Softball Season

Sorry, studmuffins. I've been away so long, you probably think I got sucked into a black hole with all of the socks that supposedly go into the dryer, along with my old camera cord. (Which, by the way, my mother actually found the other day. At my cabin. In a hand-held air pump box. For my old camera. That my dog stepped on. Arugh.) But the truth is, it spit me back out.
The reason for this is...softball.
I don't know what's it's like where you live, but here it's like life or death. All or nothing. If you play Peewee (heh heh, I always find that name kinda funny) softball, you are basically sacrificing three months of your life. And a lot of gasoline and Spitz.
In my league, we play about two or three games a week (every game is in this city an hour outside town) and a tournament almost every weekend. This past weekend it was in our hometown, which was awesome. We played against this one team, the Hustlers, and lost. We beat Team Two 18-1. Suckers. Next we beat Team Three by about five runs, I can't remember exactly. In the final was Team Two.
Now, they say that Team Two (who live four hours away from here) were all loading up into cars and their batcatcher, the best player on their team, was late. So they FORGOT her. Their coach, once realizing this, spent most of Saturday driving back and getting her and bringing her back. What losers.
When we were being recounted this story, one of my teammates, Ellen, said: "How can you forget the best player on your team?"
I said, "How can you forget a player, period?"
The mystery remains unsolved. But anyways, they supposedly got their act together on Sunday, when the Forgotten Batcatcher joined their alliances again. But not for us, the Kick Butters of Saskatchewan. We MERCIED them 17-2 in the FINAL. Heh heh heh!!!
My coach is awesome. His name is Chad, and he's only like twenty-five or something. He plays baseball and coaches our softball team, so he says it gets kinda confusing. We watched his game and embarassed him so bad by doing the stupid ball cheers that no one below Squirts actually does. This is the first one:
Chad's up to bat.
Chad's up to bat.
If I were you, and you were me,
I'd scoot my booty back.
Yeah, I'd scoot my booty back.
Way back!
Keep in mind most of these were like, twenty year old men. They were probably shocked. The second one was led by Ellen.
Chad, Chad, he's our man!
If he can't do it, no one can!
Oh, my God. That was sooooo hilarious. Everyone in the bleachers was loving us. Except for maybe Chad's girlfriend. Oops. Sorry.
I'm thinking maybe we screwed our chances to be picked for the Provincial team.
Oh, well. Good times, good times. I hope to always remember these shizznuggets of the good ol' ball years.