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The weekend
May. 19th, 2011 11:43 amLast weekend I had my regular 1 pm Saturday game of softball, and then another at 6, way uptown (by 102nd Street). These are two different teams, both part of the alumni league, but there is some overlap. I started playing for the second team, affiliated with the Michigan School of Business, at the behest of someone on the first team, Cecil, who also went to the University of Chicago. (I personally went to neither Chicago NOR Michigan!) I started playing with the Chicago team last year, and they know me pretty well by now, but there is someone new on the team (at least he wasn't there last year) who is getting on my nerves. Despite having seen me in action, he treats me as though I don't know how to play, or am completely unathletic--in other words, he's either a male chauvinist or doing a good imitation of one. I will say, he is part of a cultural/ethnic group that has a reputation for being extremely chauvinistic. Two weeks ago he was playing at shortstop--every time there was a runner on first, he would explain to me how, if the ball was hit to him, he was going to throw it to me. After about the third iteration of this, I snapped at him "yes--I know how to play softball. I get it." Last week he did even worse--he was playing shortfield and came running in to field a looper. He got it and was about 20 feet away from me--instead of just throwing it, he gave me this exaggerated "baby" throw, very arched, as though I couldn't handle a real throw. Not only was this insulting, he arched it so high, it nearly went over my head! I leaped up to catch it, was barely able to do so but did, and made the catch (and the out). This being the third out, as we jogged off the field I said to him, my voice kind of shaking--I was caught between anger that he'd done such a stupid, insulting thing, and gladness that I made the out anyway--"Dude, just THROW it. I can handle it. You arched that way too high, I'm not that tall."
So this has definitely been getting on my nerves. After this game, I took a walk through the park on my way to the new Sprinkles which has just opened on the Upper East Side by Bloomingdale's. I had an adorable encounter on my way there--at the southeast corner of the park, I stopped at a hotdog stand that featured all organic meats. I ordered a turkey hotdog and the guy, who from his accent was from another country, asked me what condiments I'd like. He listed all of them and my eyes lit up when he said raw onions--I said raw onions, brown mustard and mayonnaise. He said "are you from New York City?" I said originally I'm from Virginia. He said "it is unusual for Americans to have mayonnaise on their hotdogs, very unusual." I said well, Southerners love their mayonnaise--we put it on everything. Fries, grilled cheese sandwiches, everything. (Side note--my mother puts it on SALAD. And cottage cheese. Mmm. I grew up eating cottage cheese for lunch with a dab of mayo on top.) I asked him where he was from, he said Egypt, and I said I was dying to visit there sometime. (Gotta see the only still-extant Seven Wonders of the World.) Then I mentioned that I'd spent time in Spain, including the place where mayonnaise was invented--the town of Mahon, on the island of Menorca, in the Balearic Islands. He was fascinated, and asked me exactly where so I sketched out a little map of the Iberian archipelago with my hands for him. He said he'd have to remember, so he could tell his customers. It was just such a charming New York City moment.
After THAT I went to Sprinkles (mmm, dark chocolate cupcakes...), then to church. I am pretty much incapable of getting up for the morning service, not to mention I'd have to dress up a lot more. The weekend early evening services are much better for me, and lower key--no one seems to mind that I'm in softball gear! They have a 5:20 mass on Saturdays, and an Evensong service at 5:00 on Sundays--I prefer the Saturday because Evensong is a longer, bigger deal. Also, I sang in my church choir for like thirty years, starting from the age of seven, and to me the term "Evensong" means "another precious weekend day spent all day at church!" (We had Evensong one Sunday every month, and on those days we had an 11 am service and then one later on at 5, so I spent all day in a dress. I hated this.) This week the service was in the St. Joseph Chapel, which I love--it's one of St. Mary's little side chapels, and it's so pretty and small and personal. St. Mary's really has THE most gorgeous physical facility of any non-cathedral I've ever seen.
After church I went back uptown for Game 2. When I got there, as it turned out there weren't too many Michigan players there--we were playing against Fordham, who had plenty of players, so some of them played for us. My Chicago team also plays against Fordham and they remembered me (I typically do pushups when my team is at bat--mainly to keep my blood moving and my energy up, but also to psych 'em out ;) So we get out there, and the shortstop on my team is very good--and I can just *tell* from the way he's playing, he just assumes I'm not that good. (Example--instead of throwing the ball to me, he's running the ball over to make the play himself.) I don't take this too personally--he doesn't know me, hasn't seen me play--but it gets to me nonetheless. I'm brooding over this a bit when an awesome, once-in-a-season play happens.
