(E)xcept for Me, Everyone Loves Baseball…
At least, it seems that way at the bajillions of tee-ball, soft-ball, hybrid, fast-pitch, rookie, and bullshit games I go to. My god daughters KitKat and Short Round play softball every summer. I go, but every parent in the crowds laughs at my inability to… like?…be fond of?…enjoy?…tolerate?…the game.
For fuck’s sake, all the parents know that I’m the one that says, “Go team! Do the thing! Get the points!” and, my family and friend’s personal favorite, “That’s not terrible!” I mean, I cannot ever prove that their skills are not good, but I can prove that their skills are not NOT good, hence, not terrible. Simple statistical logic.
There are three simple reasons that I don’t like baseball: dad, everyone gets a trophy, and summer (oh sweet merciful God, the heat).
My dad loved baseball. I mean, super-cali-fuck-ilistic-expiali-shitastic loved it. We watch it; we analyzed it; we pitched and caught it in the yard. One time, I missed it and it hit me square in the chest. My first lesson in Maslow’s hierarchy of needs: not food, but air. I played tee-ball as soon as I could and hated every minute of it. When I didn’t like it, dad put me in the hybrid 7-under league thinking I would like playing “real-er” baseball. I didn’t. This kept going forever. I purposely broke my glasses, lost my glove, even bent my bat — that didn’t happen until I hit bambino league and had the strength to do it (when the real rules kick in, according to dear old dad). I was the kid they put in far right field for the minimum amount of time required by the league rules. I was saved when I hit high school and there weren’t any non-school teams to play on anymore. But I do have the trophies to remember my days of bondage.
Why does everyone get a trophy? My team won several games, even once we won a championship. I had the skill of a well rounded hippopotamus attempting to hit a nail with a sledge hammer, so it wasn’t me winning. But I still got a trophy. Once I even tried to give the trophy back in a gesture of humility — at least for a 10 year old. I was told, “Oh honey, you’re on the team, so you helped too.” I could feel the eye roll from the coach from across the field. Even today, I don’t get my students “fluff” grades because I don’t think your academic salary should be “we you showed up and stood there for the minimum time required”. Giving everyone a trophy lowers the bar of expectations, on and off the field. It is not that they didn’t try and they don’t deserve recognition, but they don’t deserve equal recognition to winners—otherwise, why is it competition? The only competition this hippo was in it to win it for was to find shade.
If photosynthesis and gravitational pull weren’t necessary to retain the necessary level of life on Earth as it currently exists, I would wipe the sun from the sky like a skid mark left from taco Tuesday. Summer is the worst time of year, I live in a temperate zone on a river and within deciduous biome; which for non-science people means hot and humid summer, a.k.a the devil’s taint. Every softball game I go to involves stepping out into the summer and sacrificing my pale flesh to Helios’s hellish ways, and the sweet supple flesh of my ankle to God’s creepiest critters: mosquitoes. I am a delicacy among the insect kingdom. This only makes me embrace the motto: introverts unite! Individually, online, in your own home, at your convenience.
So, the sport as a whole is not too bad. It is, in fact, the only sport to which I know all the rules (thanks dad). And I can even tolerate recognition that every player at least stuck it through to the end. But the heat is the worst, though I will endure it for KitKat and Short Round. Maybe one day I’ll like it. Maybe one day Hell will freeze over and I will finally cool down too.
Everyone is supposed to eat the rainbow — you know, orange carrots, red bell pepper, even purple potatoes. I’m pretty sure that the little green heart counts, so if you liked it please click it and let me know so I get all the nutrients I need to make it through the day.