Last night I watched the third inning of the women's college world series, AKA WCWS. I didn't set out to watch it but circumstances, and a table of 50-somethings trying to be cougers - who also happened to be sitting right below the TV with a MLB game, dictated that I turn the 45 degrees to spend a few quality minutes with the the Lady Gators and the Huskies, but I'm sure they use a name other than Lady Huskies.
Turning my shoulder to the aging cougars, I watched intently as the third inning began. It is a sport after all and I am a man eating a Mexican Pizza and drinking a beer.
Washington had three straight hits to start the inning and loaded the bases. The problem was that each of the hits were those those swinging bunts, where the oversized lime-green ball dribbles to a fielder whose hands are too small to make a good throw to first base.
Note to guys: You can't spill your beer chasing foul balls at the WCWS. Not that lime green ball. Not cool.
About a quarter of the way into the pizza, I realized it was really bland. No heat, no spices. Just like the game on TV.
Anyway, the next hitter sent a blast bouncing to the WCWS warning track, AKA the infield basepath. It squeaked through into center field. The throw to home was late and the catcher tried to catch a runner at second. That's when it got spicy.
The catcher uncorked her toss into deep center. The center fielder watched the errant toss sail and the base runners started flying like a herd of gazelles fleeing a hungry momma lion.
They were running up each others backs, and darting to and fro.
And I lost it. I yelled at the TV, "that's the best hit of the night number 3" and I started laughing. Controlled at first, then I noticed the ladies just staring at me, quiet now with their sloppy drunk eyes and I bursted. Food coming out of nose, face bright red, uncontrolled gut buster. The harder I tried to stop the more it came.
After about 30 seconds of this, I threw my napkin in the air and said, awww fuck.
Apparently, I drew the attention of the owner and he sat down with me and asked what the hell was so funny. I explained the situation and he got me some napkins and 2 free beers.
I settled down. The drunk ladies left. Gee I wonder why. And I had the place to myself.
Getting back to my mexican pizza, I noticed that towards the middle the jalapenos and onions really kicked the dish into gear. And working through my beer I ended up watching the game.
Quiet now, I realized that the ladies need to spice up their game a little more and the biggest problem is that damn ball. Does the WNBA play with bigger balls than the NBA? Do women golfers hit bigger balls than Tiger? Do women soccer players have bigger balls than the males? OK, bad example.
My point being that softball needs to right-size it's equipment. Just use a baseball. Better throwing. Better hitting. These ladies are athletes and they can handle a faster game. The Olympics didn't dump softball because they didn't have compelling players and stories. They dumped it because the game is flawed. There are lots of Olympic sports that are not competitive. There are something like 3 different biathlon medal events that the Scandi's win every time.
Fix the ball ladies and the Olympics will beg you to come back.
By the way here is the link to the third inning outburst that made me lose it.
I looked it up...they are the Lady Huskies. And they kicked Florida's ass 8 zip.