It's 9:41 p.m. on a Saturday night, and I'm home.
Not at the New York boys of Leather SKINS party at the 9th Avenue Saloon.
Not at Furball, the Bear party at Club 208 (a.k.a. the LGBT Community Center on 13th Street, which I've heard is a lot of fun.
Two games of softball today. Against two teams who have beaten us soundly earlier in the season. In chilly weather (and I left my warm overshirt at home), and at times, in a dreary drizzle.
And it was a total blast!
Okay. First game. Against the Bobcats, who are number one in the standings. In like the second or third inning, they had twenty runs to our ten. Did we lose heart? Were we discouraged? Did we decide that it was pretty much over for us?
We. Did. Not.
And we got fourteen runs in a single inning.
And after that, we managed to hold on to that lead and won the game.
Second game. Against the Dragons. (We kinda are not too fond of the manager of that team. He managed the team that had the wildly over-agressive player that unnecessarily crushed the shin bone of our manager, leaving him out of work for months afterwards and with a metal plate in his leg to this day. And back then, he was the Commissioner of the League, which may or may not have had something to do with the fact that despite popular outcry from almost every other team in the League, the offending player got a verrrrry un-harsh penalty.) They were ahead, we got in the runs to tie the game, then we managed to get and keep a lead.
Yay! We won both games! We're on a five game winning streak!
Go Ball Breakers!
And I was the catcher for both games!
This week, I was a lot more relaxed, squatting there in the dirt behind homeplate with the bats of the opposing teams whizzing inches over my head. And I did a much better job at catching and returning the balls the pitcher threw my way.
But in the second game--get this!--there was a kind of flukey play at homeplate. A runner decided to surprise all of us by running for home. The ball was thrown my way, and I caught it! (Okay, so I didn't tag the runner out, but I did catch a ball thrown my way, which doesn't always happen.)
Later, back at the Ty's, we toasted our success, the death of Jerry Falwell, and the Mets beating the Yankees yesterday. (And watched the early innings of the Mets beating the Yankees again today.)
It was just so sublime.
Except for the fact that catching is SUCH a workout! Up down up down up down up down up down up down up down bat run the bases up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down up down bat run the bases...
If I continue as catcher, I'll have legs like trans-atlantic cables by the end of the season in August.
Already, my muscles are seizing up.
('bastian! I. Need. That. Hottub. BAD.)
I'm hoping to get to church tomorrow morning, but I wouldn't be surprised if when the alarm goes off, I find I'm unable to move and just lie there crying softly to myself.
Feeling pretty exhausted, and not quite sure what I would do with myself to stay warm and dry for six hours till the NYboL party got going at the 9th Avenue Saloon, I opted to head for home instead.
Besides, it was such a great day of softball, that nighttime activities, even a great NYboL party would be just guilding the lily.
And the additional exertion would probably kill me.
So it's bedtime for this Ball Breaker.