From the Vault: Saturday Afternoon Softball, (2000) (Dan Crosswell)

 SATURDAY AFTERNOON SOFTBALL (2000), Dan Crosswell:

https://saturdaysoftball.blogspot.com/

SECTION ONE:

THE ORIGINS OF OUR GAME

Six years ago (in 1994), an intrepid baseball evangelist set out to bring the Grand Ol' Game to the idolater Singaporeans, still held in thrall by their infatuation with the unregenerative game of soccer—a legacy of their great misfortune of having been ruled by the British. At least that is one of the creation myths.

Others argue the origins of our softball association lay in the psychological need for North American expatriates to distance themselves from their voluntary exiles in Asia by playing the game of their youths. The Singaporeans are merely unwitting tools; their labor and enthusiasms manipulated to serve the selfish needs of disingenuous Westerners.

Another school maintains the Saturday afternoon gatherings serve precisely the opposite function—as a vehicle to build cross-cultural awareness and social bonds.

Naturally the cynics dismiss all these needlessly complex colonialist, neo-colonialist, and post-colonialist interpretations. For them, Saturday softball means a little exercise which provides the rationale—if one is required—for drinking beer.

As always the case, truth resides in an admixture of all the various views.

Our Struggle for a Place in the Sun

Putting the genesis discussion aside, all the participants must derive some profit from playing because our Saturday game has survived, even prospered. It has not always been easy. A number of misguided people and groups conspire to deny us our little pleasures.

First, we face the constant struggle to beat off incursions of soccer players. They constitute only a nuisance factor. More troubling are the white-clad practitioners of a primitive form of our game, the cricket players. Since they cannot muster the same kind of ardour for their game [who could?] that we do for ours, the infrequency of cricketers on the field renders them a minor annoyance.

The weather offers a determined adversary. But not really. Some of our most memorable games took place during downpours. Others would argue fair weather in Singapore is worse than foul. Many players—even stalwarts—wilt under the hot mid-day sun, retreating into the Faculty Club to suck beers while the rest "play two."

A truly cosmopolitan crowd

Aside from the constant worry we may not have a field, until 1999 the other concern centered on lack of bodies. It used to be a case either of feast or famine—too many people or not enough. Too many means batters face a picket line of five or six outfielders; too few means we make one field dead or even play double-or-nothing. But the game must always go on; and it always has.

The most interesting feature of the demographics is its international composition.

Baseball is, of coarse, the quintessential American game. But the number of Americans has always been dwarfed by Canadians. For long periods of time, Americans were even outnumbered by Saskatchewaners. The register lists six players from Canada's version of Kansas.

Some of the funniest moments have come from watching Europeans run the bases. There is something about having to stop on the base that defies European logic. For a period, a large cohort of Swedes played regularly. Sadly, their numbers are now exhausted. Other Euro-weenies came from England, Scotland, Germany, France, Italy, and Norway. Our games have also attracted a fair number of Antipodeans—and happily, none of the Australians ever came back.

Until the last two years, attempts to proselyte the natives generally failed. That is not to say important converts were not made. Some of our Singaporean players are no longer neophytes; in fact, they are old veterans [who can also hold their own in sophisticated discussions of the latest action in major league baseball]. But faith and good works finally paid off. Presently we have a solid bedrock of Singaporeans—ranging from former NUS varsity players to kids recruited [or is it conscripted] in a neighborhood school.

And finally there is our representative from the People's Republic; but some suspect he is actually from Neptune.

Future Trends

Unlike the major leagues, our baseball assembly has no labor problems; no bloated superstars demanding special attention; no megalomaniac owners; no strong-arming citizens to fork out hundreds of millions to build new stadiums so wealthy suits can enjoy seven innings in the comfort of a luxury box. Instead, we pick our teams each week based on a chaotic lottery system of counting off 1s and 2s; but it almost always ensures pretty even teams. Although the gulf in skill levels between experienced baseball players and newcomers can be very wide, for the most part that gap has narrowed significantly over time. Quite often some pretty damn good softball is played out there. Some players have shown remarkable improvement in skills and fundamentals; others come out every week and, despite their best efforts, will always be our league's version of Mario Mendoza. But nobody really cares. All we want is one corner of a field, a sunny day with a slight breeze from the north-east, twenty people who want to play ball, and the assurance the Faculty Club is still selling the cheapest beer in Singapore. That ain't too much to ask, is it?

