Showing posts with label softball. Show all posts
Showing posts with label softball. Show all posts

Thursday, April 10, 2008

Field of Econo Dreams

CHARLOTTESVILLE, Va.—The Charlottesville Econo Lodge, as one GW Softball team member proclaimed, is “too much econo, not enough lodge.” Yet this delightful motel will be our base of operations for the three days of softball mania that is the UVA Law 2008 Softball Invitational. With two men’s teams and two co-rec teams, expectations were high that GW would enjoy a level of success not seen since the memorable 1989 tourney, when Sal “Salazar” Marchiano pitched three no hitters and hit four grand slams to lead GW to the title over UVA Brown.
With the threat of rain ever present, the tournament began Friday night with the GW Colonials co-rec team facing off against Washington & Lee. After partaking in some delicious pizza at Mellow Mushroom off campus, several members of the GW Blue men’s team (myself included) attempted to get to the Colonials’ game. A long walk over turned into a longer one when, seeing the lights of the ball fields emerge from over the hills, I mistakenly led our group even farther away from the field. As we backtracked to the Econo Lodge, word came that the game was already over and that the Colonials had won. Clearly, they were better served with us not attending their game, so we vowed not to try to attend another one all weekend.
The day began early on Saturday for GW Blue, as we finally found the field we were searching for the previous night. The first opponent of the day was Washington University, who started the trash talking immediately by pointing out their superior ranking in US News and World Report. Lame. Their arrogance was soon rewarded as they hit several shots deep into the outfield. The team strategy quickly shifted from ending the inning quickly to ending the inning without giving up 10 runs. Unfortunately for us, the tourney mercy rule is that there is no mercy rule, so our deficit continued to grow as the innings progressed.
By the middle of the game, the umpire had had enough of our inability to score a run, and called us over from the dugout for a pep talk. “Now, I don’t know if you guys are confused as to the rules of the game, but the object is not to score the fewest runs. This isn’t golf,” he explained. This seemed to the trick, as several innings later, we successfully manufactured a run after the Wash U pitcher misplayed a ground ball, diving towards first to get our batter out. He failed to anticipate that we had suddenly learned how to play softball, and our runner on third easily scored. With the moral victory secured, the team left for an early lunch at Buffalo Wild Wings.
Lunch conversation soon gave way to intense strategy discussions. Our next opponent was Regent, who one team member described as a “Tier 4 Law School, but a Tier 1 softball talent.” Indeed, Regent finished second in 2007 and recruited a number of former Central League players from Japan. Realizing we would probably be no match, the team decided to continue to play extremely poorly so as to prolong the game and cause Regent’s players to injure themselves. This would severely disadvantage them in the playoffs and maybe GW Gold would have an easy path to the title. The strategy backfired, however, when we suffered several debilitating injuries of our own. With our bench supply of HGH extinguished, we decided on a new incentive to motivate a comeback: whoever made an error had to put a dollar in the error pot to be used to buy beer later that night. This also backfired, as we committed even more errors.
“The only way to accurately analogize the team's performance is if a major league team lost all of its position players to injury, causing the whole team to hit and field as poorly as pitchers. And we did not have Micah Owings or Dontrelle Willis,” recounted our team captain later that night.
Luckily, GW Gold was having an opposite level of success, cruising to two victories in their first two games. Our attempts to steal some of their players for our final game against Ohio State failed miserably, bur they did stick around to “cheer” us on. After another heartbreaking loss with few injuries to Ohio State and several more injuries and errors for us, the team made its way to the barbeque to try to steal another team’s jerseys and sneak into the playoffs on Sunday. With $29 in the error pot, we decided to buy a delicious bottle of Canadian Mist, but our team manager had absconded with the money, and we were forced to partake in the free beer at the evening’s festivities.
The rain predicted for the weekend finally arrived Sunday morning, but that did not deter GW Gold from trudging out to the mud-soaked field for the men’s playoffs. The unrelenting precipitation triggered a new set of rules designed to speed up the games. Each batter would only get one pitch to hit from his team’s pitcher, no matter what the quality of the pitch. This seemed pretty stupid to every one involved, as one player described it as “deciding the NBA Finals with a slam dunk contest.” Despite the rule change, GW Gold earned a hard-fought victory against Boston College to advance to play our old nemesis, Regent. Using bats handcrafted by Pat Robertson himself in his underground lair deep beneath the earth’s surface, Regent ended GW’s last title hope of the 2008 tournament, holding the team scoreless (I would like to take this opportunity to mention that GW Blue succeeded where GW Gold failed in that we were able to score a run against the Fightin’ Robertsons).
While we left without any hardware to show for our efforts, GW Blue has its sights on greatness in 2009. Unfortunately, the entire team is graduating, so we are actively seeking replacements, lest we all be forced to apply to the LLM program to carry on our own legacy. If you have any baseball, softball, European handball, or korfball experience, consider trying out for a spot on the historic GW Blue squad next year. You can help continue the legacy of (mostly) error-free baseball!

