Confessions of a Softball Whore

It's happened. I've finally crossed the line. I am now DREAMING about the Rockford Thunder. Literally. I woke up after only a few hours of sleep last night and felt like I had been to yet another game....and, I had already been to a game that night. See these dogs pictured above? They are sad and lonely and feeling neglected because I am gone so much, watching professional women's softball. It's only eight home games into the season and the dogs are already moving out, loading up the SUV....you know what Lucy's saying? "Mama, you used to love us so much!" Freckles, on the other hand, isn't saying anything--that crabby patty face of hers says it all.

...before I get to my softball slut-ness, I have to share this tidbit about the wife. She is having quite the time (and you can imagine how happy she is that I'm talking about it in the blog). Before the game on Sunday, she managed to destroy her bike tire while trying to fill it with air; she left the car keys on the ground next to the car (blaming me for losing the keys); she left her purse in the shopping cart at Walmart; and, she managed to literally leave the car door open while parked in the driveway. This is all very uncharacteristic for her and to have all these things happen on one day is like the planets lining up and the Cubs winning the pennant on the same day. Peri-menopause? Loss of brain cells finally catching up with her? Distraction by too much softball? Blinded by my beauty?!! Time will tell. (BTW--Incredibly, the purse was still in the cart when we returned to the store; the neighbor had an extra bike tire tube and fixed it for free and the keys were left for us to find. She may be having an uncharacteristically unusual time, but it all worked out in the end.)

Back to softball....So, I now have the autographs of every player on my Rockford Thunder cap. I have Cat Osterman's autograph on the original photo proudly displayed on my desk at work. I have become one with my 'bleacher butt.' I know the names of the players when I see them walking by (without peeking at the names on their uniforms). I am basically a softball stalker and I can't stop myself.....you thought Madonna madness was bad last year. This is just as bad (albeit much cheaper).

Here's a softball story from Sunday. I swear the entire thing is true. I needed to get Ms. Mac's autograph on my cap so I would have the full team. She had been busy peeing in a cup the night before (drug testing!) and so I stalked her after Sunday's game. (The Thunder won, with Cat on the mound. Was there a doubt?) It was a crowded one, with lots of excited, giddy young girls giggling their way to the outfield. I have some decorum left, so I didn't knock any of them down--I waited patiently with a gaggle of them to get my signature. Now, there is not much more energy than a bunch of ten year olds waiting to get autographs of softball heros (well, besides that group of 300 eighth graders I was talking about a few blog entries ago). I was entertained beyond all belief--those kids had me laughing out loud. One of them had secured three balls to get autographed; she proudly announced she was going to keep one for herself and sell the other two on eBay, so she could be a millionaire. I kid you not!
Above: Maybe De De Justice has decided to make a little extra spending money, selling Cat's signature.

The players are so good with the kids. It was heart warming and I am not in any way being a smart-ass about this. The players talked to the kids, asked them questions, thanked them for coming to the game, took the time to look each kid in the eye. You could see how excited those kids were, how much it meant to them. Kudos to the ladies of the Thunder for being such professional, genuine ambassadors to the sport and to the city.

Of course, I just wanted those kids OUT OF MY WAY so I could get Mackenzie's autograph.

The look I get from the players is much different than the looks they give to the kids. For me, it's more, "Oh geez, another middle-aged queer stalker. Just let me sign the ball and move on." (Actually, the players are polite and thankful to everyone. Well, thankful for everyone except those people who live across the river that make the Park District turn off the lights and the music so early in the evening. But, that's a whole 'nother story.) Thankfully, I won't have to stalk them any further for autographs....until I get my ten year old niece to town--then, all bets are off.

Here's a photo of Cat high-fiving a teammate. In the foreground: two fools--er, I mean, two brave souls (Kristen in white and Anna in pink) waiting to try and hit off of Cat's pitching. (See previous blogs.)

While I was writing this blog, I started thinking about how I needed to take a day or two off of watching softball. As the wife is out of town for the next three days, I figure this is a good time to go through withdrawal....I tell the dogs I'll be around for the next few evenings and they look like they might forgive me.....I want to stop dreaming about professional softball. I think about watching some favorite Xena episodes during my down time....

....then, the doorbell rings. I AM NOT MAKING THIS UP! It's my season-ticket holding neighbor--you know, Cheeseball neighbor--and she's standing there with a ticket to tomorrow night's game (Chicago Bandits vs. Venezuela). Who am I to say no to Venezula or anything free? One ticket. Hmmm. The wife's out of town, I'm not on call, it's one ticket......

ENABLER! ENABLER! What kind of neighbor are you?!! The pain, the horror, I can't tear myself away from the diamond....

....then, she comes back and gives me a SECOND ticket as there are TWO, count 'em, TWO games tomorrow night......AAAAAAAGGGGGGGHHHHH! What else is there to say except.....

....PLAY BALL!

Guess where I'll be tomorrow night???!