7/12/00

BRICKER'S B-SQUAD

On a crappy rainy day in April, fifteen guys who didn't really know each other gathered on a small ball field in North Minneapolis. It was a disorganized event, most of those in attendance hadn't played softball in years. Some, like Rob Haskin, had never really played on an organized team. "I agreed to join the team after a long night of drinking with Bricker," Haskin remembers. "When I told my wife, she couldn't believe it."

But it was really happening to Rob. He was on a genuine softball team, with shirts and hats and everything. So he was dutifully standing in the outfield in the rain while some guy he had never met reacquainted himself with the bat. It was embarrassing, really.

I don't know what Rob was thinking, but I was terrified. Like Rob, I had never been on a softball team. Like Rob, I didn't really know all these guys. But unlike Rob, I had invited them all to take part in this so-called "team sport" and as the rain picked up I started to wonder just how much fun being on a softball team would turn out to be. I was trying to remember which guys I had to push really hard to join, and what kinds of promises I might have made during contract negotiations conducted at local drinking establishments.

You see, my memories of softball are all from my Dad's team, the Tri-State Hospital Supply. My dad isn't a doctor, I'm not sure how he got on this team. I have vivid memories of summer nights spent at the ball field: Tri-State's epic battles with "The Trash" -- a team of actual trash men, the short hit over first base that was my Dad's specialty, the loud and smoky bar after the games where all the guys would laugh and tell stories and hand out plenty of quarters to kids like me for video games. In the April rain I was wondering if chasing this memory would turn out to be a three-month inconvenience for my friends.

"Thanks for inviting me to help you find your childhood, Bricker," they would say. "Next time why don't you pay me eighty bucks? This softball thing sucks."

We have played eleven games since the practice in the rain. On any given night, someone got to hit a ball far enough that they could round all the bases. On any given night a great catch was made in the outfield, a tight play in the infield, a strikeout. On every night we looked stunning in our yellow shirts and black hats. On any given night we fielded a team that was competitive, in E league terms. And off the field we were also a force to be reckoned with: I estimate we have spent almost $1,000 at Dusty's bar for beer and Dagos.

Tonight was our last game, against a team we have a budding rivalry with. It was played on the same field as our practice, but the weather was perfect. Keeks, after an inexplicable and perhaps symbolic bee sting, hit a homerun. Catches were made in the outfield and infield. Doug pitched a flawless game. But the Handicabs put more runs on the score sheet, so in the so-called "record book" it will look like a win for them.

In my record book it is a win for us. By my calculations we went 11-0, or maybe 10-1. We had fun, we scared teams that care way too much about the game, and we all got out of the house on Wednesday nights. We patronized a pretty good neighborhood bar. But most importantly, we became a we, which is very cool. And though I'm sure off-season contract negotiations conducted at drinking establishments will be very difficult, I expect we will be a we next year.

No doubt practicing in April rain.

-brick

MVP: Keekley gets the MVP tonight. Wasn't there a Robert Reford vehicle where the hero gets stung by his own logo and then hits a homer in the last game of the season? If only he had hit it into some kind of fireworks display. Congratulations, Keeks!

MBP: There was no clear candidate for Most Blamed Player tonight. In these kinds of circumstances we often award it to someone who wasn't on the team for part of the game. While the judges considered awarding this to Jen Fortman for missing the awards banquet where she was warmly recognized by fans and friends alike, the ultimate nod tonight goes to the Umpire. Some very poor recognition of the strike zone, close plays at first, foul balls, etc. Congratulations, Blue!

Other notes: Congratulations are in order for Brad "Buggs" Throdahl and Steve Wein, who both became fathers on Sunday. It is your responsibility to teach your daughters to love softball. For a look at the Wein child, click here.

          SCHEDULE!

* INDICATES HOME FIELD "ADVANTAGE"