Vancouver, Washington: home of the mullet.
I spent many a memorable Fourth of July at The Fort mullet-hunting with friends, playing card games on blankets, roasting in the summer sun, and listening to bad cover bands with inexplicably large brass sections.
Vancouver is largely similar in October, when it hosts a multitude of softball tournaments for adults who:
-simply cannot let their glory days go
-would rather be outside than in on a clear and bright autumn weekend (and their football team is away/they don't enjoy hunting)
-want to have somewhere fun to wear a Halloween costume
-enjoy kicking off an 8 AM Sunday slow-pitch game with a Jaegerbomb
Which brings me to my Recent New Thing of The Day:
My coed slow-pitch softball team ended our fall season with a Halloween Tournament this past weekend. It took me an hour to get out there, sustained only by my #3 McDonald's breakfast and some soothing morning tunes, and I was still late for our 9:10 AM game.
I knew it was going to be an awesome day when I noticed the umpire wearing a spangled harlequin clown jumpsuit, covered in black and silver sequins. My own team's costumes consisted of a bum, a hula dancer, two members of The Incredibles, and a pirate (of the Johnny Depp persuasion). I, too, was a pirate, but more of the gypsy variety. Another tip-off to the day's fun was that everyone in my dugout was holding either a can of PBR or a mixed drink.
We played three games that day, mostly back-to-back, and won the only game we probably should have lost. I batted around .444 that day and had a healthy helping of good plays at 3rd base including catching a hard line drive, and executing an inning-ending double play by stopping a hard-hit ground ball, tagging the bag and throwing home.
By the time the third game was over, I'm pretty sure I was the only one on the team who could legally drive. Somehow everyone made it safely to the nearby bar and I scarfed down a quesadilla before going home, but not in time to hear a girl on my team admit that the last time she made the mistake of hitting a guy, he hit her back in the stomach so hard she ended up "doubled over on the ground" clutching her stomach.
"I never made that mistake again," she said resolutely.
I'm pretty sure my jaw was resting lightly on the table at this point.
I was going to say something, but our first basewoman drunkenly started yelling about someone being a "f*cking p*ssy" for not drinking more.
It was at this point I made my exit.
I did however return to play the final day of the tournament.
Our first game was at 8 AM and there was still frost on the ground. We lost.
I hit about .775 for the day, so retired from my first coed season feeling pretty proud of myself.
We won the following 3 games and secured our place as the winners of the "Not Last" bracket.
I think that accurately sums up my team: The winners of the "Not Last" bracket of life.