October 12, 2005 - 6:22 PM

I'm Not a Bad Sport

You should not play games with me. I don't mean "play games" in the sense of messing with my head, although you shouldn't do that too; I'm talking about doing something competetive where the object is to win. You know what I'm talking about. Well, most of you.

If you've ever played card games or board games or trivia games with me, you know that I play with intensity and focus. Or, to put it less nicely, I take the games and the competitive spirit too seriously. I'm not one of those who openly berates teammates for messing up (Tony fondly remembers my ex Emily doing that), or unkindly taunts the other team for not winning their turn; my methods of making the games more uncomfortable and less fun for everyone else are subtler. Like, being a stickler for the rules; hawk-watching the timer; or trying really reallly REALLLY hard to win, to the point where it looks like I've sucked the joy out of the proceedings.

When it comes to athletic pursuits, I'm no rolling clown-car of fun either. No matter what level of competitiveness is involved, I will always have my game face on. Friends having a good time at the beach and bopping the volleyball around? I will dive and set and spike as if I was back in High School, playing for the league championship. Slapping the tennis ball around with my cousins or my friends? You bet my ass is hustling to get that net shot, or swinging with full force on my serves. Company softball team playing in a co-ed league on Monday nights? I'm sliding into second base, taking out the girl who's covering it or screaming profanities at myself when I overthrow the ball to first base while the runner on second, whose team is a self-proclaimed God Squad, is running past me.

You know, I think it stems from my dad, and his adamance about learning how to do something right (and his not even acknowledging the second part of the saying "or don't do it at all"). He never preached about winning at all costs- he was all about playing with sound fundamentals and playing with full commitment. No lollygagging, no half-assing. If you shambled around the tennis courts, barely chasing down the balls, he'd just pack up his racket and tell you that that was that, no more practice. He was always proud when we succeeded, when we had a good rally, or made a good throw, or had a good hit. If we lost, it didn't matter, as long as we played right and gave a good fight.

My cousin Eddie often tells the story of how he and his brother visited our house when we were all little, not even teenagers, and how my dad totally schooled them both at basketball. I think, when I was off at college, he happened to be at the courts when Mark and Nick stopped by to do a little tennising one time. He left them whimpering in the dust, never mind the fact that he plays everday, rain or shine, heat or cold and they play maybe twice a year. He pulls no punches, no matter your age, no matter your relation. Bring your "A" game, and if you can't beat him, well tough noogies. He never "let" me or Phil or Soph beat him at anything.

I'm bringing this up because, yes, I have been playing softball. The animation studio that produces our show put together a team, and knowing what a big baseball fan I am, they asked me to join in when some people dropped out. Monday of last week was my first game. It's been years since I last played...10 years since I was on the softball team at my internship at the Army Base in Aberdeen, 13 years since I was on the JV baseball team in high school. I've thrown the baseball around with Nick and LDBL a few times and gone to the batting cages with them, like, twice, but that's it.

We didn't have much time to warm-up before the game started, and the first inning I was on the bench. It was a long inning in which the other team scored almost 20 runs. I then was out in right field for the second inning, and shifted to left for the last two. The team was pretty gung-ho about the game, but the effort and execution was lacking. Keep in mind, this was a team of 30-40 year old animators, not exactly the picture of robust physical health. So there I was, running after anything hit remotely in my direction because I could see that my teammates, who were in a better position to field, didn't have the wheels to get to the ball before me. I wasn't being a ball-hog, I was just trying to play the game well.

My ofirst at-bat, I hit the ball into left-center. I guess it was a solid hit, since that's what my teammates told me. I didn't see it, though, because I was nearly falling down coming out of the batter's box. It's tough to run on loose dirt in regular sneakers without cleats. As I was losing my balance, the bat went flying out of my hand towards the backstop- I yelped out "Sorry!" but the catcher assured me that I didn't hit her with the bat, and I made it to first without incident. The next batter hit a groundball, and I was off like a demon. The third baseman fielded it and turned to toss it to the second basegirl who was standing right on top of the bag. I churned faster towards second, then realized in a split-second that 1) I would not be able to stop myself if I went in standing up because I had no spikes to dig in with 2) I would have to slide, but would still not be able to control my speed without spikes 3) if that girl did not move out of the way, it was going to be ugly. And I went in, feet-first and hard, knocking her over me.

