Stu's visit to Egypt (year 2)
09/02/02
Well, I'm back in the swing of things. Classes kicked off to a good start, I've settled into my new apartment, and
softball practice started tonight. There's something inherently wrong with the statement "softball practice"
when you're talking about a recreation league for a bunch of rag-tag, out-of-shape, misplaced ex-pats whose entire
purpose for joining is to drink enough local swill to forget that they live in a middle-eastern, third-world
country. Some of these guys miss their two-car garage and cul-de-sacs so much that I'll bet they'd join a lawn mowing
league if there was any grass to cut. But since we live in the desert they settle for softball.
I like playing because I like being "one of the guys". But not in the traditional, tobacco spitting, muscle-flexing way.
I'm not athletic enough to warrant the automatic esteem of everyone on the field.
In fact, I'm not even athletic enough to be on the field. (Literally. You see, there's a
small fence that separates the dugout from the field and most guys just hop over it like hockey players swapping lines. I always use the steps at the
end of the dugout.) I wouldn't be exaggerating if I said that my strength on the softball field was my sense of comedic timing. Some guys can make
contact with the ball, or make a throw from the outfield, or hustle down the base line to beat out a throw to first
base. I can do none of those things. But I can heckle the best of them. And make it sound light hearted and
funny, in a non-threatening sort of way.
As talented as I am, I realize the limited use of a mascot at this level of sport and feel bad that I can't contribute more
to the team's actual success. (If you're shallow enough to measure "success" as a simple win/loss ratio.
Which, judging by the huge standings board at the concession stand, is exactly how many people see it.) So I considered
sitting out this season so that I could get some additional training. I'd consider it recuperation
time. (I'll have to feign an injury. Or maybe I could say I was recovering from a lifetime of sitting on my ass and stuffing my face.) When I
brought up this idea to a teammate he seemed genuinely hurt. I tried to convince him
that I would only cause the team to suffer, but he defeated that argument with one glance at the standings board next to the Coca-Cola sign.
Each team name was painted on its own movable board that allowed the order to be shuffled throughout the season according to the team's record. Apparently, a board was needed elsewhere so ours was missing and at the bottom of the list was our team name, painted permanently on the background. His little pep talk (just a pep "glance" really) did the trick. I feel better about playing on the team and have adopted a new motto, "Do No Harm". I'm ready for the first pitch.