EVERYBODY BATS, EVEN THE SIMPLE GUYS

A lot of people draw me privately aside and ask what the B stands for. Of course I can't tell them because I don't know. I can barely keep track of my personal items like my cell phone, wallet and keys. Softball is just added pressure—where did I leave my glove (the brown one with the giant hole in it), my softball bag, my sunglasses, my hat. Every week I root around the laundry piles in search of my ridiculous polyester softball pants, a shirt that doesn't smell too bad and a pair of dress socks that complete the ensemble.

I'm a simple man, really. I try to keep a few things going and hope that the rest of the stuff will work itself out. Kindness of strangers is critical to my game plan, as is a lack of traffic on the way home and the hope that the deadline can be extended. Otherwise there is going to be trouble and I may very well be the lonely one left holding the bag when the music finally grinds to a halt.

I was feeling pretty lonely mid-afternoon before the game. Previously scheduled vacations, work commitments, a rumor about a baby Weness had diminished our roster to the cutting edge. Then, a note George titled: “Sadly, No grounders, walks, dagos or Premo For Georgie Tonight.” Then, a call from Zin who claimed to be in “perfect condition for the game” except for his lack of a babysitter for his kids. He'd called Phoebe several times but at that point she hadn't called him back. Would she get the message in time? Would we even have enough men to field a team?

Gathering at the field we had eight guys, one short of a technical roster when Zin showed up. He'd found a few homeless people to watch his kids. And as we took the field “Mr. Vacation” Black showed up to fill our final open slot. We had managed to pull it together one more week.

“Pull it together” is what I told myself as I approached the plate twice on Wednesday. Each time there were two outs and my mates counting on me to do something unexpected like creating a hit that would allow us to continue batting. It turns out most softball players prefer batting to fielding. As previously noted, I'm a simple man that on his best day might approach basic athletic skills. So I'm not all that excited about having to bat with two outs with people wishing something good would happen.

The first time, I was rewarded with the kindness of strangers—a third basemen who fired the ball so fast and hard to his colleague that the ball was bobbled and I was declared “safe” on first base. No good deed goes unpunished—the next three or four guys got hits and I scored a run. The second time I was up, I was able to squeak a little hit into the outfield. I didn't hit it hard but the connection was sweet and the ball sailed and I was able to round first and “take a look.” It was a fabulous feeling.

I dwell on my own performance not to suggest that I had extraordinary play. In fact, my hits were quite ordinary for the B-Squad this week. We hit the ball better than we have in years. Everybody, it seemed, got on base through some combination of skill and the kindness of strangers. We scored runs in virtually every inning and put together a strong rally one inning where we scored five runs. This week B stood for “Batting” and the results spoke for themselves.

Our defense was not impressive. In this capacity, I would like to claim two terrific moments where I was able to be kind to strangers on the other team. How we all longed to have Tom Burrell on second base instead of our poorly equipped team administrator! These easy balls slipped from my grasp and the resulting base runners looked away from me as if I was a source of personal shame to them as well as myself.

There were some shining moments in the field. The most remarkable one was a Marty Owens sprint to the ball (surprisingly just beyond the attention of the second baseman), sliding and pulling the ball out like a prize scoop of vanilla ice cream.

So offense was our story and the hero of the story was Keith “Shag” Anderson. He had a dinger of a home run where he almost held at third and then decided to beat it out to the rousing cheers of his colleagues. It was a pretty hit and part of a rally that felt so good that the actual score just didn't seem to matter that much.


Cape Batteras: Lots of good potential for Cape votes this week. Zin for making child care arrangements, Phoebe for considering taking care of his kids. Marty for his tremendous fielding and some good trips to the bat. The voting concentrated finally on one man who, as the nominator suggested, “Deserves to hit because it means so much more to him than it does to me.” Keith “HR” Anderson take a bow!