The ball is hit on a line to right field, bounding beyond the
reach of the outfielder, who scampers after it and throws the ball
to an infielder as the hitter eases into second with a double.
The ball is hit on a line to right field, bounding beyond the reach of the outfielder, who scampers after it and throws the ball to an infielder as the hitter eases into second with a double.
If this were the Division 1 men’s league of Hollister Recreation softball, at the very least there would have been “tsks” from the infielders or yells of “Come on, hustle!” from fellow outfielders. It’s serious up there.
But on this night, in Division 3 coed softball, there was no anger, no disappointment – only laughter and the comment (from a fellow teammate, mind you) “Hey, step out of that hole.” You see, the outfielder is short, so when the grass is long he looks like he fell in a hole up to his knees.
When I played Division 1 softball, it was serious business. If one team accidentally (or otherwise) hit a ball up the middle – or “buzzed” – the pitcher, the other team would retaliate and try to hit a ball at the opposing team’s pitcher. It was an eye for an eye, or a shin for a shin, as the case may be.
Many of these players are in their early- to mid-20s and play tournaments every weekend. They still haven’t toned down the competitive spirit they had in high school sports, so it’s life and death.
Testosterone flows at Rancho San Justo or Vet’s Park during these games. When someone makes an error, they yell at themselves or they shout an expletive because they let the team down. They are also sure to hear from a teammate about how they messed up. They might even punch the wooden dugout wall when they come off the field.
If a home run is hit, someone in the parking lot will honk their horn and the entire team will come out to greet the slugger. You almost expect ESPN to be there to do a post-game wrap-up on the field.
Ah, but coed is an entirely different animal. It’s much tamer and funny looking. The pitchers smile when a batter they know steps up to the plate; the catcher jokes with the umpire; the third baseman makes fun of the shortstop for not fielding a ball properly. It’s totally against our male baseball coaching instincts and rules of etiquette, and that’s what makes it so much fun.
The women of coed – hey, a calendar idea! – are often the wives or girlfriends of the men of coed, and their presence tones down the male bravado just a bit. There are still plenty of serious, talented female athletes out there who hate to lose, but there are also women who actually want to play to have fun, regardless of the score. Imagine that.
The cool thing is that attitude rubs off on the men, softening us a bit and reminding us that, yep, this is just a game. And they can dish out the verbal jabs just as well as the men.
The team on which my wife and I play has almost too much fun, judging by the reaction of some of the other teams. They aren’t sure how to respond when we crack up at an especially clumsy error that our team makes. They’re surprised that we make fun of ourselves as we fail to run out a popup that falls between the outfielders, as if we were Barry Bonds.
The real funny thing is that we tend to win more than we lose.
All of this wouldn’t have been possible without local softball umpire and player Tommy Castillo, who, along with Darrell Clayton, teamed up with the Hollister Kiwanis a couple years back to rescue the program when the city could no longer financially support it.
They’ve provided an outlet for everyone from 20-somethings with way too much energy and athletic ability, to 50- or 60-somethings with way too much confidence in their aching bodies. The resulting mix is an adult playground that gives us an hour and a half each week to take our minds off of work and real responsibilities and put our minds to figuring out how best to make fun of each other’s shortcomings.
If you’ve got some funny softball anecdotes to share, or you want to make fun of my softball ability, send me an e-mail at [email protected].
Adam Breen teaches journalism and yearbook at San Benito High School. He is former editor of the Free Lance.
