I’m on the Hamish Industries Softball Team.
We’re called The Window Pains.
Our captain is Farook from Accounting. He asked me what position I wanted to play. I laughed and said “towel boy.”
He said I could be towel boy and outfield.
It’s gonna be a long season…
We played our first game last night against Bob Jones’ Revolving Doors.
It was everything I expected. Hot beer and cold chicken wings; sweaty co-workers slapping each other’s rumps, and Otto’s nonstop trumpeting of Gary Glitter’s “Rock N’ Roll.”
“Ba na na na… Hey! Ba na na…”
The first time I went up to bat, my Hamish teammates and pals were all shouting “You’re the man, Alpo.”
By the 7th inning it was “Oh great, here comes the strikeout king.”
Mike compared my striking out at the plate with my success rate with the ladies. The “limp bat” jokes quickly followed. Everyone found them very funny.
It was a long dark night of softball.
Everytime I said “Is it over yet?” drunk Mary Margaret would respond with “You’re such a turd, Alpo.”
But things got interesting in the bottom of the 9th
We were winning.
They were up at bat.
Two out, bases loaded, full count, and me in the outfield checking my blackberry. (I know; a typical baseball cliché.)
That’s when I heard the sound of a crack and people yelling.
I looked up. The field lights were in my face. I stuck up my hand to block them out. I accidentally caught the ball.
Next thing I knew the members of The Window Pains were carrying me across the field and cheering my name.
I kept asking them to put me down and let me go home, but they didn’t hear me.