SECTION TWO: OBSERVATIONS FROM THE FIELD

Some interesting observations on pick-up softball gleaned from Robert Smith, Baseball in the Afternoon: Tales from a Bygone Era (New York: Simon & Schuster, 1993). Old Bob perfectly describes our Saturday afternoon tilts.

Softball, which developed from what was known in the early years of the [20th] century as "indoor baseball" (played mostly by girls), never attained the national stature or even so much as an inkling of the mystic quality assigned to our national game—partly, of course, because it never became more than mildly professionalized and largely because it demanded no such superlative physical skills or attainments—no ninety-mile-an-hour pitches, no four-hundred-foot home runs. But despite Little League and Babe Ruth League that helped herd so many of the nation's young (not all of them willingly) onto baseball diamonds, softball has become our true sandlot version of the game. Because it can be adapted to smaller fields and more informal equipment and can be engaged in with equal fervor by old and young, it can be played almost anywhere by men and women of almost any age, with no uniforms more specialized than a suitable marked cap, a T-shirt with a team emblem, an old pair of pants, and a set of sneakers.

Actually, softball resembles original baseball more closely than the official game does. The ball is nearly the same size....The pitcher was still required to "pitch" (i.e. toss) the ball to [the "striker"], although ...the rules permitted him to try to deceive the striker. Earlier, the pitcher had been almost a nonentity, sometimes called the "server," and it was deemed decidedly unsportsmanlike for him to try to keep the striker from getting "his hit," as the game did not really start until the ball had been struck into fair ground....The catcher, first called "behind," stood a few yards behind the batter and received many pitches on the bounce....The only full-time infielder was the shortstop, who was indeed a shortstop, for he was charged with protecting all the field inside the baselines...and behind the pitcher. The three basemen, while they might handle balls hit within their reach, were usually positioned with one foot on the base, ready to lay a gentle tag on any enemy runner who might approach.

The same spirit usually informs the game, with rivalries muted by friendship and neighborliness....Often a softball game is a standard preliminary to a major beer party, with both teams equally involved in the after-game festivities. So while there are no minstrels to sing the glories of the game, or philosophers to elucidate its mysteries, and certainly no historians to magnify its heroes, it does feed rich satisfaction into the veins of plain folk throughout the land....But at least we have been spared the glut of statistics that sometimes seem to make up the real game of big-time baseball, rather than the record of wins and losses. And the celebrations after softball victories are usually enjoyed, by players and spectators alike, in each other's company. Softball heroes and heroines are all too obviously fashioned from the common clay.

When softball suddenly came into my life, it was like a rebirth....I soon discovered that this game was baseball all over again—only modified enough to suit part-time performers with a little rust beginning to gather in their joints. Of course, young people play it, too, for it was a true neighborhood game, requiring not nearly so much room as baseball and no expensive equipment. Rivalries were never bitter. As in my boyhood, one day's teammate might be the next day's enemy. There were no titles to pursue, no averages to compile, no standings to keep track of.

The little eccentricities, however, actually added merriment to our contests, which were never allowed to descend into mortal combat. Who won or lost the bloody game was not a point to brood on—or for that matter even remember. A week after the season ended, I couldn't recall the outcome of more than one or two of the games. And two months later I had forgotten them all. [Our softball games] always represented the spirit that originally informed the game of baseball in those ancient afternoons. It was not a religious experience. Not a sacred one. Not a tournament of knights-errant. It was fun.


SECTION 3: THE ROSTER

DAN [Coach] CROSSWELL

Crosswell is a crusty old throwback type. One of the founders and chief proselytizer, Coach has been responsible for recruiting many of our players. And because he is constantly yelling instructions, he is also probably responsible for running as many away—including his wife. Coach usually plays all-time shortstop. Despite having lost four or five steps, he argues his stellar defense helps balance the teams. The real reason is he can't hit any more. Although a history professor, Crosswell is universally known as Coach. He thinks the appellation comes from his managing the Singapore under-19 baseball team. In reality, he reminds everybody of Coach from Cheers.

