This article is written from the point of view of the average wiffleball player over the course of a SWBL weekend. It is not intended to be written as my firsthand account or to depict any other SWBLer but is a generic account of what players go through every Memorial Day Weekend.
Scene: Bedroom - <birds chirping> < sun shining>
Brain: Today is the day! I mean, I have to go to work first, but after that it’s wiffle time. This is our year! I’ve done all the off-season conditioning, am up to 500 dry cuts in the garage a day (kind of) and am ready to win the SWBL title. Nothing can stop us!
Scene: Office - <printers printing, the smell of stale coffee>
Brain: OK, slow morning. Stay focused. Just a few more hours and we are out of here. I told the boss I have to leave early so that I can stock up on all the essentials needed for the weekend. I’m sure that won’t be a prob-
Boss “You forgot to put the cover letter on those TPS reports”
You: “Sir, that’s a nice tie you have on today!”
Boss: “Thanks, it was a gift. What was I saying again? <pause> Oh yes, you forgot to-“
You: “I know, TPS reports, I forgot the cover letter. I’ll redo them Monday. About my request leave early today. You see, my friends and I-”
Boss: “You can leave as soon as you put the cover letters on the TPS reports”
You: “But sir, that will take six hours and I have to be some-“
Boss: “Get it done, and don’t leave until you do” <walks away>
Scene: Third baseline - <beers cracking>
Brain: Drink you f’ing pussy! And don’t worry, he’ll never know you didn’t redo the TPS reports because you were too busy googling “cool walk up songs” all afternoon. One of these years we’ll get that going. You can get in early Tuesday morning and get those TPS reports done, he’ll never know.
Sam: “Welcome to Season 17… blah bah…”
Scene: Bedroom - <slight headache>
Brain: OK. A little sore but nothing a quick shower beer can’t fix before I’m off to my 10:00 am game. I feel sorry for those suckers who stayed at Corner Bar later than me last night. I’ll bet they feel terrible.
Scene: Sitting along first baseline - <pool splashing, wiffle bats cracking>
Brain: That’s it, sip the beer. It’s a marathon, not a sprint and this is a young man’s game. At least, that is what I want them to think…
Peter: “Jello shot?”
Scene: Near shantytown - <Edloe puking> (sorry buddy, but that’s like mandatory in these things)
Brain: Wow, did Bud Select up their alcohol content? I swear I’ve only had like 5 or 6 all day but I’m feeling it. I mean sure, that doesn’t count the 3 I Louisville Chuggered with the Brewers or the pregame shotguns with the Expos but still. Hold it together.
Team Captain: “Who is doing the skills competition? Half our team had to leave.”
You: “I got this.”
Scene: Bedroom - <someone hammering>
Brain: Who TF is doing carpentry at 7:00 in the morning? Oh wait, that’s just my headache. Shit. Game starts in 45 minutes! Really Sam, 7:45 am games? I’m going to unionize all the players and organize a strike! This is outrageous. F, I can’t walk right. Gonna need a few shower beers today. OK. I don’t have a car b/c I ubered home so I guess I should get a new ride ordered.
<Text from Sam: “fields are running early, please arrive 20 minutes prior to your game time”>
You: “I’m going to push him in the pool today.”
Scene: Poolside <the smell of Bengay>
(All you get in return in uncomfortable stares from the younger guys girlfriends.)
(A close play happens at first base but you didn’t see it. Arguing ensues.)
You: “He was safe! Are you blind? How could you miss that? You didn’t see it Spencer don’t act like you did!”
Scene: Behind the left field fence - <slamming Pedialyte>
Brain: My man, we rallied nicely. Got a quick nap in and woke up feeling refreshed. That dip in the pool also helped. One more game tonight then hang around for the All-Star festivities.
You: “Anyone making a food run?”
Rob Walters strikes out and fires the bat over the fence. You barely get out of the way in time.
Scene: Bedroom - <indescribable pain>
You: <mouth too dry to speak>
Scene: Skibbe house - <the smell of delicious food, the sound of people having a great time>
Brain: Act natural, there are a lot of parents here and you don’t want to draw too much attention to the new bumps and bruises or your inexplainable limp. Just get your plate of food and find a quiet, shady spot to sit down and enjoy it.
Someone’s Mom: “Oh, that bruise looks terrible. Are you OK? You look tired. Are you limping?”
Brain: Help me! Please!
You: “It’s nothing. I’ll be fine. About to hop in the pool and work it out”
Scene: Bedroom - <silence>
E-mail from Boss: “Where are the TPS reports?”