Ball 12: Kicking Asses
Jul. 21st, 2006 12:17 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
penfieldAfter three days of ungodly heat, Heat with a capital-H, with the kind of intensity to which even Heat experts Dwyane Wade, Al Pacino and Jessica Alba can only aspire, the weather finally cooled off to a relatively brisk 92 degrees on Wednesday night, just in time for my first softball game in more than three weeks.
Early July is always a tough time to get a game together, not just with the July 4 holiday but also because the midsummer weather forecast for the Capital Beltway region usually looks like a backdrop for The Tempest. Thundershowers are expected at least every other day, and intrepid meteorologists are never sure exactly which day, so they just draw lightning bolts all over the place.
But Wednesday was dry, which meant that pretty much everyone who could scrounge up a uniform was on the national mall. In a fresh change from our usual spot, we played on the west side of the Washington Monument, amid the alumni softball teams and the recreational kickball teams. You can always spot the alumni teams immediately because they sport professionally-embroidered, school-sponsored team apparel and share complex pre-game routines like rallying cries, alma maters and beer pong. The kickball teams are obviously distinguishable by the big red rubber ball and their incessant drooling.
I do not think very highly of kickball players, especially those who should be old enough to tie their own shoes. These are people who are so emotionally stunted that they want to step into the Wayback Machine and land in fourth grade gym class; they probably go home after their games, do their multiplication tables and watch "Alf" reruns. At least with dodgeball, these pathetic man-children are ritually shamed and degraded by their peers. But kickball is so juvenile and genteel, it's like a cross between hopscotch and wearing a dress.
Anyway, these delicate playground weenies claimed to have a permit for a field that happened to be right in the middle of our outfield. We managed to coexist peacefully until about the third inning when they started objecting to our long fly balls dropping precariously close to their heads. At first, it amounted to little more than squalking between our game's managers, who were earnestly trying to make the best of an unfortunate situation, and their game's managers, who were apparently irritable because they had just wet their diapers. Then in the sixth inning, one of our batters launched a towering shot into their field, almost seriously wounding someone who honestly should have been wearing a helmet. Immediately the kickball managers dropped their doilies and ran over, screaming about potential liability or something. I wasn't really paying attention because I was waiting for their voices to change.
Finally an adjacent field opened up and we moved our game, free of target practice. By the way, we pretty much dominated the other team, winning by a greater degree than the 31-18 score would suggest. The fast condition of the new field gave them at least a third of their runs, and by that time our defense was exhausted from running the bases.
Back to the mall next week, I'm guessing, where we can take aim at tourists instead. They whine just as much as the kickball players, but at least they're much slower.
July 19, 2006
Blue Team (6-2)
WIN, 31-18
BATTING: 4-5, 1 double, 1 home run, 3 runs, 3 RBI
PITCHING: 7 innings, 18 runs
FIELDING: 7 innings, 1 error (throwing)
Season-to-Date
BATTING: 62 AB, 42 hits (.677 AVG) 16 doubles, 4 triple, 6 HR (1.516 SLG) 33 runs, 31 RBI
PITCHING: 52.2 innings, 140 runs (18.61 RA, per 7 innings; 23.92 RA, per 9)
FIELDING: 76.2 innings, 10 errors
Early July is always a tough time to get a game together, not just with the July 4 holiday but also because the midsummer weather forecast for the Capital Beltway region usually looks like a backdrop for The Tempest. Thundershowers are expected at least every other day, and intrepid meteorologists are never sure exactly which day, so they just draw lightning bolts all over the place.
But Wednesday was dry, which meant that pretty much everyone who could scrounge up a uniform was on the national mall. In a fresh change from our usual spot, we played on the west side of the Washington Monument, amid the alumni softball teams and the recreational kickball teams. You can always spot the alumni teams immediately because they sport professionally-embroidered, school-sponsored team apparel and share complex pre-game routines like rallying cries, alma maters and beer pong. The kickball teams are obviously distinguishable by the big red rubber ball and their incessant drooling.
I do not think very highly of kickball players, especially those who should be old enough to tie their own shoes. These are people who are so emotionally stunted that they want to step into the Wayback Machine and land in fourth grade gym class; they probably go home after their games, do their multiplication tables and watch "Alf" reruns. At least with dodgeball, these pathetic man-children are ritually shamed and degraded by their peers. But kickball is so juvenile and genteel, it's like a cross between hopscotch and wearing a dress.
Anyway, these delicate playground weenies claimed to have a permit for a field that happened to be right in the middle of our outfield. We managed to coexist peacefully until about the third inning when they started objecting to our long fly balls dropping precariously close to their heads. At first, it amounted to little more than squalking between our game's managers, who were earnestly trying to make the best of an unfortunate situation, and their game's managers, who were apparently irritable because they had just wet their diapers. Then in the sixth inning, one of our batters launched a towering shot into their field, almost seriously wounding someone who honestly should have been wearing a helmet. Immediately the kickball managers dropped their doilies and ran over, screaming about potential liability or something. I wasn't really paying attention because I was waiting for their voices to change.
Finally an adjacent field opened up and we moved our game, free of target practice. By the way, we pretty much dominated the other team, winning by a greater degree than the 31-18 score would suggest. The fast condition of the new field gave them at least a third of their runs, and by that time our defense was exhausted from running the bases.
Back to the mall next week, I'm guessing, where we can take aim at tourists instead. They whine just as much as the kickball players, but at least they're much slower.
July 19, 2006
Blue Team (6-2)
WIN, 31-18
BATTING: 4-5, 1 double, 1 home run, 3 runs, 3 RBI
PITCHING: 7 innings, 18 runs
FIELDING: 7 innings, 1 error (throwing)
Season-to-Date
BATTING: 62 AB, 42 hits (.677 AVG) 16 doubles, 4 triple, 6 HR (1.516 SLG) 33 runs, 31 RBI
PITCHING: 52.2 innings, 140 runs (18.61 RA, per 7 innings; 23.92 RA, per 9)
FIELDING: 76.2 innings, 10 errors
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
Rollin' with your homies?
Date: 2006-07-24 04:08 pm (UTC)Re: Rollin' with your homies?
Date: 2006-07-25 05:41 pm (UTC)Re: Rollin' with your homies?
Date: 2006-07-30 12:25 pm (UTC)Re: Rollin' with your homies?
Date: 2006-07-31 01:11 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2006-07-25 12:45 pm (UTC)So, watching ALF reruns makes you sad and pathetic, but A-Team reruns are okay, right? Please say yes.
-Phil
Bad-Ass Baracus
Date: 2006-07-25 05:39 pm (UTC)And the A-Team is one-hundred percent cool. Especially the theme song.