Friday, August 14, 2009


I like playing sports, but I'm pretty particular about who I play with. My skill level varies drastically depending on who's playing. Here's a couple examples on a scale of 1 to 10: I'm a 10 when I play basketball with my younger sister, but I'm a 1 when I play tackle football (without pads) with college kids. So I usually stick to playing with people about the same skill level as me. And I stick to sports that I don’t have to run or jump a lot. That narrows it down to adult softball and bowling.

The one person I insist on having on my team in softball is my older brother. He's slow, he's unreliable, and he makes me look like a pro. I mean, you don't have to do that well to perform better than the guy who strikes out in slow-pitch. And yes, he strikes out in slow-pitch softball... a lot. For those not familiar with hitting a softball, it's an oversized ball coming at 3 miles an hour in a 10-foot arc. And you get three tries to hit it. And my brother, be it from lack of coordination, impatience, or simple stupidity can not get anywhere close to making contact. He just swings wildly three times, yells in frustration, and marches back to the dugout. I guess I feel a little bad for him, though. There are few more humbling experiences than striking out like that and having to walk back to the dugout past all your trying-not-to-laugh-at-you teammates. I tried to think of something to say to make him feel better, but it was impossible. You can't make someone feel better when the game is that easy. It's like when you try to cheer up a friend when they've bowled 11 gutterballs in a row. You try to find the words to comfort them, but you end up just laughing. So you just buy them a Coke and keep your mouth shut.

Did you know Satchel Paige pitched his last baseball game when he was in his late 50s? My father's in his 50s, and I'm not sure he can finish watching a baseball game without falling asleep. My older brother is in his 20’s, and he can't even jog to his position in softball without getting winded. And he plays catcher. I mean, I'm not in any kind of decent shape (except my pear-shaped torso), but I think I can handle a little bit of exercise. After all, I run after the ice cream truck in my neighborhood. And I jog past those people at the kiosks in the mall who try to hand you stuff. So it's not like I'm completely lazy or out of shape. I just have to find the proper motivation.

1 comment:

Bekah said...

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