch for ball four.
I can't say with 100 percent certainty which ignoramus yelled (and I mean yelled) the helpful hint, but I have a pretty good idea it was one of the dickheads on my team. (And he's a certifiable dick. I've received independent confirmation.) So, it's bad enough when one of these guys decides to teach me how to play ball; it's a whole other ball game (ha!) when they're not even fucking paying attention to the goddamn game. Holy smokes.
***
Back to the game. We surged into the lead. Okay, "surged" is a bit dramatic considering the lead was practically handed to us on a silver platter. The point is we took a 13-9 lead into the top of the 7th. A rally was staged, but it wasn't enough to keep the previously undefeated team from falling into the losers' bracket.
At this point, we were guaranteed no less than third place. Next up after a short break was the second-seeded team. I don't know if we were rusty from all of the inaction from the evening's first game or if our opponents really were far superior, but we were quickly dispatched to the losers' bracket ourselves via the mercy rule.
Fast forward to last night. Our opponent would not be known until the first two games had been completed. The other diamond was not in use, so we were able to put in some needed BP. (That stands for batting practice, for the uninitiated. See, I do know a thing or two about softball.) It was while playing second base that I sustained my final injury of the softball season: a hard groundball to the outside of my left knee. There was no blood, but there was some swelling and I had a bit of a limp the rest of the night. It's one thing to incur some injuries while playing sports; it's another when said injuries mostly occur prior to the start of the game.
Our opponent last night was a team that had manhandled us twice during the regular season. Their lineup was filled with big (huge!) guys who can hit it out of the park with ease. (Getting around the bases is another story. But who needs speed when you've just hit a home run?) They're also a controversial bunch. They had to replay one of their playoff games from last week because they used an ineligible player. (Playoff rosters may only contain folks who played at least 10 games on the same team during the season.) Their game last week was held up 45 minutes because they tried to skirt the rules. They've been asked to not participate in the league next year.
Courtesy of one big inning, we found ourselves up 12-5. Our offense then went to sleep, and our opponents crept back into the game, taking a 13-12 lead into the 7th inning. I led off the top of the 7th, hitting a grounder to the left side of the infield. I just missed beating the throw. As I made it back to the dugout, I was told, "That's why you have to leave the box quickly after making contact." I ignored him.
A rally was not in the cards, and we went down with a whimper in the 7th. Game over. Season over. Third place.
***
Looking back at my first softball season, I shouldn't complain with my play. On defense, I played second base for the most part. I missed a couple balls, but so did everyone else on the team. There was a time or two when I didn't cover second base when I should have - my bad, for sure. And I probably played it safe more times than not - catching the ball with two hands to get the sure out at second, for example, eliminating a chance at a double play with a quick throw to first.
And I hit the ball well. I often found myself on-base. I even had an inside-the-park home run after an outfielder underestimated me. I think I struck out two or three times though, even once looking. (Okay, that's bad. But I own it.) Overall, those damn high standards of mine often left lingering thoughts that I could have performed better.
I did have fun this season. No, really, I did! Some of my teammates just pissed me off on a regular-enough basis to leave a bad taste in my mouth. The capper was last night while playing second base. The first baseman told me when and where to backup certain throws from the outfield. I made an adjustment and tagged a guy out at second who had overrun the base. The first baseman's response back in the dugout afterward: "See what happens when you listen to me." Nice.
I can own up to a mistake and accept some positive guidance. (I did make the adjustment.) I just don't want to hear the condescending remark afterward. I thought about this on the ride home last night. I'm a runner. The camaraderie between runners at races big and small is an aspect of the sport I love. We're all out on the course competing, but we're really all in it together, especially with the longer races.
The inability of my teammates (and players on other teams) to see that we were just playing slow-pitch softball and not curing cancer really did take away from my enjoyment some. And this is coming from someone who considers himself pretty competitive at times. But what do I know? I truly was the square peg in this round hole of a team. I didn't grow up with these guys. I didn't play ball in high school. I'm not overweight. And I don't use chewing tobacco, one of the nastiest habits I can think of. Actually, seeing pieces of chewing tobacco in a guy's teeth is probably even more vile. ("None for me boys. I enjoy having a jaw bone, thank you very much.")
The verdict? The good times definitely outweighed the bad this season. But am I going to run out and buy a "I'd rather be playing softball" bumper sticker? Nah. I have a half marathon to train for.
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