Drunk at Big League Dreams

I saw the towering walls of the stadium from the street—which was crowded with cars making their way into the parking lot. Upon parking and exiting the car, we stepped into a completely different world, of sweet smells and custom uniforms. Entry was three dollars, which was obviously each individual’s contribution to fund the artificial atmosphere. The stadium consisted of five replica fields with restaurant/bars attached to them, batting cages, a merchandise store, a playground equipped with screaming children, and a guy selling BBQ at a makeshift stand near the entrance. It was like an amusement park for disciplined softball players. I thought of the pitiful middle-school turf I play my games on. Shawn walked us to the Tiger Stadium replica field where Chris was playing. A painted audience back-dropped the field and a pictorial of announcers with headsets on was pasted like wallpaper above the red seats we sat in. I felt bad that Shawn had to pay for me to enter a place like this but we all sensed the humor of the situation so I didn’t care so much. Ryan bought me a beer and we sat next to Shawn and his friend Beans, his name reminded me of Even Stevens, but I didn’t say anything. Eventually Jackie, Daniel, and Aaron met us their and we all got drunk and laughed a lot. I must have been drunk because I started thinking about how much I love softball. I thought about it to the point where I wanted to say it aloud but I refrained from doing so because it was distasteful and of no regards to the current conversation. Softball is one of the best things I have found in a long time. I have no real passion for the game itself; I could care less about how it works or why. I just like to feel my hand in my mitt and my feet in my cleats, to play the game and be better than myself. It keeps my body occupied and I feel that most bodies are at their best when they are occupied. Softball doesn’t have the ability to occupy my mind really, especially as a catcher. I stare off a lot and hold conversations with the umpire’s who also get bored watching my team lose. Sometimes I catch myself smiling at the other team members and feeling bad for them when they get hurt, but I have to remember that they are the enemy for my teams sake. Being conscious of all of this makes me aware of my bordom. I eventually get the opportunity to catch the ball which brings me back. Nothing feels better than catching a ball in my mitt, especially when my big toe is the only part of my body positioned on the base that will declare a runner out and I have to stretch my legs to catch the ball (I have only been successful at this during practice because during games no body throws me the ball). I feel proud of my big toe when I get someone out, I feel proud of everything. I thought about my big toe and practice as I sat there and watched another team play and I wanted to play.

-Carmen