The company softball game was Saturday. Half the office is whimpering from sore muscles as we walk up and down the stairs, myself very much included. I'm also sporting two new bruises from tripping over what appeared to be my own two feet on the way to first base. Hey, I made it to first base before the ball did. I made it there head first, but I made it.
I'm changing my name to Grace.
Ah well. So I'm not getting a call from Major League Baseball with a job offer. That's cool. Incidentally, no one else on the field with me on Saturday, even the hot-shots, are likely to get that call either. We're awesome at what we do in the office. This was for fun.
I've always sort of felt like being able to throw a baseball is one of those life skills that you should pick up on the path from an American kid to an adult. I'm still working on it. Every year I tell myself as I practice before the company softball game (which is my only excuse to really ever play the game these days) that this is the year I'll really figure it out. So far, no dice.
On the other hand, I showed up to the game despite knowing that I don't play particularly well. I tried hard, made a bunch of stupid plays and bad throws, was probably the worst one on my team, and still had a good time playing the game. Being willing to make an ass of yourself and still have fun doing it? That, my friends, is a life skill too.