Why I Love My New Teammates

One of the things I will miss greatly about not playing softball once I retire...

(No, that's not a good way to start this. I've retired about six times already, so nobody will buy it if I start spouting that nonsense again. Anyway, some unkind souls might be moved to say I haven't actually been playing softball for a while, anyway, and I don't want to have to find them and kick their asses. Let me see if I can re-word the opening.)

I like my new teammates because they are seriously demented.

(Yes, much better.)

The guys on Quencher are uniformly intelligent and have high baseball/softball IQs (not necessarily the same thing, as I've known very intelligent people who had no clue, after having played the game for 20 or 25 years, what exactly has to come into play in order for the infield fly rule to take effect, say, or that, yes, a run scoring on your fielder's choice counts as an RBI.) They have been unfailingly kind in accepting me as a teammate despite my being at least 20 years older than any of them (and often playing like maybe it was 30 years, not 20.) They're talented sons of bitches, too, and I'm glad I'm getting a ride on the coattails of a team such as this, one that has a legit shot at winning the league championship.

Still, they are demented. Allow me to offer some proof.

A couple of days ago, some of us were trying to convince two guys (Jesse Carlton and Mike Curadossi) to put aside other plans in order to make it for our regular season finale against the undefeated Shenanigans team (happening tomorrow, and I'll give you the results come Monday.) The problem was that this game was scheduled for a Saturday, totally outside of the usual expectation for scheduling in our league, and they had made plans with family or something. Fair enough. If guys had family obligations, that's kind of understandable. However, that didn't stop us from guilt-tripping hell out of them to try and make them show up, anyway.

Here's the e-mail back-and-forth that happened, in chronological order as best I can reconstruct it. Understand that ALL team members could read every e-mail; nothing was hidden from anyone.

Leo Evriviades - ... canceled my trip to NYC for this shit! Gotta get my bat going before playoffs - Need the reps.

Bob Carlson - That's what we call a team player! Leez is making you look bad, Jesse!

Leo - I have a feeling we can reel in The Tuna for Saturday....isn't our gm early like 9:30?

Bob - 10:30 game, he'll be in [his] ride by 1:30pm. We need to lay the team guilt trip on thick. Curadossi also.

Mike Briggs - I'm skipping my 90 year-old grandma's birthday brunch to be there. She goes to bed immediately after brunch so I won't even get to see her. Sigh.

Ryan Caswell - I don't have any family up here, but if I did, I would absolutely miss it for Saturday's game. Just sayin'.

Me - Instead of a guilt trip, I'll threaten them. If either them doesn't make the game, I'll start myself in their place and then enter MY stats under THEIR names. That should do it.

Bob - Hahaha, unfortunately that could be an improvement for Curadossi...

Me - Oooooooooooooooh. I'd come to the Saturday game just to punch Bob in the nose, Mike.

Mike Curadossi - Wow, that's a low blow! Figuring how I've been like 9 for my last 10 at bats I will disregard those uneducated comments. I've been commuting to our games from The Cape for the past month.... Cut me some slack here...

Me - I've been commuting to our games from Cedar Junction!

(FYI: That's a Massachusetts maximum security prison.)

Briggs - As the reigning Player Of The Week, I feel I should weigh in here. But I won't.

Ryan - Briggs is the Player Of The Week with a 2.34

(Totally random. Yes, Mike Briggs was Player Of The Week. Anything to do with this conversation? Of course not! The number refers to a formula used to determine who gets the award. Briggs' number was the lowest of any winner.)

Briggs - Wait? That's updated? Haha. What can I say? I'm just... locked in.

Nate Spada - My wife was attacked in our backyard by our neighbor's escaped pet gorilla late last night. She's having experimental face transplant surgery at Brigham and Women's hospital at 10:30 a.m. on Saturday. I'll be at the game, though. I think that it will be good therapy for me to continue to live my life as I normally would. Besides, she'll be loaded up on meds and doesn't have a face to be able to give me that disappointed "I should have married my ex-boyfriend instead of you" look.

Jesse Carlton - Do any of u work during the day?

Ryan - I actually don't work.

Me - I just sit around doing Brigg's stats all day.

Briggs - You should hire an assistant.

Me - Yeah, it IS a lot of work, the way you fill up all the columns on any given night. I hear Ryan is looking for a job. Do you think he'd be interested?

Ryan - no

Bob - He's too busy reading 50 Shades of Gray.

(I happened to check the league website for something, and saw that Briggs had been supplanted as Player Of The Week by another player.)

Me - Well, this is what happens when some teammates are too selfish to help me keep Briggs' stats...

Briggs - Thanks a lot, guys.

Nate - Is everyone really more concerned about Briggs and Curadossi's stats than what me and my wife are going through? Friends off, I'm going to the beach Saturday morning.

And so on...

In the end, I think we got Jesse to play (he said he'll be there, but I think he was half in the bag when he said it - or maybe I was half in the bag when I heard it; one or the other.) Curadossi, however, appears determined to remain on The Cape, totally uncaring about the tears he would have caused Nate Spada's wife if she still had tear ducts with which to cry.

Soon, with more better stuff.