Softball! Aaaah softball, how I love thee. How if only I could play all
day until my muscles rebelled and I were forced to limp home in agony.
Well, maybe that part doesn’t sound so hot. That’s more or less what I
did after our first practice.

We had our first game last Thursday and actually didn’t stink! We lost
nine to six, but considering they were one of the best teams in the
league last year, that’s not so bad. I was happy because I actually hit
the ball when I was up to bat and didn’t embarrass myself in right
field.

Tonight was our second game and we lost again fourteen to four or
fourteen to six or sixteen to four or something like that. Apparently
last year they killed us thirty-nine to fourteen. I hear that we were
in the middle of the road last year as far as our standing in the
league, so we should be able to win here one of these days. Of course,
I’m so delighted to be on the team that I don’t really mind losing.

I don’t even mind playing outfield, which I usually hate because it’s
running here and there and back and forth and the other way. If I
wanted actual exercise in my sporting arrangements, I’d play basketball
or soccer (both of which I hate, although soccer is slightly better
than basketball)! Actually, tonight I played second base for the
first half, then got subbed out (we have tons of players on our team,
so half the team subs out mid-game), then got subbed back in for the
left fielder and that wasn’t really too bad either.

You know, my attitude toward playing outfield may be slightly colored
by the fact that I played outfield a little bit when I was a kid and we
had a massive, mutual dislike. My very earliest ballgame memories are
from my first grade tee ball team. I was the only girl on the entire
team (which I had actually forgotten until a team picture recently
resurfaced at my parents house), and I always got stuck in left field.

Since little first graders can’t actually usually hit into the
outfield, I pretty much spent the entire season doing ballet back
behind the third baseman. It was horribly dull. I think my parents have
home movies of this. Playing outfield as an adult is a bit more
interesting because the ball actually comes to you on occasion.

We had a big church game last week at camp, and I managed to strike out
two or three of the four times I was up and generally played abysmally.
After the game was over, our Coach graciously hung around so a few of
us could do batting practice, and I hit nearly every ball thrown to me.

Since I had half an hour before played like someone who should be
kicked off the team immediately, this was a mite distressing. When I
asked the Coach why I could do it now, he said I was thinking too much
earlier during the actual game. Well, that’s no good! We play GAMES in
the league. Hitting would be a plus.

After pondering this advice for a couple of days, we played another
pickup game and I got to practice my new anti-thinking strategy.
Whenever I was up to bat or pitch, I started singing in my head so that
then I was thinking about the song and not the ball.

It worked great! I
smacked every ball and generally played well. Phew! Apparently there
are some situations when be brainless is a big help. Of course,
considering the antics of many Major League ball players, this should
have been obvious…

This strategy continues to work well, and I
haven’t had any more batting problems during the games. Thank you,
Coach, for letting me monopolize more of your time than any one else on
the team and helping me not stink on the field!

Rachel

Written by Rachel Shubin ~ Fiendish friend for effusive fun!