Tales from the beer league

Blood.
Such a simple trickle; a line, from eye to just under the chin, hat looked like it was painted by brush.
Except it wasn’t. The blood flowed from a cut. A gash no more than three-quarters of an inch. But right on the eyelid, just below where her eyebrow curved.
A violent collision. The result of the carnage when two people – people, mind you – smash together from 60 feet. On a dead run. Head-to-head.
The impact sounded sick and wet, like an unripe cantaloupe tossed at a cement wall.
Softball really isn’t for sissies.
Friday’s game was complete carnage for Team Carmargo.
The Queen of Valkyries cut her eye in the collision with Huskerette (who suffered a severe cheek bruise – “That’s going to be one helluva shiner, huh?” – and a small cut across her cheek) going after the same pop fly.
“My head hurts,” the Queen said.
It should.
(We will only mention here, in passing, that she also suffered a wicked rug burn to the ass on the play as well.)
“You’ll need stitches,” the field manager said.
“She doesn’t need stitches,” a teammate said. “ThomG, what do you think?”
A butterfly bandage and maybe some Superglue. A doctor might have put one stitch in, maybe.
(I applied the butterfly tape myself. We'll chat later today to look at the Superglue option.)
Huskerette also suffered a nasty strawberry on her knee and an attempt to round third, only to take a tumble on the slick rubber surface.
Our Man in the Outfield, who suffered like 18 stitches in the first game after being hit by a line drive to the mouth, took a softball to the head. The stitches of the ball were tattooed red welts on the silver-dollar-sized knot.
In what I can only describe as the most unluckiest of plays I think I’ve ever seen.
He hit a solid line drive and was headed to third and decided to slide. The catcher had the ball on an attempt to stop a runner at home, and threw a rocket to third. Just as he began his slide, the ball caught him right in the forehead.
Had he not slid, the ball would have hit him in the chest; had he started the slide a millisecond sooner, the ball would have sailed high and into left field.
“At least I got a home run out of it.”
We lost, 18-12.
“But it was a good loss; I feel good that we scored 12 – and had a couple of good rallies,” Blind P Willie said.
As for me? I have a severely strained muscle in my left arm. I feel lucky (and sore mostly all over, but I have discovered liquid gelcap ibuprofen. Yummy.)
People actually pay for the privilege to do this.
Softball is really not for sissies. And beer drinking is nearly mandatory. Pitchers of the stuff, just to anesthetize the aches and pains.
We shut the place down.
“If you can actually feel good about that,” Blind P said.

1 comments:

Phil Fountain said...

Beer, blood and carnage...sounds like a Warren Zevon song! Great blog, Thom. I'm now a subscriber.