Allow me to be a giddy school girl for a moment, and mention the current situation in my life… I’m surrounded by eligible bachelors who seem to be considering me.
Normally, I’d keep this kind of thing to myself for fear of “jinxing” it, but after 28 years of not finding “the one” and not writing about it on the interwebs, I’m forced to admit that my blogging or not blogging probably doesn’t have much to do with finding someone or not finding him.
So… I’d like to give you a list of the cliche cast, and then tell why I’m so horribly disappointed in myself.
1. The good guy friend… This one sits next to me in church and we carpool to bible study together. He’s outdoorsy, but not athletic. He’s smart, but doesn’t have the great job. He’s super easy to talk to, and yet he’s also the sort of boy who you want to fall for, but somehow never do.
2. The one with the guitar… This one is the worship leader. He’s the downtown, feed the homeless type, who hasn’t quite decided to grow up yet. Sometimes he goes to college; sometimes he works with YoungLife (because he has a heart for the kiddos); Sometimes he helps with his parents’ vineyard/wine bar business; sometimes he works at Starbucks.
3. The one I’ve got butterflies for… I like to think that I’m the girl who chooses the good friend. Evidently , I’m not. Here’s the story…
I let one of the girls at church talk me into joining her slow-pitch team. It’s generally my policy to flee from softball like a bat out of hell (notice the lame pun there), but I occasionally wonder if I’ve gotten past my past yet, and I give it another try. I told her no two or three times, and then I gave in. Last night was my first practice with the team.
Usually, I can’t handle slow-pitch because no one knows what they’re doing, very few of the men who play are better than I am (and, believe it or not, I really want them to be), and the games are usually at a field that’s at least 40 mins away from where I live.
Last night, when I got to practice, I was pleasantly surprised to find that at least two of the guys are far superior to me on the field. One of them is the husband of the girl who talked me into playing and the other is a guy I met about six months ago when he moved here. He grew up in a missionary family, and with his family somewhere overseas, it seemed like a good idea to move to a city where he knew some other missionary kids (who I also know).
On first sight, I thought Caleb was pretty interesting, mostly because of the ultra-visible tattoo of a cross on his neck (not as weird as it sounds) and the St. Louis Cards gear he was wearing. Upon talking to him, I found him to be a little less interesting because he’s soooooo quiet. He responds when you ask him questions, but he doesn’t do much else. He just stands there and smiles.
Last night, though, I was completely caught off-guard by his athletic prowess. You see, there are two types of good athletes: there’s the type who looks really awkward as he gets the job done (Randy Johnson), and there’s the type who is poetry, like Jeter.
Caleb is Jeter. NAY! Caleb is smoother than Jeter.
I was playing first, and he was at short, and he was so freaking smooth it was unbelievable. And he throws HARD. And his throws are almost always catchable. And he has the confident, but humble athlete posture/stance. You know – the one where you have to wonder how someone can look so athletic while standing still.
Also, he gets wherever he’s supposed to be. You can build an okay slow-pitch team without anyone knowing their positions beyond how to get the out at first. Of course, you can’t execute anything fancy like double plays, but who really cares? It’s slow-pitch, right?
So… I’m at first base, and we’re turning 2, and all I’m thinking is, “My gosh, why doesn’t he talk more? I could totally be in love with this guy if I knew he had a brain and some thoughts.”
Then, we switched over to batting practice and when he got up to bat, he was even more like Jeter! He didn’t blow you away with how he just kept hitting it over our heads (which guys sometimes do in slow-pitch because it’s the easiest way for them to feel awesome). Caleb, however, wasn’t showing off like that. He was hitting line drives up the middle, which only end up being singles, but I hate guys who try for the home run. Sure, sometimes you just hit home runs because you’re trying to hit the ball hard, but trying for the home run is like, “Hey, look at me! I’m strong!” Whereas, hitting the single is like, “I’m just doing my job.”
Also, in slow-pitch, you can pretty much direct the ball to wherever you want it to go regardless of where it’s pitched, but in baseball and fast-pitch softball, the pitcher determines which way you’re usually going to hit it; outside pitches go to the right side and inside ones go to the left side. However, cocky, lazy players ignore where it’s pitched and tend to strike out a lot. Caleb was hitting almost everything up the middle (because the pitches were dead-center…but then he hit one to the right side.
“Sorry,” he said (because we didn’t have enough fielders to have anyone covering over there). The pitcher made some sort of teasing joke like, “Whatever, jerk,” and Caleb was all, “You have to admit, it was a good job going with the pitch, though.”
And that’s when I got giddy-stupid. He was so used to doing it right, that he couldn’t keep himself from going with the pitch. That means that he isn’t a cocky, lazy hitter. He’s the type who learns to do it right!
I wish I was the kind of girl that didn’t care how attractive it is for a guy to make a diving catch, but I am that girl. And it is attractive. I love it when a player go 4 for 4 with two doubles, a single and a home run, then swaggers off the field like it’s no big deal. I thought I was past this, and I thought I could go for a tiny guy who writes poetry and can’t run a mile without stopping to take a break, but there’s something a bit too heart-stopping and shiver-inducing about an athlete. I can’t help it.