About a quarter of a million years ago, I played some of your old work-league softball. We had jerseys and beer and gloves and balls and bats and heart and big mouths and some kind of willingness to play a game for a while before going out and having more beer.
Fast forward to the modern times, and “they” have added all these rules and safety concerns and all sorts of falderal. First base is now twice as long and is half orange and half white. There’s a place for the defensive side and a place for the runner. For safety, they must not ever touch. It’s the sporting equivalent of an Orthodox bride keeping on her side of the sheet with the hole.
The team I have joined is not good. I do absolutely nothing to raise the curve of not good.
I’m incredibly special needs. I want to play ball. I know the rules and what’s supposed to happen, but like many an enthusiastic mentally handicapped child there’s a giant gap between my desire and my physical coordination. Last night I grabbed the ball off the ground on the edge of center field with the intend of throwing it to home. Somehow, I managed to stretch my arm above my head in a spastic throwing motion and drop it on my head. As I paused to marvel at my stupidity and slowly shagged the ball that had rolled down my back and away from me, the runners all comfortably reached their bases.
By the way, if you are special needs, but at an educable level such as I am, there is nothing worse than the polite encouragement from your team. That “good try” telegraphs “we all know you have special needs but are doing our best to be tolerant and let you mainstream.”
The rule that seemed absolutely un-American in terms of tradition, but sadly completely American in terms of liability and litigiousness and an incredibly pussified fear of injury, is the newfangled way a runner is supposed to handle scoring a run. The runner cannot touch home plate. Instead he/she runs wide and lets the catcher hold the ground to tag the base. A runner’s tagging the metaphorically loaded, traditional home base is out and no run is scored.
Sadly, even the Canadian Special Olympics allow for the runner to tag up and forgive it, if there’s no play at home. Not so out league.
That out was the difference between a 30 to zip loss and a 30-1. That out was the difference between dignity.
I don’t date special needs
more fool you then hot hot asian indeed sounds like you have had a double bum burner curry cleared from your system
Shouldn’t you be wearing a helmet ? Preferably a bright pink one with stickers of butterflys, rainbows, Donny Osmond & the Partridge family ?
you now need a helmet to eat a double bum burner curry ???
still sounds cute
perhaps you use the helmet as a trap