Woop!

So I finally manned up. After--what, six months?--of putting it off, I talked to Coach Adam and sold my soul to the devil of coed office sports.



I joined the softball team. Pic above is from last night, the annual Staff v. Intern game (and yes, I'm sporting my coed threads from Meridian One). That was a HUGE social event, and I was fairly shocked--at least 50 people turned out, some playing, some just chilling, plenty of beer floating around as the staff proceeded to pummel the interns. There were some awesome players on both sides, but in the end our numbers won out (about 25 staff playing against 10 young'uns). Just another example of how great it is to work at CAP.

So tonight was my first real game with the team, and I did not fail to impress with my usual jester performance. Bottom of the seventh, we're down by one, man on second, two outs, and I'm at bat. Four wild pitches go by (there's a no-strike rule in place for the league, but still, I'm selective). The pitcher finally lets off one that's a little high--just where I like it--and I've barely made up my mind to swing when the bat makes contact. My hesitation wound up working in my favor; the ball slowly sauntered off toward third base, leaving me plenty of time to get to first and then second after an overzealous throw sails over the baseman's head (who, on a side note, was absolutely livid--apparently bunts are illegal, and even though I followed through on the swing, it appeared my heart wasn't in it).

Ok. So the swing could have been slightly less shady, but I'm on second and all's well. Score's tied, so all I have to do is make it home and we're golden. The pitch, a swing--crack, ball sails off. I speed toward third, my eyes on Jack the base coach, not entirely sure if the ball's going to be caught (in which case, I'd have to beat the throw back to second base). I'm two feet shy of third when Jack snaps his gaze back to me and screams "SCORE!"

My immediate dilemma: at 6'4" and 160lbs, my physiology dictates that my brakes just aren't that good. I try to round off on third, but momentum's the name of the game and I wind up behind the other team, trying desperately to get home. Two folding chairs in the way--leap over those--and I come within sight of my goal only to see the catcher fumbling with the ball. I manage to plant a foot firmly on the plate just as he regains control and taps me on the chest. Safe, game, home team's the winner and that's all she wrote.

Adam--after assuring himself that I had not intentionally bunted--kindly suggests that next time, I try to keep my performance on the field. Jack informs me that my acrobatics came equipped with sound effects; turns out I'd let out a "Woop!" as I hopped the chairs on the sideline. A nickname is born. We'll see if it sticks. The next game is Monday, and God help me, I'm actually looking forward to it. It's a great team, skilled, fun to play with, and not overly serious.

Let's go, Leftfielders. More on Facebook.