My brother's main hobby is photography, and he often takes photos of the company's softball games. Last week, he e-mailed me to say that the team would be playing its first playoff game during our visit, and asked if we wanted to attend. Since we like cheering for a team (and the pizza afterwards sounded appealing), we said sure.
Today, just as we were waking up, my brother called from work. The first thing he said was that it was pretty overcast outside, which made him wonder if the game was going to happen. "I should know by 3," he said.
"That's fine," I said.
"Also," he said, "the woman who sent out the e-mail isn't feeling well, and another woman is sick, and you need at least three women to play, so they might be looking for volunteers."
After a panic-stricken pause, I informed my brother that I haven't played very much softball, but that I was pretty sure that I sucked. He reminded me that the team wasn't of the highest caliber anyway, having finished the regular season with a record of 1 and 13 (the one win coming after the opposing team failed to show up). He also said that we couldn't be any worse than he was when he'd subbed.
The wife found the prospect of one or both of us playing hilarious. "Well," she said, "you're taller than me."
"I don't think two inches is going to make that much of a difference," I said.
Fortunately, we didn't have to put that to the test, though it was a near thing, as one woman showed up right at game time. So instead we got to be spectators. The team put up a fight but lost (the other team just hit and fielded better). They seemed to have a good time anyway, and so did we.
My brother got some good shots, though he said he would've found it very amusing if we'd had to play. It's just as well -- he already has enough ways to torture his big sister, he doesn't need another one.Technorati: personal