The company I work for is looking for softball recruits. Its spring, time for company softball teams to form. I answered that call several years ago, at another company I worked for. Sounded like fun at the time. I hadn’t played softball since high school. As a new recruit, they made me catcher. I’m a tomboy, raised on a ranch, so I can catch, throw and hit the ball pretty good. But, I spent all my time chasing after the ball, getting up and down, and great exercise for your thighs. That got old real quick. The worst part was the umpires. I sympathize with the baseball saying, Kill the ump. One ump dropped his whistle on my head. He didn’t apologize; in fact, he didn’t even acknowledge he bounced his whistle off my head. Another stood so close, it felt like a tango, constantly rubbing up against me. By the end of the game, I was ready to deck him. If I was a hot babe, maybe it made sense, but I’m not a hot babe. I didn’t sign up next year; one season of getting hustled and bumped by the umps was enough for me.
I asked Jack if he had a softball story. He didn’t but his Dad did. His Dad played softball. Turns out his Dad played catcher, too. One game, the ball bounced to left and it looked easier to catch with his left hand, the one without the glove. Took the top of his finger right off, well, it was hanging by a sinew. Luckily that meant the doctor popped the finger up right again and just sewed it back together. I guess the moral to this story is a softball isn’t that soft, so use your glove.
Got softball stories? I’d love to hear them.