ALVIN [the Guppy] HEW

Big Al comes to Singapore by way of Newfoundland and Toronto. A one-man low-lights film, the Guppy never fails to add to our collection of Alphonse and Gaston clips of butchered plays. Hew is also remembered for adding a new term to the baseball lexicon. After yet another futile turn at first base, the Coach banished Al to right field in the middle of an inning. Reminiscent of Bobby Valentine's botched replacement of Ricky Henderson in the 1999 NLCS, Al's unceremonious removal came to be referred to as "being Valentined." On offense, Al is renowned for his "swinging bunts"—sure to elicit great peals of laughter. But that's Al's game.

KYLE [Hello Kitty] Latinis

Latinis would be a strange cookie in anybody's box of Animal Crackers. Given his east coast Stallone verbalizations and California laid-back persona, it is appropriate Kyle comes from Kansas. The same internal contradiction dogs his hitting—Latinis either cranks one or hits a weak dribbler to third. After a stretch of playing pepper with the third baseman, Latinis was christened "Hello Kitty." He now receives plaintive meows whenever he steps to the plate. Kyle is also famed for his outlandish apparel. Just when everybody figured he had reached the depths, he wore a full suit of thermal long johns—naturally with the arms cut out to display his tats. And remember we are playing on the equator.

LLOYD [Chief Wahoo] YEO

Sometimes referred to as Ouppy [to the Coach's Andy], Yeo never saw a baseball before he started coming out to play while finishing his honors year at NUS. He now ranks among our most consistent players. A true devotee of the Game, Lloyd has built a softball program from less than scratch at Monfort Secondary School. And to his credit, he started rooting for Cleveland because of their legacy of ineptitude. He has no difficulty arguing away their October swoons.

MARTIN [The Flamingo/Contrary] BAZLYLEWICH

Martin is the sole survivor of the Saskatchewan Six. A power hitting lefty, Bazylewich usually is an offensive force. It is his defense than gets him in trouble. When he varied on his familiar theme of a ground ball through the legs at third by lifting a leg he earned the tag "Flamingo." Martin is also known as the Contrary. Whatever the line of argument, even if he agrees with you, invariably he assumes the opposing view.

GOH [Jugs] GEOK YIAN

Geok is another of our Singaporean stalwarts. Despite playing each and every week, her game still defies analysis. Always well dressed in either her Orioles or Astros garb, at least she always looks good. Sometimes called Jugs—no not for that; because K victims have to buy a jug of beer—Geok has sharply reduced her strike out totals. A sad development for the rest of us.

CHRIS

One of Lloyd's recruits, Chris is now a veteran in good standing. She has shown steady improvement in all phases of her game. Like Geok, a second sacker, she always matches the old pro in coming attired in fine MLB threads. Chris also acts as Lloyd's GM and bench coach at Monford.

JOHN [Indiana] MIKSIC

No, John isn't a Hoosier. The Indiana moniker stems from the fact Miksic is a major leaguer in the archaeology circuit. Since Miksic owns baseball cards from his childhood in rural Ontario County, New York older than the Coach, you got to know John is our oldest player. But age has done little to erode his skills and less to diminish his enthusiasm and love of the Game. The silk-handed Miksic is noted for his adept picks at first; some might compare his play to Frank Chance. Miksic knows who he is; but missed seeing him play by a couple years.

BRIAN FARRELL

After years of frustration watching a succession of GMs trade away great talent, Farrell gave up on his Expos when they traded a promising second baseman for a young untested pitcher. You got it. The pitcher was Pedro Martinez. Fortunately he plays the game better than he reads major league talent. An original founding member, Farrell is a pretty good center fielder and a consistent line drive hitter. Farrell's real strength rests in his presiding over debate in the Faculty Club. He claims never to have lost an argument; and nobody is going to contest the point.

ANTONY [Nigel, Tuquo, Kiwi] KENNEDY

One of the most popular players left us at the end of 1999. Nigel looked to be a lifer in Singapore; he could not leave until he finished his dissertation. Against all odds, he finished it [kind of] and got a posh job in Perth. Sadly, his career was as short as his doctoral candidacy was long. Now a free agent, he might even return to the league; but with much diminished value. Famed for his McGwire-like belts, Tuquo also dressed nearly as badly as Latinis. Where Latinis wears VC headdress, the Kiwi, being a Kiwi, could never master wearing a baseball cap.

