THE NOT-SO-YOUNG BOYS OF SUMMER TAKE THE FIELD...

Special to El Rrun-Rrun

The last time most of the players in our pick-up softball team took the field, many were waiting for the retirement that was still years away.

"It's not all about winning, but of playing the game," we lied to ourselves as we jogged out under the lights onto the Orange Field at the Brownsville Sports Center before an audience composed of long-suffering mates with kids in tow and grandchildren running wild in the bleachers.

Most of us were overweight and should have known better. And it's a good thing that modified rules kept the game from stretching beyond the hour allowed each game. It's doubtful most of us could have gone the distance of a regular game without some sort of medical intervention.

Since the gang (you couldn't rightly call us with mismatched jerseys and gimme caps a team by any stretch of the imagination), had already forfeited the game because we couldn't raise the nine players on short notice Wednesday, it was supposed to be for fun. 

But with the opposite team – La Banda de Jabalis – (and they were a team with real nice jerseys and baseball pants) smacking the slow-pitched yellow softballs all around – it turned out to be a hard-fought 14 to 0 squeaker loss for us, rallying under the banner of sponsor Rodrigo Moreno and calling ourselves the Pink Apes. It's a good thing no one recorded our performance. We made sure to check the opposing Jabalis for wires.

It was a muggy night on Wednesday, and if you were wearing glasses – like the umpire who wore Coke-bottle bottom gafas and a  knee brace that covered his entire right leg and walked with the aid of a nice metal-handled cane– the lenses fogged up quickly and you just heard the ball smacked and pass by somewhere...near. Too near.

About halfway through the game it all started coming back. Our dinner. We made a mental note to make sure not to eat a heavy meal before the next game.

It turned into a rout quickly and after a few innings many of us would turn toward the clock to see how much longer the hour-long martyrdom could possibly last. All the time the noises from our dugout could be heard urging the "team" to rally and score at least a run...la carrera del honor. 

"We can still win this game," said one of our "ringers" who agreed to play with us so that the Apes could put a team on the field. At that time we were only 11 runs behind with two outs.

But no dice, although we did have a few "highlights."

Shortstop Montoya hit a line drive...right into the hands of his Jabalis' counterpart. Our second baseman Regino took a mighty swing...and the yellow ball floated softly to their third baseman. Things looked up a bit after Martin Salazar somehow connected and got on base. We left him stranded.

Rodrigo – playing catcher (he really can't sprint anywhere) – drew a walk and later caught a foul ball not having to move from his spot. Regino was making our infield look good catching a fly at second and stepping on the bag when their runner thought he would drop the ball. 

And after drawing a walk near the end of the hour-long Inquisition, Montoya hobbled around second (he couldn't rrunrrun) on a long hit into right field – foolishly listening to the Apes in the bullpen egg him on around to third – and dove into the hard dirt before the disbelieving third baseman who was too stunned could tag him. 

Masso actually hit a line drive toward the end of the ordeal, and the last out was Regino forcing a Jabali at second running from first. On that high note, we left the field of nightmares. Charlie Atkinson was right, if you build it expensive enough, they will come.

"Nowhere but up!," said one of our "ringers."

"Room for improvement, guys!," shouted another. "We'll get them next time."

The wives in the bleachers shook their heads and covered their kids' ears. "No le hagas caso a tu daddy," said one.

The Apes will make fools of ourselves against an outfit who call themselves the Bangbros next month. If the Jabalis ran their little hooves all over us, imagine a bunch called the Bangbros. By then we should have a full team (Valadez threatened to play with us), nice jerseys, and may actually practice once before we go into our closets and wipe the spiderwebs from our gloves and cleats to take the field.

Apes rule!