Here's a sentence I never thought I'd state in public: there's a really funny show on the Oxygen network that I think you people should be watching. It's called Oprah: After the Show, and it's all about getting chill with Ms. Winfrey and winding down from a big broadcast. Okay, not really. It's called Campus Ladies, and it's kinda Strangers With Candy-esque, if you ever watched that. Anyway, it's very funny stuff and since it's on Oxygen, it's on like 50 times a day. When you turn that channel on, it's either this show or it's an infomercial on hot flashes; no matter which one it is, you're in for a good time.
Changing topics, leave it to me to turn a fun, relaxing, office softball team into a venue ripe for lawsuits and firings. On Sunday, we had our first major practice. The whole team was there, including the President of the company. We were taking batting practice, and those who weren't batting were out in the field, switching between positions to try them out. As part of that, we were switching pitchers quite frequently. Well, when I get up there, I quickly noticed that the President would be pitching to me. As he is both a cool guy and the fellow who signs my paychecks, I resolved right then and there that if he hit me, I wouldn't charge the mound. If anyone else pulled that on me, it'd be go time; I'd run forward with my bat like some sort of Mongol invader. Not him, though.
Everyone's having a good time out there, and then he throws me the first pitch. I manage to get a pretty good chunk of it, sending a line drive straight at second base. In all modesty, that ball had some heat on it. Unfortunately, the pitcher, aka the Mayor McCheese of our office happy meal, happened to be standing directly in its path. He gets his bare hand up just in time to prevent the ball from caroming off of his chest.
I was ... a little worried. Some bosses could take it the wrong way when you're hitting baseballs at their internal organs; thankfully, he did not. He even got in a good zinger when he said, "Ouch, I think that was my check signing hand."
I think to myself, "That could've been much worse, now don't do that again. With whatever pathetic muscular control I have, hit the ball somewhere other directly in front of me." He pitches again, and of course, I hit it straight back at him. While the first one was kind of funny, this wasn't nearly as humorous. I was like the guy who didn't know when to drop the joke, except I was most certainly not doing it on purpose. I step back from the batter's box. "Seriously. Stop. Don't even swing if that's what it takes." He pitches a third time. Do I even need to say where I hit the ball? If you guessed anything but 'directly at the pitcher', you are a moron.
It is for this reason and many others that my softball jersey needs a pouch full of highly potent sedatives, just in case the situation starts to get out of hand.
Posted by Cody at January 30, 2006 6:54 PM