RICHARD [Big Dick] NG

One day Richard was taking his kid Niko to the Rec Complex and he spotted us playing. An old softballer, he asked if he could join. Thereafter he was a regular—when he was not catching shots off his thumb in left field. Richard got sick of Singo and left a lucrative job as a currency trader [I never knew him to report gains] to test the waters in Toronto. He landed on his feet. As far as the Big Dick goes, only his wife knows for sure.

CHRIS [the Gimp] YONG

Chris blew his knee; but postponed surgery until he could use the time off. A versatile player, Chris plays pitcher, shortstop and first base with equal skill. How much skill is open to interpretation. Despite being a Yankee fan, the Gimp is one of our most popular guys.

DAN [the Naked Savage] YANG

Not to dwell on attire, but looking good is an important part of baseball. Nobody noticed until we started taping games, but Dan looks like he is playing without any drawers. A talented pitcher and middle infielder, Dan has plenty of pop in his bat.

FRANCK [Weebles] WIEBE

Wiebe played with us for a couple years before moving on to Jakarta and San Francisco. He still routes his flights to Asia through Singapore so he can play. Despite his posturing, Wiebe is another Kansan. Wiebe is best remembered for two things. First, he invented the "tumble weed" play in one of our after softball two-hand touch games. Second, he was the only guy who would argue with Farrell.

TOH [Agent of Satan] HEAN

Another one of our Singaporean fateful, Toh Hean is most noted for his ability to flag down flies in the gap. A frequent victim of his glove-work, Latinis is convinced Toh Hean is in league with the devil. As a hitter, Toh Hean has more peaks and valleys than I-70 through Pennsylvania. He goes through spells when you can't get him out; then he lapses back into periods of hitting cans of corn.

GAVIN [Michelangelo] GAY

His nickname has nothing to do with the great Renaissance artist's sexual preferences. Gavin's unique stance at the plate reminds you of the statue of David; but unlike DY, Gavin wears pants. Gavin has turned into a threat at the plate. In the first game of 2000, he hit a dramatic three run homer with two out to knot the score in the bottom of the ninth; his team eventually won in extra innings.

GINO [the Shark]

Gino is so far out there, he makes Latinis look mainstream. When you look into Gino's eyes you see nothing; that's why he is called the Shark. But you know whatever is going on behind those lifeless eyes can't be good. Always guaranteed to do the unexpected—carry the bat to first base; run to first via the pitching mound; turn a triple into a single. One day when we were comparing notes on our misspent youth, we asked Gino if he even misbehaved as a kid in China. The response was shocking, even for the Shark. "Once I tried to kill my teacher," he said in deathly seriousness. Hit her over the head with a chair; then fled to the hills. The man is always a revelation.

ANTHONY [Bo Gangles] TAY

A product of Penn and a Phillies fan, Tay is a professor of economics. A Wilber Wood wannabe, Tay usually patrols right field. His pursuit of flyballs is always an adventure; frequently highlighted with some Steepin' Fetchit soft-shoe. That is not to suggest he is fleet afoot. You could time him going to first with a sundial.

TED [Cannibal] WONG

Like Alvin, Ted is another Sino-Canuck. But that is where the comparison ends. Wong has as many circus catches to his credit as Alvin has boners. And Ted generates surprising power from his small frame. An anaesthetist by profession, Wong is frequently seen wondering around in a zombie-like daze. No, he is not dipping into his own drugs; he suffers from acute sleep deprivation from working ungodly hours. Strange a medical man calls himself the Cannibal. Also eccentric is his number—66. He would add another 6 if we would let him.

XIAO [Cy Young] YANG

A frequent participant, Xiao Yang offers steady defense and a pretty decent bat. Her handle does not originate from an arm like the famed Buckeye Cyclone but rather from Ang Mos confusing her name.

CHEE HOW

Chee How has not been tagged with a nickname. This is suggestive of his steady play and a nagging lack of idyiosyncracies. Like Toh Hean and Gavin, Chee How has illustrated continuous improvement in his softball skills. In one memorable game Chee How robbed Bazlylewich of two home runs, once with the bases loaded.

FABIAN [the Fab]

Our lone consistent Euroweenie, Fabian comes from Grenoble, France. Although new to the Game, the Fab brings plenty of athleticism. He may have initially thought the Game was too easy. He hit a home run in his first game. He now proves the ancient wisdom of the Game, the longer you play, the harder it gets. Fabian also covers a lot of ground in the outfield.