delayed gratification

I started working at my present employer just a little over two years ago. In an effort to meet my new coworkers and tame the jiggle that had been creeping in around my middle regions, I signed up for the department's softball team. After one game, I regretted my decision.

I didn't care that the team was lacking in skill and that we lost every game (except the one that was forfeited by the opposing team because they didn't have the required three female players.) It mattered not that we sucked. I was there to have fun and after years of neglect, my softball abilities were quite rusty as well.

My major concern was that what the team lacked in talent, they made up for in 'tude. It was awful. People yelled at each other and were all super critical. Mind you, most of the people sucked and had no business whatsoever passing judgment. In my day, I could knock a 100 mph fastball out of the park so I'd thank some high-waisted-nut-hugging-pants-wearing douche who couldn't catch a ball with glue in his mitt to not give me pointers! If you think I'm exaggerating about the speed of the pitch, I'm not. My high school coach placed a pitching machine and large garbage can full of softballs on the mound and set the machine at the highest speed -- 100 mph. We each hit an entire container of softballs. I creamed a bunch of them into the soccer field behind deep center field. So, I dare say I've got skills. Oh, and I'm a lesbian. Need you any further proof?

My biggest gripe two years ago was that the sucky catcher (a female) made a big production every time a woman on the other team got up to bat. She stood up, waved her arms in a dramatic fashion and screeched at the top of her lungs for all the outfielders to play shallow. She just assumed that because the batter was penis-less, she couldn't hit the ball much farther than the batter's box. As a female who has surprised/embarrassed many an opposing team who dared inch forward when I stepped into the box, I took umbrage with a) the assumption that the female player wasn't good and b) the public spectacle someone from my team was making. That showed a lack of class and it was a reflection on me as her teammate. I wanted no part of it. I exchanged words with the catcher between innings and somehow, on this fucked-up team, I was considered the asshole. So I took my ball and went home and found a much cooler team to play with the following year.

Fast forward two years later. All of those people on the team have since left the company. I thought it was safe to rejoin the team. It turns out that the catcher is still playing on our team! And, true to form, during our first game she started waving her arms and summoning the outfielders to play on the rim of the outfield in her usual loud and grating fashion. I cringed and cast a sympathetic look towards the batter. And then -- and this is beautiful -- the umpire YELLED at the catcher and pretty much told her to cut that shit out. He made all the outfielders return to their positions. She looked like an asshole and I couldn't have been happier. I couldn't contain my smile and snickering at second base. Even when it arrives two years later, vindication is still quite sweet, I must say.

By the by, I went 3 for 4 and picked up several RBIs in the first game. Last night, I went 1 for 3 with another RBI or two. I even slid into second base! Thirty-two schmirty-two! Of course, I'm limping a bit today but that also has to do with the fact that I collided with the first baseman when he had the unskilled audacity to block the base path. As a former varsity first baseman, I know my rights offensively as well as defensively and well, I crashed into him.

And I was safe. And he said, "Ouch!"

I am lesbian, hear me roar.