Mr. Bat Shit Crazy

It gets better. And I’m not talking about the anti-bullying campaign begun in the wake of a series of gay-teen suicides in 2010. I’m talking about the D league drama.

Let me just say this unequivocally, up front and for the record: Steroids are bad.

So, I’ve been having this exchange with this jerk on Facebook. He doesn’t know who I am. That wasn’t exactly on purpose. The majority of the page “likes” on are from personal invites, including the Commissioner,  who by the way has not yet “liked” the page. The bastard. But whatever. I’m not bitter.

The point here – and I do have one – is that it is no secret who the administrator of the page is.

So, back to our exchange.

It started with this reader comment: “Clearly this is somebody assoiated with streetbar. Dude, this page is in bad taste and bad for PSGSL. What are you doing? Who are you? Why do you want to ferment bad feelings, drama, foul language and bad calls.” As if!

And then this personal message, “You should identify who you are in the info. The anonymous status on this page is only going to land you in hot water when people are forced to correct offensive statements made by the D league posters.”

I don’t think he meant himself.

I’m not exactly thin skinned. But he came off a little pushy to me, and as anyone who has plowed into me at second base knows, I don’t like being pushed. Plus, not knowing was driving him a little bat shit crazy. Obviously. I didn’t fess up. Instead I responded with, “Dud, you need to lighten up!” (You be the judge whether I misspelled dude.)

Anyway, I thought that would be the end of it. Clearly he was just warming up.

Mr. Bat Shit: “It’s about the anonymous editorializing highlighting drama bad calls and foul language. Read the mission statement. I want everyone who is playing ball to enjoy the game and make friends. Some, anonymously stir unhealthy competition and fudes, resulting in name calling, bad sportsmanship and hurd feelings. So harless badmaouthing players, think about who it is that is actually paying for your anonymous fun. Do you respect your fellow D league players. I think not.”

Me: “It’s fueds, hurt feelings and bad mouthing. Use spell check, please.” (By the way, checkout Ms. High Horse: I misspelled “feuds.” What a dumb ass I am!)

Mr. Bat Shit: “Yep. Make fun of me. Proves my point. The crator of this page is a bully…”

I’ve got to be honest with you. I’ve been scratching my head wondering what climbed up his ass and died. The only thing he mentions is our tagline, “We’ve got all the D League drama, bad calls & foul language.” Then I noticed the fan page for another D team and rival, the Gorillas. Up until a couple of days ago, his page only had shirtless pictures of the players. But now Mr. Bat Shit is posting game times and gay sports news just like The D League. Hmm.

Friendly Facebook competition? Maybe. You could really send him off his rocker and “like” The D League page.

I did have a couple of supporters – a coach and player – come to my defense. Mr. Bat Shit said they “suck.” Nice. Then he copies/pastes the league’s code of conduct. Thank God. At least it was readable. I hit “like” on his post, but not before he suggests I get booted from the league and wrote a misspelled letter to the commissioner saying so. He also asked for an apology.

Fucking baby.

OK. Here’s my apology: “I’m so sorry you’re off your meds crazy.” Steroids does that to people.



Queens, softball & gay drama

I’m not really into gay drama.

You know what’s really fucked up? It’s usually the queens. Why is that?

So, I’m watching the Gorillas play I forget who and I’m cheering for the other team. It’s a boring strategy story. That’s all I’m going to say. Anyway, this guy with huge arms – not much a telling description I know, they all have big arms and occasionally a big bellies, too – steps awkwardly up to the plate.

I’ve seen him hit before. He’s a chopper. I love to yell at him, “Hey, there’s no bunting in softball!” But instead I holler to the pitcher, “Easy out!” and I go on shouting god-knows-what until the Gorillas squeak out a win. They’re funny as hell to watch all pumped up on steroids and adrenalin running ramrod stiff and bull-legged. And they throw like girls. Not all of them, of course. But the ones that throw like they were last picked for the team are the most fun to watch.

Getting back to Mr. Arms…

He gets on base with a grounder that stays in the infield. Now I’ve got to tell you, this is where I stopped paying attention. My voice apparently was still ringing in his ears because a couple of hits later, when he rounds the bases into home, he flips me off. I miss this of course. Goddamn it! But Annie fills me in later because undiagnosed ADD means I’m easily distracted with butterflies.

Fast forward a week.

For shits and giggles, I create a Facebook page with a writer friend I met in San Francisco, Louay. It’s pronounced “Lou-eye” and I can’t tell you how many times I’ve fucked it up. Because I already have a Facebook page – Nicole C. Brambila the journalist with only 7 likes (hint, hint) – I had to hit 25 “likes” before I could get a URL. So, I essentially sent out a couple dozen personal invites to friends begging them to like me. Pathetic I know.

Sunday I snap this rather artistic photo of the Gorillas (you’ll have to go to to see it, and please like the page while you’re there) and I posted it on their fan page.

And then this asshole shits on my clever tagline: “We’ve got all the D League drama, bad calls & foul language.” I know steroids can make people pissy, but does it also rob people of a fucking sense of humor?

To that I say, “Yes. Final answer.”

D league softball & the suspension on steroids

Looks like rain on Sunday.

Shit. This isn’t a weather report. I play second base in the Palm Springs Gay Softball League. Yeah, I’m just living the cliché. Sunday I come off suspension. After sitting the bench for five games I may get rained out my first day back. How ironic.

The suspension sucks, of course, but you don’t know the half of it. So, let me fill you in.

I play in the D league. Players are rated because at my age it’s easy to get hurt. D players play in what is basically a beer league. I like it here just fine with my Corona, thank you very much. I’ll admit it, I’ve gotten a little thick around the middle. But at least I don’t get winded walking up a flight a stairs.

Getting back to the league, we have a “slide-or-give-way rule” to protect the fielder. If the ball makes it to the bag first, the runner has to slide or get out of the way to avoid a crash. And conversely, to protect the runner, fielders cannot block the bag if the ball isn’t being thrown to the base.

So this guy on steroids charges into me in a pickle (he was trapped between bases and running back to second.) Fucker. I’m sure he was hoping I’d drop the ball because I’m a girl. Fat chance. I didn’t. But OK. Whatever.

Next inning, this same asshole was running from first to second on an infield hit. The shortstop gets the play and makes an easy toss to me for the third out and I swing around to head back to our dugout behind first and this dick is still charging at me. I brace myself and after he rams into me I give him a little shove, in essence to say, “Hey jerk.” And that’s when he grabs me by the shirt and yells something like, “Hey, bitch. I don’t care if you are a girl. You do that again and I’m gonna hit you next time.”

I was stunned. But I shouldn’t have been. Steroids do make you moody.

Anyway, I grabbed my bat (not to hit him) and stepped up to the plate. I was first at bat. And then I watched a brawl nearly unfold. You see, there had been a little bad blood between the teams, but that’s for another day and another blog. The yelling and cursing hit epic proportions. I saw several members of my team holding back one of our hot-headed players, and my coach, Super Dave, had to step between their coach, who in a fit, was trying to storm our dugout.

The ump called the game.

Here’s the really fantastic part: Mr. Steroid got a three-game suspension to my five. Neither of us got a hearing. Don’t even get me started on that.

But let me say this:

Sure, in the gay league there are guys that throw like girls and girls that throw like guys, which is a really sexist comment that also gets my point across. Here’s the thing. Our Sunday games in the D league prove the social stigma that professional athletes can’t come out because being gay means you’re soft or a sissy or you’re not emotionally tough to play competitively is just bullshit.

I almost got my ass kicked in the gay league.