Summer, Softball and Psychopaths. It's what I live forSubmitted by w_t_a_y_s_t_r_m at 2009-06-02 07:55:07 EDT
Rating: 1.9 on 64 ratings (64 reviews) (Review this item) (V)
Fuck summer. Seriously, just fuck it. Fuck hayfever, sweating and melting. I know we British have shit weather for about 10 months out of the year, but those other two months are such complete assholes that I welcome the cold snap, where I can go outside for a cigarette and have to swim my way back to my desk through rain puddles the size of Wales.
The only thing I do like about the hot weather is that at work we have a weekly softball game. It's nothing serious, we play in Regent's Park, so we can drink and smoke as much as we like of whatever we like, and we play against other design, architecture and supplier companies, which normally means that the games are never too strenous.
Occasionally you get one prick who once played pro baseball or something, and once he gets into the swing of it he just knocks it so far we just pick up another ball, but with my team our apathy is so infectious that it soon calms down.
The lack of competition in the whole thing is the most appealing element of the game. Going to a park, pretending to do excerise and play sport, but really not being bothered, and every so often, an attractive girl will be playing.
Being a group of overgrown boys and virgins, that just adds to the Don't Give a Fuckery.
"It's a catch!"
"You catch it."
"I can't, I've got a beer, you catch it."
"I can't, a squirrel stole my glove."
"Dude, she's running..."
And then, one game late last year, things went very badly wrong.
It was the first time we were playing against the opposition, so we weren't sure if they were aware of the attitude of the games, and decided to make it clear straight away.
First of all we discussed for about ten minutes where to set the pitch up. We maintained that we had the best location possible. Sure it was on a slope, had two trees between second and third and was in easy hitting distance of the long grass on the left and a childrens play park on the right, but that didn't matter. Our agreement in support was that we were already there and couldn't be bothered to move.
Refusing to listen to reason, we conceded and moved all of the equipment down to the nice, flat, open and clear area they had secured.
For a change we had a lack of numbers, and there was another small team who had no opposition, so naturally we joined up with them to take on the team of newcomers on the way to their pitch. When we saw them something clicked. We asked and recieved the confirmation.
This was their first season in the non-league games, because they were so shit at it, but so competitive they didn't want to give up playing, instead opting to move to an easier group. Shit, we didn't even keep score so we had no idea who ever won a game. It wasn't about that for us.
Their team was made up of twelve of biggest men and women you could imagine. Turns out this was a furniture supplier, and their team comprised of their stock room staff. Basically a bunch of faggoty designers and programmers, who spend all day at desks complaining about the size of the alphabet because it hurt our hands to move so much across a keyboard would be playing against a team of bad-loser juggernaughts whose job was to move furniture around all day long.
If we were the mighty ducks we might have stood a chance, but we didn't even have a team name. We were clearly fucked.
It didn't take long to kick-off.
Our ragtag motley crew went to bat first.
A fast pitch came out, but the guy on the bat managed to get quite a decent hit off it. It bounced just past the pitcher, so no chance of getting caught out, but still had a lot of pace to make some distance. The guy on second threw himself in front of the ball for some reason, using his chest to block the ball going any further. The pitcher was already running back to pick the ball up, skidded along, scooped it up and launched it to the guy on first.
It was so close, but not quite out. A few less dramatics and it would have been a sure thing.
We all just stood there looking on in shock. These cunts had worked out strategy and plays.
Next, one of our best players, Rob, stood up bat. Our random team mate was on first, but other than that everyone seemed fresh enough. Even the guy on second seemed fine.
Rob got one of his weaker hits, which didn't get caught, but got stopped just past second, centre mid-field. The player who got it lunged forward and threw the ball at second. That wasn't a throw to the guy who was stood on second. Nor was it a throw to the baseplate. It was just a solid throw.
The timing could not have been worse (or better, depending on which team you were on), as it slammed the guy who had just run from first in the face. His legs seemed to keep going, while his face stayed where it was, so he ended up running a quarter circle in the air, until his body was parallel with the ground, and then he slumped down.
"Fucking watch yourself!" Shouted the guy who threw it, while everyone on our team just stood and stared, a little dumbstruck by what had happened.
One person grabbed an empty bag and filled it with cold beers and then joined everyone else who was already running over to see if our fallen comrade was going to need an ambulance or if we could cut out the middle man and just order a hearse. The guy with the beers slowly placed them over the spot on the head where a lump was already swelling, while everyone else was having heated discussions that threatened to spill over. All it needed was one small...
"What the fuck were you doing?" Shouted a guy I later learned was called Aaron.
We turned to see him still making his way over, but instead of looking at us or his colleague on the ground, he was looking at the thrower. In his hand he had one of the steel softball bats.
"He was in the way!" The thrower shouted, not backing down, but not coming to met Aaron either.
"You threw the ball at his face." Aaron shouted. "What's your problem?"
"If he can't handle the game..." The thrower didn't get a chance to get his final words out as Aaron rammed the bat into the guys cock. He just doubled over and gasped for air.
"Sort it out." Aaron said, looking down at the doubled over guy. Then, as calmly as if he'd just freed a gentle butterfly from a spider's web, he turned back around and started walking back the other way. "You okay?" He asked his friend who was now sat up.
I think he nodded back, but it might have just been gravity taking over on the lump that was still growing.
"Good." Aaron said. "Let's play!"
God only knows how, but we carried on playing the game, and although it was civilised, it wasn't exactly full of laughs and joy either. After a very rushed finish, less than an hour later, we all packed up our stuff and headed for the pub.
I found out today that tomorrow we play them again, so if I'm never heard from again, some asshole has a grudge, or I was in the way of the ball that he threw, in which case I suppose you could call it suicide.
Evidence of my athletic ability below. Note the fat gut, cigarette and can of beer. What you can't see though, is my spirit. Because I ate it.
in case youre wondering, i gave birth after this picture was taken to a health baby boy, but i already cooked and ate him.jpg