The Rural Voice, 1987-08, Page 10GMC
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1987 — Celebrating our first 25 years
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8 THE RURAL VOICE
THE HAZARDS OF
GOOD SPORTSMANSHIP
Our community recently hosted its
second annual family fun weekend,
and families were encouraged to enter
teams for bucket races, water games,
and baseball. Considering the number
of Irelands, we decided to split into
two teams, one for the under 25 and
one for over. You'll notice I didn't
call it the "over the hill" division.
Super Wrench and I believe that grow-
ing old is a state of mind, and let the
body take its chances.
I watched the "young Irelands"
play before us and noticed that the
other team was always compassionate
when an awkward batter came to the
plate. And they made sure that if the
legs were short a few fumbles got the
little ones to first base. The style in
which the ball was delivered across
the plate left much to be desired as far
as I was concerned. It was explained
to me as slow pitch. The ball sort of
plopped in front of you, you stepped
into it and had a go at the thing.
I really didn't feel any misgivings
until I saw the team we were up
against. This family went for size, and
the bat looked like a toothpick in their
hands. We fanned out across the field
with our borrowed gloves and prayed
we could catch whatever came flying.
When my turn came to bat., I
realized that there would be no special
swinging privileges. We were old
enough to take our lumps. Did I ever!
I hit the ball on the second strike,
and it dribbled towards the pitcher. I
didn't stay to watch where it went. I
put my feet into action and ran. Not
far though. I took a lip skid halfway
to first, and my graceless performance
had them ogling while I skidded along
the baseline with the most prominent
parts of my anatomy plowing twin
furrows all the way.
I managed to get to the base before
the ball, minus some skin and with no
dignity whatsoever. I don't remember
who hit me home, but getting a run
made reducing my bra size from a B
to a double A worthwhile.
Super Wrench also whacked the
ball, and his style of running — like a
duck churning water — mesmerized
the opposing team so much that they
forgot about throwing the ball. When
I mentioned how funny he looked, he
took one look at my dishevelled body:
"At least I didn't leave permanent skid
marks." We won the game and were
scheduled to play several hours later.
Had we been smart, we would
have soaked in a hot tub until show -
time, but the little kid in us took over.
Super Wrench went in the bucket race,
and while his team placed third, we
had to go home to change clothes
because Super Wrench had taken
several buckets over his person.
The second ball game was un-
eventful. The other team was out to
win, and did. I didn't even have to get
to first base again, much to my relief
and the spectators' disappointment.
The "young Irelands" won the
baseball as the team with the most
runs. To celebrate we went swim-
ming. Had I known that rigor mortis
would set in, I would have skipped it.
The next morning, the kids all
bounced into the kitchen looking for
the cook. She was upstairs, helping a
stiff Super Wrench try to negotiate his
way out of bed. The only way I'd
made it was by rolling out in one
smooth move and then crawling on all
fours until I could manage the upright
position. I kidded Super Wrench
about growing old being a state of
mind. He told me that you'd have to
be out of your mind to believe it.0
GISELE IRELAND, FROM THE COUNTY
OF BRUCE, BEGAN HER SERIES OF
HUMOROUS COLUMNS WITH THE
RURAL VOICE. HER MOST RECENT
BOOK, BRACE YOURSELF, IS AVAIL-
ABLE FOR $7 FROM BUMPS BOOKS,
TEESWATER, ONTARIO, NOG 2S0.