Slowpitch softball, seriously

At great personal risk, I have done something both of you can only dream of. Now, if you’re at all familiar with our global outreach programs here at Slow Harbor, which you aren’t, you’re probably thinking, “My gosh, he’s figured out how to end world hunger”, or even, “He’s managed to make a dating app work for me.” Hah! Don’t be ridiculous. In fact, what I have done is far more life-changing.

I have joined a recreational softball league.

A few things you should know, for context:

• I am somewhere between 41 and 59 years old.
• I am a competitive person.
• I am an athlete, and pretty much a stud.

Well, was. I was an athlete, way back in 1872. And if we’re being really honest, competition back then wasn’t all that fierce. I mean, in those times, you woke up, found some cereal, wet your toothbrush if your mom was home, and went outside.

Outside was where other kids were. You might have heard of it, though these days it’s become almost mythical in status. Nobody actually goes outside anymore, and certainly not to play. Go ahead and try it. If you poke your head, turtle-like, out of your front door, you’ll see a few tumbleweeds. You’ll hear the distant sound of lawn equipment. And if you walk all the way out to the street, you’ll smell the weed all your neighbors smoke all day every day. You’ll be wondering how, in a middle-class neighborhood in the United States of By God America, it has come to this when, suddenly, you see — could it be? — kids! Outside!

Of course, that will be the last thought you have, ever, because you were stupid enough to leave your house and go stand in the street, getting high from second-hand smoke, when you got run over by kids in a golf cart.

Golf carts are the only way kids will tolerate being outside these days. And we’re not talking about just any golf carts, like the ones you remember on municipal golf courses that traveled at speeds up to 1 MPH for as long as two holes, assuming one of them was a par 3. No, there are special, customized carts, and to add the word “golf” to them is, frankly, insulting.

The kind of cart that just ran over you doesn’t have a place on the back to attach your golf bag. It has a cooler. It has a fancy paint job and custom rims. It tops out at 93 MPH on pavement, which helps explain why you didn’t see it coming. It’s piloted by 12-year-olds. And it has a system. Importantly, the golf cart in question costs more than your car, and everybody has one. Except you.

But I, being the old, nature-loving, fresh-air-breathing Director General of Slow Harbor that I am, have had enough. Clearly golf is too expensive, which is how I’ve settled on slowpitch softball. And because I am in demand, I joined as a free agent. I’ll meet the team lucky enough to have me later. In the meantime, with just a little bit of research, I have managed to spend just under $200,000 on equipment and fees.

It turns out, having three pro-level baseball gloves doesn’t even get me a seat at the vaunted slowpitch table; my gloves are too small. Plus, my old ash wood baseball bat does not, apparently, conform to league standards. Have you seen how much slowpitch bats go for these days? A lot is how much, and this gave me my first signs of worry. If some dude is willing to spend north of $300 on a bat for recreational slowpitch softball, of all things, how seriously must these people take this? The only answer I can come up with is, a lot more seriously than I am. They probably have golf carts at home, too.

Which makes me worry more. You probably didn’t know, despite the fact that you live in your basement and spend every waking moment online, that there is an entire subreddit dedicated to my new sport. People there ask serious questions about hitting slumps and the right kind of equipment as though it actually matters to them. Others, I swear, upload videos of themselves swinging their $400 bats and actively solicit advice from total strangers about how they can improve. I’ve also learned, thanks to the professional amateurs there, that I must have batting gloves and, really, cleats. Plus, if I plan to slide — it goes without saying that I’m a weenie if I don’t slide — I should wear baseball pants.

In point of fact, I do not plan to slide.

So now I’m nervous. I’ve seen all the videos of people hitting line drives that travel just under the legal speed limit of light, and I’m thinking, “Gosh, I don’t really see all that well anymore.”

Fortunately for me, the season doesn’t start for two more weeks, so I have plenty of time to remember how to do things like run, or even jog. And I can go find a batting cage somewhere to practice my swing once my new bat comes in.

I might need a ride, though. Can I borrow your golf cart?