The Throes of Softball

Last Friday, I was playing the infield in our weekly softball game in preparation of playing a weekend-ful of Ultimate. Shortstop to be precise. Everything rolled along in a lovely fashion until the top of the third - one of their womenfolk grounded to third. Our 3b shot it over the firstbasewoman's head, and the batter, after passing first base, nonchalantly rounded TOWARD the infield on her way back to the bag. I yelled, "Tag her!," and our firstbasewoman did, and the ump properly called her out. Their womanfolk went nutso, yelled at the ump, demonstrated a "real attempt at second," screamed "This is BULLSHIT!" and slammed her bat against the fence as she went back into the dugout. All of this, and somehow she managed not to get tossed. I don't understand umps.

The next batter hits a liner to right and, not realizing that our RFwoman actually has a pretty decent arm, decides to try for two. I take the throw at second, and he is dead to rights by a good fifteen feet. Seeing as this is Friday night C League co-ed softball, I start walking toward him to tag him. But seeing as this is SUPER COMPETITIVE IDIOT Friday Night C League co-ed softball, moronhead tries to run over me en route to second, throwing a shoulder and elbow at me for good measure. In terms of general stupidity and violence, it was up there with Albert Belle crushing Fernando Vina with a forearm to break up a DP in 1996. (You will recall that Belle was suspended 5 gmes for his antics - IN BASEBALL). I held onto the ball, so the guy was out, but mainly I was dumbfounded - what the hell was that?

So I approached the guy and calmly asked him, "What the hell was that?" I do not lie when i say calmly; I was not in fight mode, I was in "really, exactly what are you doing?" mode. Cool, calm, collected, chilly-Nyetlike.

Of course, it probably looked like challenge-brawl mode from the sidelines, so the dugouts cleared. Mark of all guys (real hothead on our team; he's been routinely warned about bitching about calls and the like) makes a big show of holding me back, and I just continue to ask, "No, really, what are you doing? Why did you do that?" The ump, natch, stands there like a moron, later claiming that he didn't see it and just thought he had "gone in hard." Yeah, he went in hard standing up ten feet from the bag. WTF? So, big commotion, and a little naggy lady runs over from their dugout and yells at me to "stop being such an asshole." All I had done was ask those questions three. Yikes. Mayhem.

Everything calmed down after a bit, and we actually beat them by a run in the first game (though managed to lose the second). Fun times in Scottsdale, on a night where I was "taking it easy" so as to save myself for the weekend. Egads.

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FOLLOW-UP
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I get in these mixes often enough that there's certainly a boy crying wolf component. Trying to look at it from the outside, I think the real problem is that I take umbrage at events like the preceding and am loath to just blow it off and say, "whatever, you took a cheap shot at me and could've re-torn my ACL; whatever, that's cool." I am just not so inclined. Another piece of the puzzle of me.