Soft Baller - 8.22.09

On Saturday morning, I played softball. Given the general theme of this blog, however, it was not without a run. Roughly 8.1 miles from house to home, as it were.

I started at 6:30am as 8 miles usually takes anywhere from 55 minutes (when I’m feeling it) to 1:05 (when I’m not). It was 78 degrees with 80% humidity and a dew point that was equally disturbing. My plan was to arrive around 7:45 at Normoyle Park, wipe down, cool off, and get swinging. I planned the route the day before at work – the normal St. Mary’s route through Downtown, out and about in the King William district, and then the West Side. What a story. Ha.

As the sun had barely crested the skyline, not a lot of folks were up. It was quiet. I saw quite a few runners, but they had opted to take other routes. I was alone on the road I chose. Given the high number of abandoned dogs, buildings, and cars, things came to the West side to die. Or biodegrade. Whatever.

The dogs were a bother. Oddly enough, the most prominent breed (if this term even applies) to give chase was the Chihuahua. Scary little things. I never ran without two or three rocks in my hand, but then again I never needed to throw them. Most of the wild dogs were either emaciated or bloated – natural world’s version of the have and have-nots I suppose. It was easy to discern which were female; their swollen nipples hung low and swung in synch with their apprehensive strides. Forced to bear life, but perpetually scared of most living things. Man, that was sad.

After turning on Theo St., I knew it was around 2 miles of boring straight. I dropped the pace to around 6:50 to make it to the softball field in time. Perhaps a part of me needed to leave that area as fast as possible. Regardless, I made it with plenty of time to spare. I was received with a bit of fanfare: “You ran from where?!” – “Not the entire 8 miles, right?!” – “And you can still stand?!” As it was Japanese people asking me these questions, I did my best to downplay my achievements and even apologized. There are reasons I had to do this, but they won’t be included in this entry.

I changed into some dryer technical stuff and put on the soccer cleats. Wrong sport, but they work just the same. As I began the walk from the parking lot, I noticed that another colleague also was wearing a red Adidas top, with black shorts, and white shoes. Damn; I’m going to hear it, I thought. I did.

Despite wide smiles and booming laughter, a Japanese ex-high school baseball players’ seriousness is crystal clear. Drop a ball, and you’ll hear it. Make a good play, however, and you are showered with reserved praise. It’s a rollercoaster and the ride can easily make one sick. After making some plays that ranged from bone-headed to Mantle-esque, I decided to get off – lay back a bit. I don’t like team sports. Never have. Reviewing what I’m good at (track & field, golf, fishing, running, tennis) I realized I didn’t belong on the field. Heck, I was wearing a running top, tennis shorts and soccer cleats. I was all wrong in right field.

Still, I play for Maki. As an ex-captain on a Japanese softball team, she lives for this stuff. Teamwork. Double plays. Single homer to left. I like to talk about it and even believe I have an advantage (given the abilities gained from individual sport), but I’m just not warming up to softball. It doesn’t help when the captain of the Japanese team lined up the players to pick and eventually placed me with the ‘tard’ team. It’s not that I can’t play, but because I’m not Japanese. Conveniently, though, I’m not American, either. This way, he assumes I won’t take the under the bus throw as harshly. Underhanded as it may be.

I played on a team with other Americans. We have a game scheduled for this weekend: Team Japan vs. Team America (f yeah). Some players from the other team came to get a bit of practice in. Although I enjoyed their attitude, some are more serious than others. I hate losing, but I’m not good enough to consider myself immune to it. Still, I made some plays. Left my mark, as it were. I tripled once, got on base a bunch of times, and played defense well enough. Sadly, though, I was making the more impressive stops at the expense of Maki. She likes to yank down the foul line. I stood there waiting like a glorified lamp post.
Here are pictures. Of M and myself. I’ll post later about the results of the “Friendship Match” between countries.