three kinds of co-rec softball players:

1) the ultra-competitive dork, the type that will argue with umps

2) the person who royally sucks, and is there to look hopeless at the plate and to hide from the ball defensively. this person will probably be gone by week 4.

3) some combination of two: somebody who doesn't suck, plays hard and has some competitive edge. but does it with good nature, chattering in left field, and making jokes with the opposition.

I'm generally a 3), and it embarrassed the hell out of me tonight.

Situation: It's game two. We went down 7-0 after the top of the first, got three back in the bottom half. That was it. It's now the bottom of the fourth, and we're leading 18-8. Five runs and we end the game.

I'm 2-for-3 so far in the game, and I'm batting with nobody out after a leadoff walk. I ground sharply to first. Renee, the 45-to-55 year-old first baseman, knocks it down. (She had made a nice play in the first inning, retiring me on a 3-unassisted.) She picks it up, starts toward first. I accelerate. I bear down. She hustles to first. I get to the bag. She gets to the bag. She lunges for the bag. I lunge for the bag. Her head collides with my sternum. Ball - and, more importantly, she - goes flying. She spins in the air. She lands on her backside. Her head slams into the dirt.

...

I cover my face. I locate her glasses and pick them up. I wipe away the sweat, then cover my face again.

Her team (great pinstriped, two-button t-shirts, by the way) gathers round. Somebody brings an ice bag. "How are you?" a teammate asks. "A little bit dizzy." She stays down for five minutes. During this time, somebody points to me, leaning against the fence, and says "He's out, right?" Ump indicates that I'm not; the ball had gone flying.

The delay ends, and she exits the game. She's watching, husband (or brother with whom she has a creepy relationship) now with hand on shouulder in dugout, as I, the girl who walked in front of me, and three others score. We go through the "Good game" line, and I'm too embarrassed to enjoy the Moises-Corey-Sammy leaping high five with the Sprott-rocket; the post-game routine gets left undone.

Instead, I awkwardly go over. A teammate asks how she is. I look guilty and apologetic.

Later, I confirm the spelling of her name. I then decide to bring them a Welcome Back Renee cake for next week. But that was probably the alcohol talking. (Sprott-rocket and I also sang Dashboard Confessional's "Screaming Infidelities" in the between-games drinking hour. "YOUR HAIR. IT'S EVERYWHERE." and "AS FOR NOW, I'M GONNA HEAR THE SADDEST SONG. AND SIT ALONE. AND WONDER HOW. YOU'RE MAKING OUT. AND AS FOR ME. I WISH THAT I WAS ANYWHERE. WITH ANYONE. MAKING OUT." and "WHEN DID YOUR EYES! BEGIN TO LOOK FAKE!?" I love that awful, and yet fantastic, pop song.)

Still, it was pretty awful. Probably her fault (there are two bags, and she went for mine.). But, really, it just sucked. Damper on a fantastically-fun night.

- - - - - -

We were short a girl (required four to play, our fourth girl arrived 15 minutes late; she had given a teammate poor directions. Or maybe he just couldn't follow them.) and therefore forfeited game one. So "we played for fun," then destroyed them.

I was 4-for-4 in the game.

I was 3-for-4 in game two. With a double. I think I scored seven runs, although I'm not sure. I didn't drive anyone in, I don't think.

That makes the line for the season: 9-for-10 (.900), nine runs, two RBI, eight singles, one double. I think. Can't complain about the results at the plate.

I played a poor left field in the opener, misplaying a line single into a bad-hop double. In the nightcap, I cutoff a ball in front of me and fired a wild throw to the plate. Poor defense again.

I also played third base in game one, picking up a chopper, doing an unnecessary spin (I'm a lefty) and throwing wild to first.

Overall, strong offense (out of the leadoff spot) and poor defense. But we're not bad. (The team we destroyed in the opener won in the second game, moving them to 1-5. That means that we're perhaps better than at least three of the 12 teams, at least.)

6 p.m. and 8 p.m next week. I'll be at the Metrodome on Tuesday night, checking out of the hotel and driving back in time for the game on Wednesday. Woof.

- - - - - -

Arrogance from a guy who broadcasts high school football...
I'm working "the board" Thursday night for a high school game. It's 30 bucks for about three hours, which is nice. So he calls to confirm that I'll be there. I will. What station are we on? He tells me. Okay. That one's a bit more difficult. You'll call on the Vector, and, to talk to you, I'll...

"I haven't done that since college. That was ten years ago. Now, I'm strictly 'the talent.' "

Maybe it wasn't arrogant, but it seemed it. I hope I'm not that way, and I don't think I am.

"In fact, I'm probably the most humble person I know."
- Ray Lewis, in HBO's Hard Knocks