SOFTBALL: IT’S HARDCORE FUN

If you’ve been reading my blog regularly, you know that the newspaper I work for participates in a softball league. It’s comprised of us, plus three other periodicals based in Brooklyn and Queens, although we are easily the best. No, I don’t mean that we’re the best newspaper, even though that’s also probably true. I mean that we have the best group of softball players who happen to work day jobs as reporters.

For proof, you need have gone no further than Flushing Meadows Park last Friday. There, before an enthusiastic crowd of about ten people (mostly relatives and friends), our team defeated – no, make that demolished – the Queens Chronicle, 15-4. But the game was never remotely close. It might have been over by the fifth inning, thanks, in some small part, to a solid overall game from plucky rookie Phil X.

Yes, it’s true. I played softball. Not only did I play, but I had a good time, too. As far as offensive statistics, mine weren’t particularly glossy. I hit two-for-four, with two singles and a couple of runs batted in. I only scored a single run myself.

Indeed, if the Phil X magic inevitably came through, it was on the defensive side. Now, I would have been content if my managing editor, Blaine, who seemed to be doubling as coach, had stuck me out in left field. However, he had other ideas, like having me cover second base. Second base! I think he was desperate to not have to play a girl in that spot. Still, I hadn’t played softball since grade school, and there I was being entrusted with the most pivotal, high-pressure position in the entire defensive configuration.

Okay, maybe first base is more stressful. But that’s not the point! The point is, my job was playing second base, and after being lost a little bit during the first inning, I quickly ascertained my role. In fact, not only did I ascertain my role, I made plays!

One involved fielding a grounder, then throwing out a runner at first. The other occurred later in the game, after a Queens Chronicle player batted a hit up the middle of the field. As Rick, the community editor, sprinted to catch it, I flashed back to the drills we ran a few months ago in a local park, under the guise of researching a story. I quickly ran to cover second base, my foot touching down upon it at the exact same moment that Rick picked up the bouncing spheroid. He turned, whipping the ball back to second, where I was standing, glove raised, to tag out the runner.

“What a play!” I heard the owner of our paper say.

“You’ve never played softball before?” Rick asked me incredulously.

“I’ve watched baseball on T.V.,” I replied, shrugging.

Since K. contributed roller derby photos in the past, she got to play for us, too, and had an even better game than me. Every one of her at-bats became a near-automatic base hit. But you can’t accuse my girlfriend of being a mere singles machine; no, she also batted in her share of runs, helping our newspaper build a commanding lead over our hapless opponents.

Indeed, K’s stats would have been even loftier, except that she had the disadvantage of being situated two down from me in the line-up. Being a softball neophyte, I occasionally suffered a lapse in concentration, which led to my running to second base when I probably shouldn’t have. Doubtless, my being tagged out robbed K. of numerous chances to continue her rampage around the diamond. Luckily for me, K. doesn’t take sports too seriously, and has only mentioned my flubs three times to-date.

Anyway, having good rapport and team camaraderie is infinitely more important than individual achievement in sports. I learned that much during two hours of relatively-non-competitive softball. Without positive energy in the dugout, you simply cannot succeed. Is it any coincidence that we were the ones slapping high fives and cracking jokes while up by 10 runs in the second-to-last inning? Meanwhile, those guys at the Queens Chronicle were all standing around looking dejected. I had half a mind to walk over to their dugout and say to them, “Hey, you milksops. If you could field anywhere near as well as you mope, you might actually be able to cut this lead in half before it’s all over.” I mentioned my motivational speech to Blaine, who, to my surprise, convinced me not to venture past our team’s bench.

“I wouldn’t go over there, Phil,” he said. “Those guys have bats.”

Yes, bats! And bats, incidentally, brings me to what I believe is the most fun aspect of softball: the violence. Not actual violence, mind you, but imaginary violence. Up there in the batting cage, I experienced a sensation akin to catharsis while pretending that the softball was the head of someone I didn’t like. Swinging my bat at that offensive skull with all my might, then actually connecting – oh man, it was like all my primitive urges drained out of me.

We must all play softball together sometime. Then we should rent cars and crash them into one another.