Sally Breslin: My Life: SO WHY ARE SOFTBALLS SO HARD?

I enjoy baseball season because it’s one of the few sports I actually understand…other than bowling. It’s also one of the few sports (other than bowling) I actually have played.

Okay, so I played it way back in seventh grade, and technically it was softball, not baseball. And I didn’t play it because I wanted to, I played it because it sometimes was part of my mandatory weekly gym class (a.k.a. physical-education), a class I loved so much, I usually spent the night before hoping a meteor would crash down on my street so I’d have an excuse to stay home from school.

Back in those days, girls had to wear skirts or dresses to school. And, heaven forbid, if any of us ever dared to wear slacks, even in sub-zero weather, because the reaction from the teachers would be one of such shock, such revulsion, you’d swear we'd shown up wearing string bikinis. The offending students immediately would be sent straight back home to change into a “proper” dress.

So whenever our weekly gym class involved playing softball (only against our fellow classmates, not any actual teams) in the big field adjacent to the school, we usually stood out there in skirts or dresses, complete with nylon stockings. We looked more like a group of tea-party goers than softball players. I guess elementary schools didn't have the budget for those spiffy gym-suits with snaps up the front and and the bloomer-styled bottoms we girls were so thrilled to wear when we reached high school.

To be honest, I wanted nothing to do with softball. For one thing, I’d expected the ball to be, well…soft. The first time I picked up a softball, I figured the guy who’d named it must have been playing a cruel joke on humanity. Instead of the wad of cotton I’d expected, the softball felt more like a rock wrapped in leather.

That’s when I decided there was no way I was going to try to catch that thing. Past experience already had taught me I was lousy at catching stuff (even big stuff) so anything smaller than a beach ball was destined to conk me on the head.

MY IDEA OF A
"SOFT" BALL

Unfortunately, the gym teacher was unsympathetic and assigned me to play first base, which, to my dismay, involved some catching. So I took my place at the base (after someone told me which one it was), and there I stood, wondering how on earth I was going to be able to do any serious running in my fitted black skirt. The only thing I was wearing that looked even remotely softball-ish was the bulky mitt on my right hand.

The glove didn’t make my hand feel any safer, though. Heck, I’d have needed something the size of a laundry basket strapped to my wrist to give me even a remote chance of catching the ball. So under the circumstances, I did the only thing I could do…I promised God I would eat my spinach without giving my mother a hard time ever again, if only He wouldn’t allow any balls to be hit in my direction.

Well, I guess God thought the prayer from the girl who wanted to hit the ball and not strike out in front of her friends took priority over my spinach prayer, because she hit a fly ball right in my direction. When I looked up and saw that ball coming straight down at me, I immediately reacted…by covering my head with the softball mitt and ducking, so I wouldn’t be knocked unconscious.

The ball missed me by only a few inches.

I just stood there, smiling with relief, while the batter ran right past me and kept on running. Needless to say, the gym teacher wasn’t exactly pleased.

“The object of the game is to CATCH the ball before the runner gets to your base!” she said to me.

I shook my head. “I’m not about to try to catch that thing! I could get killed!”

If the gym teacher thought my catching (or lack thereof) was bad, my batting was even worse. I held the bat as if it were an ax, and “chopped” at every ball that was pitched at me. I never hit a thing... except maybe a couple mosquitoes.

After that, I was relegated to the outfield during the rest of the games. In fact, I was so far "out" in the outfield, I could have walked home, had a snack, watched TV and then come back, and no one would have known the difference. I'll bet even Joe DiMaggio couldn’t have hit a ball out far enough to reach me at my designated spot.

Softball did change the history of the dress code at my school, however. You see, one day one of my classmates was running toward second base when her wraparound skirt unwrapped and fell down around her ankles. She kicked the skirt aside and finished running the bases in her slip.

After that, girls were allowed to bring slacks to school on the days when gym class was held because even though slacks were considered "inappropriate" attire, I guess slips were considered even more inappropriate.

I suppose I could say I really miss those good old "fun" days of gym class and softball.

But nah, I think I'll pass.

# # #

Sally Breslin is an award-winning syndicated columnist who has written regularly for newspapers and magazines all of her adult life. She is the author of several novels in a variety of genres, from humor and romance to science-fiction. Contact her at: sillysally@att.net

FREE E-BOOKS!