Jim Austin

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JIM AUSTIN

Weenie roasts & large round balls

Last week, the newly formed over-30 baseball commission sent ads out to local newspapers to recruit players. The response was dismal.

What has happened to the men of America? Where are the Boog Powells, Stormin' Norman Cashes and Oil Can Boyds?

I'll tell you where they are: Softball, that's where.

Softball is to baseball as "musical chairs" is to football. There is a place for softball to be sure. The outdoor weenie roast with potato salad, several families and lots of kiddies is a good venue for softball.

Dads can show the tots how to hit with one of those pink oversized plastic bats and whiffle ball. It's a great way to introduce the little nippers to the idea of hitting a round ball with a round bat.

It turns out that many of the dads were unclear on the concept. Lobbing the ball to someone and biffing it with your plastic bat was supposed to be a prelim to real baseball. You weren't supposed to go out and form "weenie leagues" and actually pursue softball for its own sake, for Pete's sake.

Women play softball, not men. Softball is easy, baseball is hard. I'm not saying that women like softball just because it's easier. Look at figure skating. Only women (and men with serious estrogen abundance) figure skate. It is a very difficult sport.

I tried a single sauchow between periods of a hockey game once and darned near broke a major clavicle.

Women get away with playing the easier game of softball because they thought of it first. Men who play softball are just playing pretend baseball. They think it puts them in the same category as the baseball fraternity.

Well, I have news for you Tinkerbelle, it doesn't. It's like playing video boxing on your Nintendo and thinking you're tough.

All this softball reminds me of an article in Sports Illustrate a while ago. It featured a young man who loved to play field hockey. He dressed up in the little plaid skirt and whizzed around the field with the rest of the girls. Softball is just field hockey without the plaid skirts.

Softball got out of control sometime in the 50s when the Beaver's dad and Lumpy Forester's old man got the idea for a neighborhood league without the kids. Beer was soon introduced and that was all it took to have softball spread across North America like weapons-grade anthrax. Lucky the Beav's dad didn't think about dancing around the Maypole on summer weekends or all you whale-gut softballers would be doing that instead of prancing around your 60-foot bases. Not that there's much difference.

So here's the pitch. Now that I've pointed out the fact that your testicles are about the size of bb's from playing this girlie game and you probably have started sitting down to pee, how about trying to reclaim your manhood?

You will have to wait until after the game to drink beer, you have to run 90 feet to first base and the pitcher won't lob in a ball the size of a grapefruit.

Let me point out one other fact: It's the national friggin' pastime. If you guys persist in playing softball year after year then the terrorists have won.

Give me a call at 802.387.6058 any evening and I'll hook you up with a team. We play from mid-April through mid-July, plus playoffs. That still gives you plenty of time to don your tutu and panties and play some softball if you must. But I warn you, it won't be the same.