My little girls just finished their second year of rec softball. I could not be happier that it's over (for lots of reasons) and I may be a hermit for the rest of the summer. I'm not kidding about being a hermit. Anyway, I thought I'd share my thoughts on the softball season, from my perspective — a woman who could not care less about sports and who doesn't like people in general and who counts the sun as her number one enemy.
Here's the thing about softball: it's not baseball. The rules are different. The infield is dirt. It's weird. Now, I enjoyed going to see the Braves in Atlanta because it was fun and some of the players were cute. Plus, Turner Field had great ballpark food. Not so much at the little girl level.
We started practicing in March. It wasn't super hot. I would stay during practice. Some parents would drop their daughters off, but not me because I've seen too many episodes of Dateline and I'm paranoid. And the younger daughter has a case of the "didya see me"s.
And they have snow cones.
Prior to the start of the season I liked the name Blaine ("Blaine? His name is Blaine? That's a major appliance, not a name?" — name that movie). I can no longer say I like that name. One of the siblings on one of the teams was named Blaine. His mother said, "no, Blaine," "stop it, Blaine," "I said stop it, Blaine," "come here, Blaine," etc for the entire length of practices and games. This was the same child who wore cowboy boots to the games and walked up and down the metal bleachers because people like to annoy the hell out of me. "Oh, he's just a kid, Kerry," the hubs said. I don't care. And cowboy boots should be outlawed on bleachers.
It was Africa hot at the ballpark. I am very fair-skinned and do not like to sweat, so this was a problem. I had to shower twice a day, which I don't like because my hair does best when air-dried and it didn't have time to dry before bed. Then I'd wake up with crazy hair. Crazy = wavy on one side, super curly on the other. My makeup would melt off at the ballpark. Not good. Yes, I have to wear makeup to the ballpark, I'm that vain.
There were many characters at the ballpark. I call them characters because I'm still not sure they exist in real life outside the ballpark. I nicknamed them for your convenience.
- Inappropriate Mom twice wore sarongs with a bikini top on underneath. She wore Keds with two different colored socks with one sarong. Neither color was in the sarong. Last week she wore a tube top tied above the waist and sequined shoes. She was a walking "don't" from a magazine.
- Overenthusiastic Uncle was not a coach, but thought he was. He stayed in the dugout during games and yelled "way to go!' and "great hit" and "you gotta get those" to our catcher. He was her uncle. He needed to lay off the Powerade.
- Older Parents were about 15 years older than the rest of us. They were constantly talking about achievements of their kids and their kids would come sit with them on the stands when they weren't on the field or up to bat. It was odd.
- Nude Pantyhose was one of the Older Parents. I didn't realize people still wore panty hose. She wore nude pantyhose with her polyester '80s suits she wore to the ballpark. I can only imagine how hot those suits were in the 97 degree heat.
- Overstimulated was a mom who only came to a few games. When she came, she would come with her 4 year-old twins and would leave if they got "overstimulated". Her word, not mine, especially during the Weiner scandal.
- Gold Chain was one of the coaches on another team.
- Wikkiwikkiwikki was a dad who was easily 7 feet tall, brought his own chair, iPod dock, and fan to each game. When he worked the scoreboard he looked like a DJ because he kept his earbuds in at all times, thus the nickname. He seemed to be stoned each time I spoke with him.
There were other characters too, but the ones I mentioned were the most entertaining. I'm beyond thrilled that the season is finished and the girls have their trophies and I that I am in air conditioning tonight, but I am missing the snow cone stand.
