Our first softball game is tonight. How excited am I? Uhh, not very! This is not because I'm scared to physically exert myself in front of my coworkers. In fact, I feel the opposite; most afternoons, I jump rope in the hallway while demanding that everyone stop working to come watch. No, I'm not excited because two of our very good players got hurt in practice and the manager is going to expect two of the kinda crappy guys (spotlight on me) to take their place. I am the assistant manager of the team and I have no power to stop this. It's going to happen and I just need to deal with it. I will be expected to step up, and every athletic experience in my background is telling me that this just won't be the case.
In the movies, here's how it'd go. On the eve of the big game, the star player goes down with an injury. There's no one to take his place but the geeky weinerbiscuit. No one wants him in there, but the team has no choice. To everyone's surprise, he rocks the hizzy, taking home MVP honors, and driving the injured star place into a deep depression and a painkiller addiction. This instance will be kinda similar in that someone got hurt and no one wants me to take his place, but the result shall differ vastly. Allow me to whip out my crystal ball and predict a few plays.
1st inning: fly ball hit in my direction. With confidence, I scream "I got it!" Just as the ball's within my grasp, I stumble on a clump of grass and the ball hits me in the face, shattering my cheekbone. I stay in the game.
3rd inning: a guy is sliding into second, and I'm fielding the throw in from the outfield. I manage to field the throw and tag the runner out like an allstar, but midway through his slide, he thrusts his cleats into my genitals.
6th inning: up at bat, I hit a towering fly ball. If it stays in, it's a home run and we take the lead. At the last moment, it hooks foul and kills a nest of bald eagles.
9th inning: running as fast as I can, I'm just about to make the game-winning grab. I have one step left to get to the ball. As I take it, I hear a little click. It's a land mine, and it both blows me up and propels the other team's ball over the fence so they win.
Does softball even have nine innings? I don't care. This is going to be horrible.Posted by Cody at February 16, 2006 6:35 PM