SOFTBALL: what passes for "sports" in your thirties

I guess one of the downsides of having a head injury is that you can't play contact a.k.a "fun" sports anymore.  For me, it was no more hockey, no more wrestling, no more no-rules Indoor Riccochet Death Frisbee.  Us guys, the majority of us in some way or the other love sports.  If we're not trying to cripple our own best friends out on a field, we're screaming while drunk at overpaid millionaires on drugs at how soft they are between bites of an extra large hoagie.  We love competetion and shit smashing into other shit.  We'll drive a roadtrip all the way to Arizona just so see what happens to the car when we pack the trunk with fertizlizer and gasoline and then drive it off a canyon cliff.
So when you start getting older and creakier, you have to take it easier.  My friends found a nice compromise: softball.  It's still a sport, but you won't get killed by a wild pitch and you can drink beer while doing it, which is fine by me.  "Competitive" is not something that's associated with me, but when it comes to some people they will die for the sake of their team (or more accurately, THEIR sake), which is sponsored by a dive bar and co-sponsored by that half-retarded guy with the scary-looking cataracts that runs the live bait stand on the weekends.  It's unreal how many take this shit seriously, especially the men.  I am sorry, you cannot be taken seriously when you're arguing if you're wearing shorts and stirrup socks.  It's just plain science.

And boy do they love to argue, usually with solo umpires who are only there to avoid spending time with their wives for a few hours a week.  Go ahead, throw your glove down in the dirt over a bad call!  You had so much riding on this BIG GAME, after all softball (we call it "slo-PItch in the Frozen North) is what we like to refer to as Serious Business.  If you can't beat the McCarthur Plumbing Buttmonkeys, how will you face your family?  There they are, cheering you from the sidelines.  You promised your son a home run and if you don't, he'll die of cancer.  Your wife hasn't had a reason to date you since high school when you were a sports star and the novelty of making you wear your old varsity jacket while she fucks you with the lights off is wearing thin, so it's your big chance to win your family back.  Ooop!  You fouled on the third strike!  Take a seat, ass-munch and wallow in shame as your son cries.  There's no third strike foul here like those big league pussies!

Then, you have the Poseur ball players.  Softball is NOT a sport that requires dire athletic ability.  Most people can play it.  Then, you have the ones that LIVE it.  Draped head-to-toe in Under Armour.  Backpack equipment bag.  A spare ball glove in case your first glove wears out for no reason or is carried off by baseball glove bandits.  Pinstripe pants too, because if you're going to LOOK like a total asshole, you might as well look like a Yankee and complete the circle.  You're a regular dirt diamond handjob now, Champ!  Now back to work on that screenplay, dude.  They just haven't recognized your genius yet.

Then, we get to my favourites: the ultra-competitive assholes who ruin the game for everyone.  Winning is everything, and if I have to scream at every single fully-grown adult on my team to get the job done than goddamnit thy will be done, or my name ain't Johnny Jackson.  Don't swing at pitches that are outside, a walk's as good as a hit!  Tag up the the fly, that chick in right field has a weak arm!  WHY THE FUCKING WOULDN'T YOU TRY FOR HOME, THE CATCHER CAN'T CATCH WORTH SHIT!! WHY THE FUCK DID I MARRY YOU, BITCH!?!!?...  Look, sorry, guys,  Baby.  You know I'm a little competitive, it's just fun to win once in a while, y'know?  We're still a team.  A family.  And like a family, I will mentally abuse you the minute beer hits my lightweight lips. 

So here I am, the pitcher on my friend's softball team.  I have been hit twice with line drives in four years that I couldn't catch, though I was comforted with "You're lucky, getting hit in the heart with a flight-restrictive ball hurts a lot less" which is a warm thought while lying in dusty, sun-parched dirt while gasping for breath like Doug Quaid decompressing.  Then, there was the time I ran around third and passed out at full speed and woke up covered in blood and contusions.  I WAS however, "safe" because I managed to torpedo through home into the backstop face-first.  That I don't recall.

So yes, so much safer here than contact sports.

ME & LENNY

Lenny Kravitz and I have a few things in common.  For one, we both cheated on Nicole Kidman.  Except instead of the company of groupies, I banged Tom Cruise.  Another, is we smoke the scary and internationally dreaded "marijuana" for inspiration.  He uses it to write his psychedelia-drenched stoner rock, I use it to write half-assed sarcasm that pretty much nobody reads.  So, that makes us boyzzz.  To know how serious I am, take note the rest of this will be written while extremely high:


Look kids, we "stoners" as you like to call us nowadays-- with our custom vans and lumberjack coats-- give us a lot of grief.  It's not our fault, we smoke it to put up with YOUR bitchy intolerance!  Just kidding, I luv yas.  But what is so bad about the shit?  It has been scientifically proven (along with mushrooms) that they are less damaging in short and long term than alcohol or tobacco.  The last few celebrities that have died prematurely have been from those friendly prescription drugs-- mostly downers which eat your body like little Ms. Pac Mans-- they were murdered by their own doctors just to shut them up.  America consumes 83% of the planet's painkillers.  That is some scary shit, why so much pain?

Pot smokers, they aren't tough to deal with.  I mean, even if we DO bother you, you just have to throw a frisbee and run in the other direction while we admire how fuckin' round it is.  But we aren't putting that poison in our systems.

And we love booze just like YOU party animals!!  Oh, FUCK do I love to drink!  From straight Canadian rye to those faggy-looking mojitos, alcohol is a very important step in my life.  But there's a time and a place for it.   I can't use it to kill anger or pain, the wrong affect arises and I don't think my three-year-old daughter would appreciate me throwing her through the sheetrock after mistaking her asking for a glass of water as a midget home invasion because daddy wanted to see if Hemmingway daiquiris could help him to sleep.

We don't like it as an escape.  We like it for:

- A painkiller.  Which is what I use it for (usually)
- A medical usage.  It helps with eye diseases, cancer patients, it's been proven to deflect tourette's syndrome and degenerative bone diseases as well.
- Allows you to rock out to your buddy's shitty jam band without laughing hysterically at the same time.
- Makes a trip to the movies more amusing
- Makes you non-violent, relaxed, easy to contend with.
- You just HEAR the music, man.  I see and FEEL the music, motherfucker.  Look at me when I'm talking to you... (sometimes people put cocaine in joints)

And we have Woody Harrelson in our corner, too.  I LOVE that guy, with his dilated, dead eyes and his love for the booya.  Amongst other celebrities, there's  McConnehey, Bill Maher and every band that played Lollapalooza in the 90's.  Don't forget Steve Jobs and this guy:

See?  It even says it under his photo.  You're gonna fuck with the Billions And Billions Dude?  He used pot to help prove Christianity a sham, don't we all owe it a little something?

If it's not for you, more power to ya.  But if you want to try, by all means.  I'll doubt I could get mad at my daughter the first time I catch her smoking it (and I will).  I'll feel like a hypocrite, and probably just be hurt that she was holding out on me. 

Or maybe I'm going to hell because I'm a fucking idiot.  Now, where's my propeller hat?