Baseball Butts

Take me out . . .

I love baseball.

In fact, if I was to think about it, baseball is probably my favourite sport.

My mom was a helluva heckuva player.

I don't know if I ever equalled her ability.

But I sure enjoyed trying.

But did you know that baseball and self-image go together?

Well, they do.

In my grade twelve year, I boarded with my best friend Debbie's family while attending school in Magrath, Alberta.

I should mention that her family were . . . characters.

Moving on . . .

During that time I played, along with Debbie, for the Del Bonita team.

It was a blast.

And we made a respectable showing in the league.

One afternoon, we were back at Debbie's house.

Celebrating a win.

I was euphoric (Oooh! Good word!) because I had hit a three-bagger that had brought in two runs.

The team hero.

Well, in my eyes, at least.

Debbie's parents had watched the game.

And were enjoying re-hashing it with us.

Her dad sat back and took a deep, satisfied breath.

“Yep. That was a good game,” he said. He looked at me. “It's a good thing you joined the team.”

I smiled, feeling quite satisfied with myself.

He looked at his daughter and grinned. “Yep. Until you came, Debbie had the biggest . . .”

He paused.

I waited. Was he going to say hit? Arm? Throw?

Hero ability?

“ . . . butt on the team.” He looked back at me. The grin widened. “Now she has the second biggest.”

“Hey!” I said, my euphoric bubble bursting abruptly.

He laughed. “What makes you think I was talking about you?”

“Hmph!”

“But it was a good game,” he said.

I stared at him, narrow-eyed.

Did he really mean it?

Did I have a big butt?

I looked down at my 28 inch waist men's jeans.

Did they hide a monstrous backside?

He laughed again, got up and left the room. “Yep. Good game.”

“You don't, Diane,” Debbie said.

“What?” I looked at her.

“You can stop checking. You don't have a big butt. In fact, you don't have a butt.”

“Oh. Ummm . . . okay.”

“And you played a good game. That's just Dad's way of telling you.”

“Oh.”

Did I mention that her family was quirky?

To this day, when I see a well-played baseball game, I think of . . . good plays.

You thought I was going to say big butts, didn't you?

Nope. That I save for when I'm playing.

Sigh.