We're in the field, and there are runners at first and third. The ball is hit to the third baseman, who checks the runner at third, then throws it to me at second. I make the out, see the runner at third going for home, and NAIL the ball to the catcher. Like, that ball was on a CLOTHESLINE. The catcher makes the tag. Not only is this a double-play but we saved a run! Our team goes bananas--EVERYONE, my team and theirs, was congratulating me, "oh my God, did you see that?!" Hullaballoo ad infinitum. It. Was. Awesome. The reaction went on quite a while, and of course I knew part of the reason people were so impressed was because I'm a girl. No guy who made a double-play would've gotten such a reaction--certainly the catcher and the third-baseman, who were part of it, weren't patted on the back liike this. You know what? That's the flip side of the crap I get most of the time, one small reward. Right now, I'll take the adulation, thanks ;)
*Basking*
The only thing that could've improved it if it had happened in front of the obnoxious guy on the Chicago team.
So this has definitely been getting on my nerves. After this game, I took a walk through the park on my way to the new Sprinkles which has just opened on the Upper East Side by Bloomingdale's. I had an adorable encounter on my way there--at the southeast corner of the park, I stopped at a hotdog stand that featured all organic meats. I ordered a turkey hotdog and the guy, who from his accent was from another country, asked me what condiments I'd like. He listed all of them and my eyes lit up when he said raw onions--I said raw onions, brown mustard and mayonnaise. He said "are you from New York City?" I said originally I'm from Virginia. He said "it is unusual for Americans to have mayonnaise on their hotdogs, very unusual." I said well, Southerners love their mayonnaise--we put it on everything. Fries, grilled cheese sandwiches, everything. (Side note--my mother puts it on SALAD. And cottage cheese. Mmm. I grew up eating cottage cheese for lunch with a dab of mayo on top.) I asked him where he was from, he said Egypt, and I said I was dying to visit there sometime. (Gotta see the only still-extant Seven Wonders of the World.) Then I mentioned that I'd spent time in Spain, including the place where mayonnaise was invented--the town of Mahon, on the island of Menorca, in the Balearic Islands. He was fascinated, and asked me exactly where so I sketched out a little map of the Iberian archipelago with my hands for him. He said he'd have to remember, so he could tell his customers. It was just such a charming New York City moment.
After THAT I went to Sprinkles (mmm, dark chocolate cupcakes...), then to church. I am pretty much incapable of getting up for the morning service, not to mention I'd have to dress up a lot more. The weekend early evening services are much better for me, and lower key--no one seems to mind that I'm in softball gear! They have a 5:20 mass on Saturdays, and an Evensong service at 5:00 on Sundays--I prefer the Saturday because Evensong is a longer, bigger deal. Also, I sang in my church choir for like thirty years, starting from the age of seven, and to me the term "Evensong" means "another precious weekend day spent all day at church!" (We had Evensong one Sunday every month, and on those days we had an 11 am service and then one later on at 5, so I spent all day in a dress. I hated this.) This week the service was in the St. Joseph Chapel, which I love--it's one of St. Mary's little side chapels, and it's so pretty and small and personal. St. Mary's really has THE most gorgeous physical facility of any non-cathedral I've ever seen.
After church I went back uptown for Game 2. When I got there, as it turned out there weren't too many Michigan players there--we were playing against Fordham, who had plenty of players, so some of them played for us. My Chicago team also plays against Fordham and they remembered me (I typically do pushups when my team is at bat--mainly to keep my blood moving and my energy up, but also to psych 'em out ;) So we get out there, and the shortstop on my team is very good--and I can just *tell* from the way he's playing, he just assumes I'm not that good. (Example--instead of throwing the ball to me, he's running the ball over to make the play himself.) I don't take this too personally--he doesn't know me, hasn't seen me play--but it gets to me nonetheless. I'm brooding over this a bit when an awesome, once-in-a-season play happens.
We're in the field, and there are runners at first and third. The ball is hit to the third baseman, who checks the runner at third, then throws it to me at second. I make the out, see the runner at third going for home, and NAIL the ball to the catcher. Like, that ball was on a CLOTHESLINE. The catcher makes the tag. Not only is this a double-play but we saved a run! Our team goes bananas--EVERYONE, my team and theirs, was congratulating me, "oh my God, did you see that?!" Hullaballoo ad infinitum. It. Was. Awesome. The reaction went on quite a while, and of course I knew part of the reason people were so impressed was because I'm a girl. No guy who made a double-play would've gotten such a reaction--certainly the catcher and the third-baseman, who were part of it, weren't patted on the back liike this. You know what? That's the flip side of the crap I get most of the time, one small reward. Right now, I'll take the adulation, thanks ;)
*Basking*
The only thing that could've improved it if it had happened in front of the obnoxious guy on the Chicago team.
