Just an Average Joe

I am definitely beginning to think I am not destined to be a professional athlete.

I volunteered was coerced into joining a slow pitch team this summer. I have several concerns with that last statement. To me, slow pitch is just a game. It's meant to be fun, it shouldn't matter if you suck, or if it's been twenty years since you last played or if your glove is from 1980. It should matter that you try hard, drink a lot of beer and HAVE FUN! But that is NEVER how it is. There is always someone on the team who is super competitive and they let that get the best of them and they yell at you because you fuck up, or you drop the ball, or you strike out or you can't throw or you don't call the ball when making a catch. When they themselves seem to have forgotten that they are playing in a SLOW PITCH "BEER" LEAGUE and they are not participating in the World Series! Hey guy, I don't need to be reminded of gym class when I was eight and was picked last because I was the girl who sucked. I've spent a lot of money on therapy to repress acknowledge and progress through those feelings. I didn't come here on my day off to feel like I'm one inch tall.

That being said I have been assured that the team I have be forced to join am now a part of is strictly FUN, our goal is to win only one game. And if we can't even do that, that's okay too - cuz we look good in our new jerseys. I have also been assured that if while part of being on this team I am ever yelled at or make to feel one inch tall I can yell back and not feel bad about it.

Our first game was this past Sunday. We're called the Average Joe's - you know like the movie Dodge Ball? Yeah, "dodge ball", ironic that that's where the idea for our t-shirts came from. Dodge the ball I did not...

It was my turn up to bat, I strutted up to the plate, and by plate I mean large piece of plywood, kicked the dirt a little to make it look like I knew what I was doing, signalling to the pitcher to "look out! This one, she knows what she's doing!" I positioned myself just right and waited for the pitch. The pitcher threw me a perfect six foot arc, cuz that's how you roll in slow pitch, I kept my eye on the ball, I swung for all I was worth, and to my surprise I connected with the ball! It went at least six or seven feet I'm sure! I think who ever was after the ball bobbled it a bit, I'm not entirely sure cuz I was given' 'er all I had to first base. And then... SWACK! Slow pitch ball to the right inner thigh. Sunovabitch! I felt it spin, I felt every thread embed itself into my flesh. Holy Hannah Montana that did not tickle! But you know what? It wasn't an out, I got the base! Hey hot shot, how do ya like me now?! I couldn't stand or even finish my run, but I got the base.

Below is a photo of my bruise the day it happened. It didn't come out quite as clearly as I had hoped, but you can see it's the exact size of a soft ball.


The photo above is from Tuesday (two days later) - the purple part has spread to nearly nine inches around! I've never experienced a bruise of this magnitude! And so painful, walking is nearly impossible. I'd like to keep photo documenting this and I hope to update again once the bruise has reached the sludgy green colour! (Sorry for the creepy one legged photo, kinda looks like I detached my leg and propped it up for the photo shoot.)

When I told a co-worker that I was playing slow pitch on the weekend she exclaimed: "How are you going to play ball? You can't even ride a bike!" There go my dreams of making the next Olympic bobsled team!