I cannot think of any other sport that I would rather play than—no, wait, let me hold you in suspenders, er, suspense for another line or two. And while I'm at it, I cannot think of any sport that is more gender-friendly, all-Canadian, and wholesome than—no wait, a few more lines, please.
It's a summer game, always involves both sexes, and allows for plenty of babble and dabble, with a touch of rabble. The rules make it a klutz-friendly sport, while at the same time, plenty of opportunity for the jerks, er, jocks to strut their stuff.
I would tabbed it “arch ball,” or “slower-than-molasses-in-January ball”--maybe even “blabber-jabber ball.” It is one of those games that made me even look good betimes, at least in my own mind.
The game, of course, is slow-pitch. Well, that's how I would spell it, if they ever asked me. You will see it spelled “slo-pitch,” and I can live with that.
I had been active in this game for years until I kept putting out and I discovered that I no longer had output. A twist here and a shout there, and my first base playing days were over. One reason I loved hitting home runs was because I could take my time getting around the bases. I was so slow, they took the seventh-inning stretch just to allow me to get home. Even if it was only the fourth inning.
Trouble is, I don't recall ever hitting a homer.
Slo-pitch teams are comprised of ten players: seven guys and three girls. That may seem sexist, though I think it's a reflection of a better era when we treated women with the respect that they deserve.
A recent trip to an area weekend event (the sort of thing we would have seen recently at Burdett and Foremost, as an example) brought this sentiment home to me. I have no idea where the teams were from, or who actually won it all on that Sunday, but I do know one thing: they all had a lot of genuine fun.
(Maurice: that would be the basis for my witty “babble and dabble” comment.)
Over the years I have played against teams that felt they needed their liquor, f-bombs, and racy t-shirts to help them win. Didn't work: They still lost and seemed to have a miserable time doing it. I have played against some of my Mennonite friends (who wouldn't stoop to liquor, f-bombs, and racy t-shirts) throughout the area. Competitive, clean, and good losers.
My favourite team, of course, the one I played on, didn't need liquor, f-bombs, or racy t-shirts to win. We called ourselves the “Badgers,” a fierce, macho aggressive prairie animal. So ill-named for my team. Didn't help us: We could lose very well, even with our cool navy blue t-shirts. And like our Mennonite opponents, we were gracious losers--frequent, gracious losers, I might add.
I appreciated the camaraderie of every game I played in, even if those @#$%&! Coyotes thrashed us regularly.
I think one of the keys to a successful slo-pitch game—or tournament, for that matter—is the pace. Pace, as in the pitch is very slow. You could text home to Momma between the ball leaving the pitcher's hand and floating by the batter's hand. (Maurice, that's where the term “slow...pitch” comes from.)
Another part of that pace is the mercy rule (no more than a certain amount of runs in any given inning, mercifully), thus creating a low-key ambience and a more more relaxed approach to the game. No threat of being massacred by some bulging bicep neanderthal team here.
When someone actually makes it on base, runner and baseman (base-woman?) can be seen nagging, ragging, or bragging—all in good fun, of course. Even between third base and home plate is a safe place, space, and pace: no play at the plate, just a line of commitment.
No community event is complete without a slo-pitch tournament, and indeed, very few leave it out. Recent area weekend celebrations will attest to that.
Makes me want to throw on the runners once again, even if it's to shoot the breeze at first.
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