I totally played softball last night for the first time in 20 years. Okay, maybe 18.
This is a weird story.
So I'm trying to get updated info on single adults ages 22-29 at FBC because we're starting a new Sunday School class for them (us). I've been emailing parents, calling phone numbers, talking to random people who have taken over those numbers or addresses... blah blah whatever.
So there's this guy named Jeb who I heard is currently living with his parents. I called them to speak with Jeb, to get his email so I could forward him the info. So I explain to him who I am, and what I'm doing. I get his email and we hang up. Not three seconds later, he calls back...
"Do you play softball?"
"Umm, not since I was a little girl...why?"
"Well, I coach this team and we need a girl player tonight or we'll forfeit. Wanna play?"
So I have this dilemma in my mind. I'm kind of shy (believe it or not) at meeting new people, I could talk or sing in front of a thousand people, but one on one with peers I don't know... plus, I suck at softball and am totally out of shape. Not to mention, I hardly know this dude. But then again, I need to network, show my parishioners I am interested in their lives... blah blah minister crap.
"Okay, I'll do it. What time?"
"9:15pm Kreig park."
So I get to the field, it's dark, I've gotten lost twice, but I do finally arrive and meander up to the group of people wearing the shirts Jeb had described. Oh god.
"Are you Ann?"
He introduces me to the other players who are dressed in total sports attire: wind pants, matching tee-shirts, etc. I'm in jeans and green tennis shoes...
"Let's warm up." He hands me a mit (because I obviously don't have one) and I steal at glance at his own to see which hand he has it on. The left. I should have remembered that.
He throws me the ball. I drop it. Oops. He throws another. I manage to catch this one, but wince at the sting it makes in my hand behind the glove. What a wus.
"Let's play ball," the ref calls out. So we herd into the dugout, and I am so nervous I could shrivel up and die. What am I doing here?
So I make multiple gross apologies for my ineptness in advance to my newfound teammates. I watch them hit and they're doing pretty well. No grand slams, but they've obviously played before tonight.
Then comes my turn at bat. Oh god, what am I doing here?
But I hit the ball. I always was okay at that (ahem, in the third grade). But as I'm sprinting to first, they easily throw it to the baseman and I'm out. Third out of course. Innings over. Oh well.
The game continues and Jeb puts me in as catcher (he must have noticed my horrible weak throwing arm) and warns me not to get to close to the batter so I don't get hit. Well, now I'm terrified I will (you know only I would return to softball after 19 years and get hit by the damn batter). So, of course I don't catch a single ball cause I'm too scared to get too close. And so the ump starts trying to slow them down and stop them with his legs and feet so that I don't have to go running after them every time. Then he gets whacked hard in the shins cause I miss a ball and it hits him. He has to walk off his injury. I'm mortified and giggling nervously, trying to crack jokes so he doesn't throw me out of the field.
And the rest of the game continued pretty much like that.
I did manage to "score" in the last inning, so that was fun. (I accidentally told my secretary at work that I had scored a goal. "Scored a run, darling," she corrected me.) One of the girls laughed at me cause I like to jump on the base when I land. It's more graceful I feel.
I grew up a dancer, not an athlete.
Although with my brilliant show last night, maybe I chose the wrong career.
Then again, maybe not.