Our shortstop Chris was a hulking man in his late 20s. Despite his pre-pitch routine of bat-twirling and something that resembled a tribal dance, this 290-lb behemoth rarely reached the outfield. He wore an unflattering pair of bright gold tear-away pants and an undersized hat that hopelessly clung to the top of his size-eight head. His painfully bad baseball outfit did have one redeeming quality: watching that pair of pants patrol the territory between second and third was a thing of beauty.
The playoffs went relatively well for the Cubs. Overall, the season was judged a success. We overcame our tournament losses to finish in the top four. Because of our impressive league placing, talk of entering a more challenging league ensued. I assumed that Jack would get in touch with everyone sometime around March. I was wrong. The emails started in October and have not subsided.
I have been requested to pay $95 in advance and $225 in total for this more competitive league. I have been called cheap and several other names for failing to do so, obscenities which I cannot repeat. A direct excerpt from one of the emails reads: " It is like pulling teeth when it comes to money. Warren is having a baby and is only a sub. He is, however, sending in a $50 deposit and $45 for the uniform. Team player."
I want to tell these guys to take it easy, take it for what it is: beer-league softball. I want to tell them to remember that final game of the Greenfield Park tournament. Then I realized: these guys will always try to relive their glory days. No matter how much fun they have, the competition is what keeps some coming back for more.
Will I play this year? Only time and the state of my bar tab will tell.
