Her team made it to the final four this year (out of like 30 teams). They lost last night to the eventual champions. I'm okay with losing. Losing is part of life. So is winning, sometimes. On rare occasions, you even tie.
I'm not okay with #4. #4, a player for the winning squad, is an ass. Aimee's team, The Eastsiders (don't ask...we live on the west side of town), played the champs twice this season. In the first meeting, #4 whined about numerous calls and even knocked the ball out of play after being thrown out, allowing one of his teammates to take first base. "That's how I run," he claimed. I don't see a lot of grown men, especially those involved in competitive sports, running with one hand wagging over their buttocks like a tail, but maybe that's just me.
The point is, #4 was a jerk last night, too. Whining about calls. Faking kicks. (this league needs a strike rule...seriously) Dropping a fly ball to catch two base runners in a dirty double play. (this league needs to reinstate the infield fly rule...nobody drops a fly ball in the infield except on purpose...right #4)
But his team won. Not only the semi-final against The Eastsiders, but the whole enchilada later that night. Congratulations, of course, especially to the gracious, sporting members of your team. But you're still a dick, #4, and you'll have to live with that.
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Today is the deadline to submit Hint Fiction for Robert Swartwood's Hint Fiction Anthology. I have two bits that I'm riding the fence about, but I might as well sub them, right? Losing is part of life. Sometimes winning is, too. But I can't do either if I don't try.