My slide had taken my past the bag, and she was in a heap between it and me. The ball, which she hadn't been able to catch because I took her out, rolled behind me towards the outfield. I turned to her and apologized, asking if she was ok. She was a little stunned, but otherwise unharmed. I kept apologizing as her teammates decried me for intentionally going in with a "take-out" slide. And then the shortstop tagged me with the ball. What was I going to do, ignore the girl, or worse, shove her out of the way so I could get back on the bag? Voices were shouting everywhere, and the umpire, who was still behind the plate, seemed confused, so I got her attention and, while jogging off the field, indicated to her that I was indeed off the base and that I should be ruled out.

The next inning, when I was in left field, she reached third, and I yelled to her another apology and told her that she could come out and slide into me if she wanted. My second at-bat, I reached on a force-out, and apologized to the first basegirl for my slide. For good measure, at the end of the game, I said "sorry" a few more times to the second basegirl. I wasn't apologizing for doing something wrong, I just felt bad that I had taken her out. As far as I was concerned, I played fairly- hard, but fairly. If she hadn't been on top of the base, but off to one side or the other, I would have been able to avoid sliding into her.

I suffered a bloody elbow from that play. Much worse happened at the game this week. I dropped three balls; let another one go under my glove; overthrew to first base twice; overthrew the catcher; and totally fucked up my left knee.

The bright lights were 1) on one of the dropped flyballs, it was the first inning, the first ball hit to me in leftfield, and it was over my head, almost to the fence. I immediately took off with my back to the infield, tracking the ball down best as I could, and I almost made a beautiful over-the-shoulder catch, but it just hit off the flesh of my glove. 2) My overthrow to the catcher was while I was playing shorstop, receiving a throw from centerfield as the cutoff man. The hitter had rounded the bases and I knew there was going to be a play at the plate, so as soon as I got the ball from the centerfielder, I wheeled and fired from shallow center. The ball sailed just over the pitcher, who was covering home, and was caught by the catcher who was behind him at the backstop. The runner was just reaching the plate when the ball reached them. 3) My first at-bat, first pitch, I pulled down the line foul by a few feet, short of the fence by a couple yards. That was a good swing. I didn't have any other big swats, though. 4) On the play where I fucked up my knee, a ball was grounded up the middle. I ran and dove from my shorstop position and actually caught the ball. Unfortunately, the second basegirl covered second too late to get the runner coming from first, and I didn't have a chance to catch the runner headed to first. It was an awesome play.

I was a little sore from having landed hard after the dive, but was still able to walk. The next batter stroked one into left field. In pushing off my left leg to move out to a cutoff position, my knee double-clutched, and I knew something was amiss. It didn't swell, so I knew it wasn't broken, and I could walk just fine, even lift the leg up and bend it to 90 degrees, but any type of lateral movement, any kind of pushing off with force, and the knee buckled. I hobbled around for another three innings, getting two more at bats and a few more plays (including catching a short pop up behind the pitcher's rubber and snaring a line drive literally a few centimeters off the dirt), but the knee, thank god, didn't get too much worse (my best guess is that it's a minor injury, a strain or sprain, of a collateral ligment behind the knee). Of course, blood began pouring from scrapes on both knees and both palms and my left hip. I even got a dribble of it down my left shin to my sock and joked that I was Curt Schilling.

As I go through my second day of walking with a limp (yesterday I had to use crutches) and changing the 9 band-aids I'm sporting twice-a-day (I had to shave the hair around the scrapes on my knees because the pain of pulling off the bandages was too much), I wonder if, perhaps, it should be me who doesn't play games with me. I'm a hazard to myself.

Now Listening To : Loreena McKennitt - The Visit
Random Thought : Go Astros, Go Angels.

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