The word of the day yesterday was anti-motivational.
So you know how I was all excited that it "smelled like ball season"... well yesterday it "smelled like ski season", which considering we're' nearing the end of April is just completely uncalled for. Don't the weather gods know it's time for a new spring outfit? Quit trying them on, only to exchange them for your comfy winter sweatpants, already and just pick one! I dashed up to the ball field with my dinner of champions (subway), and I have to say I've never been so happy to see the MoHo.
It was fricken freezing Mr. Bigglesworth! And as I sat in the MoHo eating my dinner, it began to snow... now I love playing ball, but I was so not into it last night. By the time we'd warmed up, and then waited for the other team to get their poop in a group we'd all cooled down again.
And standing out their with my borrowed cleats and glove I felt like a little kid on the neighbours back lawn playing with a tennis ball and using a hockey stick handle for a bat... trying to hit it onto the road because it would roll further!
The tone for the game was... "E", for error. My sweatpants made for a nice drag chute, and I was too hot with my sweatshirt on, but it was too damn cold and windy to take it off... and while I know that it shouldn't matter what equipment you have, I missed a ball that I touched, that I *should* have had... hands down.
Grrrrrr.
We're just not even going to talk about my hitting... it was so bad, but the kind where people on the other team, who don't know how I usually hit, tell me it's a nice hit. Which is like winning the consolation prize, you still smile and nod and say thanks... but really you're stretching your good sportsmanship beyond it's ultimate tensile strength.
So you know how I was all excited that it "smelled like ball season"... well yesterday it "smelled like ski season", which considering we're' nearing the end of April is just completely uncalled for. Don't the weather gods know it's time for a new spring outfit? Quit trying them on, only to exchange them for your comfy winter sweatpants, already and just pick one! I dashed up to the ball field with my dinner of champions (subway), and I have to say I've never been so happy to see the MoHo.
It was fricken freezing Mr. Bigglesworth! And as I sat in the MoHo eating my dinner, it began to snow... now I love playing ball, but I was so not into it last night. By the time we'd warmed up, and then waited for the other team to get their poop in a group we'd all cooled down again.
And standing out their with my borrowed cleats and glove I felt like a little kid on the neighbours back lawn playing with a tennis ball and using a hockey stick handle for a bat... trying to hit it onto the road because it would roll further!
The tone for the game was... "E", for error. My sweatpants made for a nice drag chute, and I was too hot with my sweatshirt on, but it was too damn cold and windy to take it off... and while I know that it shouldn't matter what equipment you have, I missed a ball that I touched, that I *should* have had... hands down.
Grrrrrr.
We're just not even going to talk about my hitting... it was so bad, but the kind where people on the other team, who don't know how I usually hit, tell me it's a nice hit. Which is like winning the consolation prize, you still smile and nod and say thanks... but really you're stretching your good sportsmanship beyond it's ultimate tensile strength.
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