Listening To: Please Don't Go by William Fitzsimmons"Our first softball game is next week!" My workmate, Athletic Annie, sang as she bounced into the lunchroom.
"Greeeaaaat." I replied, as I poured myself a cup of coffee before walking over to the table.
"It's going to be at 9 o'clock. We get to play a night game, under the big lights!"
"Woo!" I said, sarcastically, but threw her a playful smile so she didn't think I was being mean.
"Are we going to practice before the game?" Richard Regal asked.
"I don't know," Athletic Annie replied. "Do you guys think we should?"
I nodded fervently.
"Do you think other people will want to practice, too?"
"I think it might be a good idea to at least figure out who's going to play what. Like, bases and stuff."
"I want outfield!" demanded Richard Regal. I shot him a dirty look.
"How about you, Amber?" Athletic Annie asks, throwing the spotlight back over to me. "You know where you want to play?"
"I don't know...I used to play second. And don't get me wrong...seventeen years ago, I rocked that base like nobody's business. But, not so sure how I would do today." Visions of panic danced in my head: Teammates throwing me the ball, only to groan as I dropped it...or worse, watch me as I miss the catch, then have to run around trying to pick it up with my glove, awkwardly bending over and yelling "I got it! I got it, guys!" and then finally, seeing the ball land with a thud after I was only able to throw it a pathetic five feet. Trust me...I have a million more of these scenarios to impart. These are just the least-embarrassing ones that I'm somewhat comfortable airing in a semi-public forum.
I sank lower in my seat as the rest of the group chatted on in the game.
"We got cleats last night." John Jayhawk declared.
"You guys got cleats?!" I shot back up in my chair, now paying attention. "I thought this was just supposed to be just for fun?! And now you guys are getting cleats and getting all competitive and serious and stuff?!"
"We're not getting completive," Jay Jayhawk replied. "We just don't want to fall on our faces."
"Whatever. I'm out. Take me off the team."
"Oh, Amber. You'll be fine." Athletic Annie says, smiling and laughing at me.
"All right, Athletic Annie," I said, looking at her. "At the end of the season I'm going to remember you said that, after I end up being a total embarrassment and making all of us lose."
"Amber, why did you even sign up for softball if you don't want to play?" she replied, still laughing at me.
"Because I wanna be a trouper." I muttered, half under my breath. I helped Athletic Annie start the league, convinced other people to sign up, and caved under peer pressure and flattery when other people told me they wanted me to play, too. Flattery, apparently, will get you everywhere with me...even on a softball field. But I really don't want to play. As in, really, really, really don't want to play.
I'm a fairly confident girl. I'll public speak like a mo'fo, I'll strike up conversations with total strangers, and I'll be the first one to dance when the first song at the wedding dance begins to play. I'll say and do whatever I want without worrying about what other people will think of me. But I just don't want to look stupid in front of people, esp. my colleagues. And I really don't want to let people down. I have this huge hyperventilating-inducing fear that playing is going to be exactly like my nightmare-date of curling, or like getting up to sing karaoke and then realizing that you just want the song to be over right now (which has never happened to me because I never sing karaoke. Mainly because of that very fear). And that everyone else on that team is going to end up sitting in the dugout while watching me bat and be thinking, "Wow. I used to think that Amber was pretty cool/smart/funny/totally righteously cute. Now she just seems like a super loser."
But I'm playing tonight, because apparently no one wants to just leave me alone in my insecurity and let me be the towel/water/beer/bat girl like I've volunteered - time and time again - to be. I've also suckered myself into going by telling myself that, at the very least, it's an excuse to wear my beloved tube socks.


















