This bearded beast is in no way connected to the description below. I made a stop this afternoon at the good old Cottage Hill Park (I know it is Medal of Honor park, but I just can't get that in my head). It is apparently softball season and it got me thinking. If you have never heard Jim Rome spout of in Dennis Miller type rant(minus all the big words)about softball guy....check it out here....Jim Rome Softball Guy. I sat in my truck for a good 15 minutes taking mental notes for the editors of the Nanner Stand.
Softball Guy is that squirmy little fella who usually has that mangy half grown in beard or ratty looking goatee. He has the good old college ball cap with a bill rolled tighter than a Taco Bell bean burrito. They roll up in a company truck with a dented fender and a magnetic sign on the door offering reasonable plumbing rates. The tailgate drops to reveal a red dirt stained igloo cooler overflowing with Miller Lite tall boys. The sound of beer cans popping only seem to signal the over-make-uped wife who got knocked up minutes after the last prom song was played. They walk half cocked from spending their teenage years lugging a dirty foot baby around on their hip. They run around the parking lot chasing little rat tailed offspring as Bubba recounts the homer he hit off Silacaga pipe and supply last week. The worn out common law wife jerks one kid by the arm and threatens another all while managing to keep her shower shoes on. Eventually the posse of sliding short all stars grows to "Good ole' Boy" status and anyone not of old english blood takes a wide path. Tthese lords of the short field...these Gods of thigh rash....these half cocked Kings of bad form take the field with more gear bags than a rock climber. I personally love the guys with the matching tight pants and bat bag. Nothing says I got game like beer fat and polyester/lycra. AS the kids run barefoot through the park with their Popsicle stains on their chins and dingy hand me down Elmo shirts, daddy pulls out his $600 bat and spits out his Red Man. After a mesmerizing night of awkward stances and drawn out words like "Shhhiiiiit", the band of merry necks make their way back to the company truck for another round of those good old American hops. The wives load the sugared up younguns in the Silverado with that look that lets you know just how excited she is to work up another tax break later that night. All this 4 nights a week.
Please never ask me to join a softball team!
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2 comments:
Okay, this is some of the funniest shit you have ever written! LMAO and sadly its dead on.
Very funny. And I wouldn't have expected anything less from Deano. I played in softball leagues for 6 years and I, or my friends do not fit that mold. But, we may have been the only ones. The funny part is these guys (the ones you refer to) take it more serious than church, death or birth. The would puch an umpire over a bad call.
True story:
Fall 2003: The Sleep center (my team) was playing The Georgetown Brewery (you know, out on Lott Road) at 6:00 p.m. They were one man short 30 minutes before the game. I was friends with one guy on the team and asked what they were going to do. He sais "what a minute, what about Louie?" The captian replied "Naw, wifes in LAbor, but i'll give him a call". Fifteen minutes later Louis was playin shortstop with a SouthernLinc strapped to his cut off wranglers.
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