Thursday, September 6, 2007

A day which will live in infamy

or: I just booked my first-class ticket to hell

So I received this e-mail last week from my friend Ryan:

Dude, do you want to join a kickball league? I'm dead serious.

Because my company doesn't have a softball team, and I can't always find a pickup game of basketball, I currently lack any form of regular athletic competition. At a cookout a month back after playing a gays vs straights game of two-hand touch, I was asked if I would consider playing in a gay men's football league. I was considering it because I love playing football and would have a couple friends in the league, not because I love to bang guys (sorry fellas). But then I found this sexy kickball proposal in my inbox. After weighing my options of a co-ed kickball beer league, or a gay football league, I decided to go the kickball route. I am a very competitive person, especially when it comes to athletics, but I can tone it down depending on what sport I may be playing. When it's something like football, I'm 100% into it because it actually requires skill to do well, for kickball I think I can tone it down to 40% because the last time I played that shit I was in 6th grade and I think I went 7-for-7 with 6 homeruns. Another reason that I picked co-ed kickball over gay football is because I'd probably accidentally call someone a homo at some point during the season. Why did I bring up my competitive nature? Because the following is a sorta-recap of the worst day of competitive sports that I have ever played. I would say this one day was worse than my entire Freshman year of baseball when we didn't win a single game all season, not even scrimmages.

A couple years back my friend Marisa asked me if I wanted to play softball. Her friend was putting a team together for a charity game for Easter Seals and needed a couple more players. Being the charitable person that I am, I of course agreed. Ryan also agreed to play on the team. Because we're assholes, whenever we talked to Marisa about the game we asked that she was sure we weren't playing a team of retards. I don't remember exactly what she said but it was probably along the lines of "you have no soul for joking about that," and that we were scheduled to play against a team from Home Depot. I contended that because I was raising money for Easter Seals, it would offset any retard jokes I would make. And speaking of retards and Home Depot, I don't really trust any advice that any of their sales associates give me. If they're such experts then why the fuck are they working at Home Depot and not using their trade skills to acquire a job that undoubtedly pays more? Perhaps they just like wearing orange aprons and measuring stuff?

Because we were scheduled to play a legit team, I had to get my shit together. So for a couple weeks before the game Ryan and I trained, which consisted of getting our throwing arms back in shape. We'd play catch in the parking lot of our work during our lunch break for about 10 minutes each day. Actually, we could only play for about 10 minutes because everyday at some point Ryan would throw a frozen rope over my head which would be lost for the ages (or just end up in the parking lot of the DoubleTree that was next to our work).

So the day of the game finally arrives and the weather was fucking crazy, I wake up to thunder and lightning and downpours. I call Marisa to see if the game is still on and she said that it was. The field was about an hour away so like The Regulators, we mount up and head to our softball destiny. As we are heading south, the clouds gradually disappear and it's actually a beautiful day at the field. We meet the rest of our team and start to warm up. We see some of the Easter Seals kids hanging around the park and make a couple jokes about playing them; again we're assholes, but charitable assholes. It's getting closer to game time and we don't see anyone from the Home Depot team so I'm starting to get worried. We give the Home Depot team about an extra half hour to show up and they never do. So we win by forfeit, right?

"Here's my check, I'm heading home."

Well it turns out you can't win a charity game by forfeit, so they found us another team to play. Do I even need to tell you who was on that team?

I'll give you a minute to collect yourself.

...

..

.

Like Earl Hickey, karma just kicked our asses. The organizers of the event gathered every retarded kid that they could find and put them on the team, and maybe one or two of the extra-retarded adults. Through drinking and repression, I've erased most of that game from my memory. From what I remember, here are the highlowlights.

Everyone had to bring their own equipment. The retards brought plenty of helmets, but didn't share because they also had to wear them while in the field, so we had to "borrow" some from another game that was going on. (I now "own" a batting helmet)

When our team was up to bat: if you didn't swing it was a strike, whether the pitch be a foot over your head or landed in front of home plate. Luckily it was one of the Easter Seals volunteers pitching to us so there were a couple good pitches per at bat.

When their team was up to bat, the ump had three calls: ball, strike, they didn't mean to swing. I swear at one at bat the ump called "he didn't mean to swing" on 7 consecutive pitches.

Two fouls was an out, Ryan managed to foul out (oh yeah, this was slow pitch).

Their team got to bat around every inning, even if they got twelve outs. Actually their batting lineup fluctuated each inning, I think they kept finding more retards at the park.

Here's an actual conversation I overheard while in right field:

E. Seals volunteer: "Hey Billy, would you like to get a few cuts in?"

Billy (a retarded boy): "Daaaaaaah"

*I never actually heard that conversation happen, but then where else were these extra players coming from? I doubt that their parents were pushing them to play to make up for their own failed childhood dreams of athletic glory.

At one point the kid playing shortstop was telling me to hit the ball to his glove, so I did. He was not nominated for a SportsCenter top 10 play.

Our captain tried to raise our spirits after intentionally losing to a team of retards by saying "at least we had fun", to which I immediately deadpanned "I had no fun whatsoever." I stand by that remark to this day.

After the game we took a team photo. While lining up for the photo-op the third baseman of the retard team came over and started to taunt me, "Whee bee yoo bah!" (translation: We beat you bad) Note the intentional misspellings, because I tried to get across his flawless enunciation.

I was going to wrap this up with a note about my derogatory use of the word retard (I actually cut a bunch out), but I decided not to because if you were at all offended then you need to get a fucking life. You're what's wrong with America.

Hugs and Kisses.

-Jon

3 comments:

Ryan said...

All the emotion and heartbreak from the day just came pouring my into my consciousness. I also laughed my balls off remembering all the "he didn't mean to swing" calls that never went our way. I think the ump was on the Easter Seals payroll.

Tequila Mockingbird said...

OMFG yeah, it is like happy gillmores retirement home. i left a comment on your hooters post, but it was far back so i didnt know if you'd see it....
anyway, my friends just finished up their beer kickball (yes, like beer softball...) season. their teams name was "salvation through coleslaw"

Liston said...

"When their team was up to bat, the ump had three calls: ball, strike, they didn't mean to swing."

So dope.

Liston