The Parent/Player Scrimmage Softball Nightmare

Twitter to me: Parent /Player scrimmage this week for softball.

Me to Twitter: Shut your whore mouth.

OH NO!  This again? Parent/Player scrimmage. Let’s try calling it what it really is. Fear. (I was going to say “ bulls^hit “ but I am starting slow.)  It is the equivalent of getting picked last in middle school. It is the fear and worry of failing in front of every single girl that has seen you in your “Mom nightgown” making eggs after an impromptu tween slumber party.  We are middle aged parents whom have spent seventy billion dollars on softball wares , kindly invited to get their asses kicked in a game with  our 13 year old children, most of whom have been playing the game since infancy. Seems fair. I can barely walk up the stairs with an empty laundry basket at this point in the early fall, but whatevs.

Fortunately my husband has played softball for over 20 years, so this will be his night to SHINE! ( Ok , barf. ) Plus I totally keep tabs on how many games he has attended vs my attendance in order to play the guilt card. Maybe it’s  not the  smartest "game" to play at this late age in the marriage, considering he works twice as hard as I do. But, ya know. I gamble.

My daughter (god love the little 13 year old hormonal freak of a thorn in my as^s)  has been playing softball since she was 7. EVERY GOSH DARN YEAR, the coaches have an end of the season “WHOO HOO PARENT PLAYER SCRIMMAGE."  If you are lucky and your kid plays both travel and school ball, there is a 99.9 percent chance that BOTH TEAMS will have their own game of embarrassment. God I love the double whammy.

 The first few years, I promptly hid out and conveniently was unreachable.  “My phone was dead, I mean what? Did you call me to Sub?”    Sorry I wasn’t there to stand in the outfield praying like hell the fly ball would not come to me.” Let me just tell you, I compare this hell to TRACK in high school. God I hated track. Not too bright a crew that chose the 4 foot asthmatic to run the 800 through the practice field of freshly mowed grass, but what the hell did I know. I was just there for the free sweats.

Where was I ?

Oh yes, the depths of hell. Softball with parents!!!! And softball with parent’s little sports stars!!!! Oh, and the cherry on the sundae is that my daughter’s school ball team also houses an Olympic Athlete equivalent coaching staff. OH MY GOSH, can I be FIRST ON THE ROSTER? “I want #1!I want #1!”  Did I mention that I am one of the oldest ( EEK) softball parent’s at the ballpark? Good times. Now I’m being punished for having a semi-later in life baby.  (Oh look, that’s Libby’s Grandma!)

Twitter ruined my day and has made me have PTSD flashbacks to the two times I HAD TO PARTICAPATE in these scrimmages. The first one was so traumatic and left me screaming for the good lord to “take me now”, that I decided to do it again! I have not always been the brightest bulb in the forest, I guess.

Two years ago on a 200 degree day with 1000 percent humidity, I decided it wouldn’t be “that bad” to go to another shindig of humiliating  proportion. I mean, did I die? No, but I wanted to.  And that is why I will never do it again.

To all of you kind folks and middle aged tired parents, I am telling you that I know some of you REALLY get into these things. Well guess what?  You’re stupid. I’ll be at the bar.

Before you haters come out of the woodwork and tell me what a terrible yet delightfully funny mom I am, let me stop you right there. No, I do not hate softball. I love softball…FOR MY CHILD. I do not want to PLAY softball.  Did I say that?  The glittery t shirted “Softball Mom” and “My daughter is better than your daughter. It says so right on my shirt” would drown me in a tank of blue Gatorade if I ever said anything negative about softball.  I love the game. I love watching my daughter play. I love that she LOVES it. I do not particularly love getting up at the butt crack of dawn.   I don’t savor the trips to the armpit of Illinois for three days when I have 45 loads of laundry and an apparent bug convention setting up shop in my kitchen, but I do it!

As negative and bitchy as you think I am right now, I must tell you that over the last 6 years, I really have made some of the best friends I have ever had. We just all REALLY HATE GETTING UP EARLY. And we drink a little. And yes, we love our kids. If we didn’t, we would definitely be at the outlet mall during game 5.

My daughter is 13. Over the past 6 years, I have spent over 47 billion dollars on travel and school ball, uniforms, equipment, new gloves and the “OMG stuff” . For those of you that don’t know the “OMG stuff” , you have never set foot at a sports complex during tournament play. Congratulations, you have money. “OMG, I must have this hair bow, this headband, this shirt, shorts, sweatpants, and a $75 snow cone or I am going to drop dead on my cute little french braids right now. “  

 How many “This Princess Wears Cleats” hoodies does one parent have to purchase to get into the winners bracket? I will pay double for a shirt that says “This Princess promised to do her chores.” But again, whatever.

Another fun thing about softball moms is that we like to complain about the weather while our children are standing in the 100 degree heat attached to  more gear than a football quarterback. God forbid if we are cold in our $75 hoodie that we will give to goodwill because our kid will be on a different team next year.

So yes, I complain, but I know how hard they work. So stop wrinkling your face in judgment. Seriously, I would say about 72 .5% of those weekends don’t suck too bad. It depends how good the Buffalo Wild Wings are that weekend. Oh come on, you go there. Coldest beer in town. 

Speaking of food, I totally forgot about how expensive the ballpark fare is! If your debit card has caught on fire from swiping $300 of Lemonade shakeups, give me a call. We are soulmates. I swear it happened. This was of course before we checked into the Drake for three days stay and I forgot to allocate $3,000 for the weekend of highly interrupted slumber. Honey, you just had 7 games today, why don't you run up and down the halls for the next three hours. 

And it is still better than playing in a parent/player scrimmage.

 But yes, of course, I will be there. I will go to the scrimmage.  It is not about my selfishness of impending humiliation. It is about being a parent. I may be hyped up on 45 Xanax, but I will go. And I will have to run from balls in the outfield. And I will laugh at myself and joke around and see my daughter make memories for life. And will I die? No. But I may want to .