No, that isn't the score of my company Football team--it's the score of our first SOFTBALL playoff game which we played last night.
Let's set the scene. Our team hasn't had the best of luck this year. We are in the worst corporate league in the city, hands down, which is run by a woman with the IQ of a baby just out of the womb. Consistently we rush to our game to find that we don't have a team to play, or we're 3 minutes late and have to "double forfeit" [don't ask--I didn't think it was possible either]. So, basically, we had low expectations for the game last night, but were stupidly hopeful that we'd actually get to play.
In typical MB softball league fashion, we took to the field rearing to go. However, there was no field to be had. Unlike our last 3 games, we could field a full team, we had a team to play [yay!], and an umpire to make sure we played fair in the sandbox. However, some other team was on OUR field [I don't' know why we were surprised. see: paragraph above where I mention the organizer has the IQ of fetus, who we will call without protecting her real name--Jean] With a lot of reluctance, swearing, and death-threat phone calls to Jean we ventured two fields over to a baseball diamond which looked seemingly suitable, however had no right field. And I'm not kidding. There was the dirt of the in-field, then a fence, then the east river [tasty]. But we're Millward Brownies and don't think we're going to let that stop us. No No NO obstacle was going to get in the way of us playing that game--Not lack of a field, Not lack of a right-field, Not lack of a left shoe [that was me. . .I'm awesome, thanks to Hillary for letting me borrow her shoes!].
7:00 rolled around and we were feeling the pressure to start the game, since darkness was sneaking up on us. No warm-up, we had to hit the field. The other team looked professional--the girls were wearing league-of-their-own-type skirts and have official looking softball socks [it doesn't take much to impress us]. Vicki started singing "We're the members of the All American Team. . ." hoping to pysch them out and get us going.
Let's play ball. . . I'll fast forward you through the high-lights:
-Our team had an incredible hitting streak . Everyone.hit.awesome. Key plays: Sean hitting a *Grand Slam* in the 5th inning [I just made that up, I have no idea which inning it was]. Sean hitting *Michelle* when she was on third base, a stinging line drive straight to her hip.
-Our crazy ump who wouldn't let us have an "odd number" of players. Who also took a phone call while I was up to bat, with a count of 1-0. He had blue tooth so it looked like he was talking to an imaginary player, or peeing in the other team's dug-out. I found both options amusing.
-Our ump again who, in addition to being crazy, can't add. In the 5th [??] inning we scored 7 runs. Hillary, being the math whiz she is, was talking to the ump and said "Great, we had 17, we scored 7, now we have 24 runs." Ump gives her a blank look: "No, you have 25." Hillary repeats her amazing equation [she went to college!]. Ump gives same blank look and same answer [I'm guessing he didn't got to college]. Hillary responds resisting the urge to argue reason, logic, or mathematical correctnes says "Sure, I'll take your score." So it looks like our imaginary player scored the 25th run. . .probably the same one the ump was talking to in the other team's dug-out.
Special thanks to our non-MB players who came out to save the day: Steve, Andrew, and Yuli [I think she only comes because we like to call her adorabbblllleeeeeee] And Erica, Photographer Extraordinaire.
Stay tuned for next week's game. . .We don't know when it is, we can't guarantee a field or a team, but we will definitely curse Jean and drink some beer. Because we are the Millward Brown Happy Hour.
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