Monday, March 10, 2008

Hope Springs Eternal for Softball Wannabees

PORT ST. LUCIE, Fla.—The sun-drenched fields of Southern Florida are a welcome change from the dreary grey skies of the District of Columbia. While many of you are enjoying warm, vacation spots during Spring Break, I have traveled south not for rest and relaxation, but for a chance to realize my second and third-grade dream: to be a professional baseball player. The story of how I ended up here amongst the myriad minor league hopefuls and aging veterans begins last summer on the softball fields of New York City.

I had signed up to play for my firm’s softball team on the first day of work, but could barely complete a simple throw from short to first, so I was banished to the outfield. I soon won over the manager with my impressive pop-up catching ability and willingness to lean in to every pitch, rising up to seventh in the batting order. Then one game, it all came together. Due either to my excellent hit placement or the terrible infield defense of the other team, I managed a triple, raising my slugging percentage an amazing .500 points. The next inning, as I was fielding a line drive out in left field, I noticed the runner on second was trying to leg out a run. “Not so fast, my friend!” I yelled. With deadly accuracy, I fired the ball home, and, after one hop, the catcher scooped it up and tagged the surprised runner for the third out.

A Mets scout approached me after the game and told me that the team would be interested in inviting me to Spring Training if Moises Alou somehow got hurt again. One Alou-hernia later, and I found myself on a plane to Florida in pursuit of a dream long thought lost. When I arrived at Mets camp, I was surprised to find that I was not the only former softball player invited to try out. Taking a page from Billy Beane in identifying baseball player market inefficiencies, Mets GM Omar Minaya has determined that the market had undervalued summer softball league players. The resumes of those invited to this grand new experiment (and hopefully the subject of a new Michael Lewis book) read like a sampling of America. There was the young investment banker, the grizzled NYPD detective, the struggling waiter/Broadway actor, the Russian mob wannabe, and the bike messenger.

As we size each other up, Minaya leads us into a conference room where he goes over the details of our tryout. First up is Celebratory Handshakes to test our chemistry with potential teammates. We are each given 30 seconds to develop a routine with Endy Chavez, but some people find this more difficult than others. After Endy slaps our Russian friend on the back, he punches Endy in the face and is promptly escorted off the premises. I had a feeling the rest of the day would play out like Charlie and the Chocolate Factory, except without the blueberry gum. Next up is a filming session for Jose Reyes’s Spanish Academy. These promos are shown during home games, where Reyes tries to teach the crowd a new Spanish word. Today’s segment is the Spanish word for ice cream, helado. I knew from my previous viewings of these videos that they want the players to mispronounce the word so that they can cut to a clip of Reyes rolling his eyes at our stupidity, so I purposefully butcher my pronunciation. When we finally make out way to the field, only the investment banker and I are left from the original group. He mentions something about hitting a grand slam to win a game last summer, but he shuts up after I tell him I turned an unassisted triple play from the outfield. Clearly he has not honed the art of softball bullshitting.

Out in left field, we are told to alternate fielding balls hit by a double-A kid the team cut earlier that day. The young man’s anger from not making the team is manifested in each of his first 20 hits, which sail over the left field fence. Minaya, having recognized his mistake, sends the greenhorn back to rejoin the team and calls out third base coach Sandy Alomar Sr. to replace him in the batter’s box. The first hit off Senior’s bat rockets towards us and Mr. I-Banker decides he’s going to make a flashy grab. Unfortunately for his face, he has not accounted for the added speed of a baseball, and as he writhes on the grass clutching his bloody face in pain, I motion for a stretcher. Minaya does not seem content to let me join the team by default, so he puts forth the final challenge: I have ten pitches to get a hit off of Johan Santana. Luckily I know a lot about Santana; he is left-handed, he has a changeup, and he is from Venezuela. I take the first three pitches just to see if I can pick up anything from Santana’s windup. No such luck. Having watched three straight fastballs blaze by me, I guess (correctly) that Santana will offer up his famous changeup next. However, his major-league changeup is still a tad faster than the windmill lobs I’m used to, and I swing way too late.

After another six whiffs, I walk off the field dejected after coming so close to achieving my dream. Minaya thanks me for coming to the tryout and told me I would not be going away empty-handed. Hoping for a signed jersey, he instead hands me a Ryan Church bobblehead doll and a Mets metal street sign that says “Miracle Mets Ave.” As I walk over to a nearby garbage can to dispose of my parting gifts, I see a small boy leaning over the fence, baseball and pen in hand. I walk over and sign the ball for the confused tyke, who has no idea who I am. Some day he will.