Posted by Daniel Mayfield 6 comments

Just when you start to regain a little confidence, someone has to come along and symbolically pull your shorts down in front of a girl, exposing your small, insignificant...softball skills. This is what happened to me last weekend when I was invited by a few guys from college to play a 'friendly' game of softball.

This was the first time I'd played since grade school, but I had full confidence that I would go out there and show everybody how athletic I was.

The beginning of my troubles began immediately after arriving at the stadium (unkempt elementary baseball field.) "Hey Daniel! Why don't you go ahead and grab all the gear out of the back of the truck!? Thanks." Everyone else had gone on ahead of me while I was left to 'Water Boy' duties. Ten minutes after being asked to grab the stuff, I arrived with a smorgasbord of metal and wooden bats, a few balls, a cooler, and a small remaining slice of dignity.

Shortly afterward we began to 'warm up' (throw the ball back and forth within a twenty foot distance.) We did this until we thought an adequate amount of warming up had occurred, and then we proceeded to partake in an activity so crucial to a man's position in social class, that if you fail, you will likely become the center of humiliation and atomic wedgies. Of course, I'm talking about picking teams. This is an activity where everyone picks two of the coolest people out of a group to be 'The Captains'. The Captains are so cool that they get to pick everyone who they want on their team. Everyone just loves The Captains. They are loved so much that everyone else lines up along the fence with only the smallest hopes of being picked by one of them. The coolest people are always picked first. Generally they have a cool nickname like 'The Crusher', or 'Thunderthighs'. "I got T-Bag on MY team," one of the captains will say. "I wish I had a nickname," I thought to myself. "Something like, 'Tyrannosaurus D', or something like that." In the meantime, everyone else was being picked. Finally, we reached what is likely the most pivotal point in a man's life. The final two. Here I stood next to a tall fat guy eating a corn dog. "There is no way they are gonna pick THAT guy" I thought to myself. Just then he was picked and I was standing against the fence with the former image of a man impressed into my jockies. "Ah, well I guess we'll take you then." The guys on my team said. This is a modern form of what ancients used to decide who would be sacrificed to the volcano god. "Las Wun Standing wil be Sakrifised." They used to say.

If being picked last wasn't bad enough, my fiance was sitting on the bench watching it all. "Oh Sweetie!" She yelled, "I would have picked you first if I was choosing!" All the guys started laughing and pointing their fingers at me. "Psssshh, you actually think I care about being picked?!" I said, as tears began to well up, blurring my vision.

Soon after, I was called into the outfield by the rest of my teammates. "Hey D-Bag (pipe)! Get over in the right corner quadrant past the left basemen!" Of course, I didn't know where that was, so I had to ask. From here on out, I was the laughing stock of the game.

After the other team had scored a few runs, it was our turn to bat. Finally, it was my turn and everyone in the outfield came into the sandy area because they werent expecting the ball to fly very far. Before I knew what was happening, I was standing on the home plate with the bat swinging behind my head like I knew what I was doing. As the ball approached, I swung with full intensity at the air. I completely whiffled. Everyone started laughing, including my 'former' fiance. Jk, she's still my fiance.

The rest of the game went pretty much just like that. I created entertainment for what is generally a plain ol boring stupid dumb game played by losers. I learned something that day. I'll never play a public sport again, until I die.


How was it?