Friday, Aug. 5, 2005 | 4:21 a.m.
Susan Snyder's column appears Mondays, Tuesdays, Thursday and Sundays. Reach her at [email protected] or (702) 259-4082.
WEEKEND EDITION
August 6-7, 2005
At first glance the online movement to put softball back into the Olympic Games in time for the 2012 event in London seems to come from left field.
I mean, why London in 2012? Is it the correct political climate?
No, it's simpler than that.
Beer.
London has the best pubs. And the promise of free pitchers following a winning game is the only reason adults continue playing a game that, if they'd listen to their chiropractors and spouses, they'd have given up after high school.
Old people don't heal as quickly.
It is impossible to count the number of times a Coworker Who Shall Not Be Named (my boss) has stumbled into work on a Tuesday or Friday morning moving like a plastic doll without joints.
The ensuing play-by-play typically involves some measure of full-body contact with another human being and the loss of skin before he mutters about having "to stop doing this."
But he won't. On weeknights in community ballparks across America, softball people follow each other to the field like lemmings. Slow-pitch softball sings a siren song they cannot ignore, though they know they are headed straight for the rocks.
If softball is to return to the Olympic Games in 2012, it should be slow-pitch. Fast-pitch players are too advanced. Slow-pitch players are far more fun to watch, especially the guys who need to win.
They're the ones shrieking at their teammates until their faces turn purple. They murmur obscenities, slam their gloves to the ground and pace the dugout with their hands on their hips, while those of us who stink make fun of them.
I know this because I am one of the worst softball players ever to pick up a bat. Once inside a glove, my hand becomes a foot. Mister Magoo could catch more fly balls.
In my 20s I played on a women's team in the city's A league, the level for players who actually have skills.
The pitcher was my best friend and pitcher, it turned out, was my favorite position -- as long as I was pouring. The pub that sponsored our team gave us beer on nights we won. And we always won because I always sat the bench.
I was allowed on the field only twice. The first time, I nearly was knocked unconscious by a fly ball to right field during warm-up. As one eye turned black, they moved me to catcher. We continued warming up, and I missed a ball that bounced on the plate, which blackened the other eye.
I spent the rest of the evening on the bench, flinching anytime the ball came near the dugout. The second time I was allowed to play was in the last inning of the last game of a tournament we'd already won. And we were seven runs ahead.
By the time I hit 30, I realized C- or D-league coed softball was the way to go. By then, we're just happy we can still toddle around the bases without collapsing. Beer and greasy burgers afterward are the only reasons we show up.
In fact, if your team can play lousy enough to be losing by 10 runs at the beginning of the 5th inning, you get to leave sooner.
So log onto www.petitiononline.com/olysoftb/ and bring softball back to the Olympics.
London, I hear, has some really great pubs.
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