The kids are all right.

The first thing I have to explain is that I recently joined a slowpitch softball team. This is extremely funny, since I have never ever in my life played softball. I have played whiffle ball in the back yard with a plastic bat, which clearly does not count as having played softball. The second thing I have to explain, which makes this really hilarious, is that despite appearances I am quite possibly the worst athlete in America, or at least in Des Moines. People always think I am a good athlete because of my tall stature, broad shoulders, and hulking muscles (okay, I made that last one up), so they invite me to do things like play on their softball teams or lift heavy boxes (actually, I can do that) or bench press cows, etc.

They have come to the wrong person.

But this time I was assured I could just join the team, be an alternate, and guard the beer. Hurrah! Something I can do! Beer-guarding is perhaps my greatest skill.

I forgot that before I get around to actually guarding beer, I have to practice this foreign sport they call softball. (Basically, if it doesn't involve a round orange ball, a rim, and a net, I'm clueless.) So my friend Greg arranged for us to go down to American Legion Park in West Des Moines last Tuesday night and get in some practice time.

First I threw a softball. That went marginally well. I think I "throw like a girl," however, which is unfortunate but not particularly surprising. Catching was also somewhat challenging because I was wearing a giant glove that kept sliding around on my hand. (Great, now I have to actually invest money and buy a new glove. I was saving that money for beer.) I was going with the flow, playing right field and generally doing very little until the left-handed batter came up to the plate. I would helpfully yell each time we almost decapitated a small soccer-playing child out in left. All in all, I was just out enjoying the weather.

Then it was my turn to bat. I don't really care if I look like a doofus in front of my friends and some strangers who are playing on the team with us. I was afraid of the children. Three skater kids had climbed the fence behind home plate and were hovering ominously above each time someone came up to bat. Great, a bunch of 12 year-olds are going to make fun of me, I thought. This is going to be a humbling experience.

As expected, my first time swinging a softball bat was pretty pathetic. There was lots of whiffing and hitting it extremely short distances. What was unexpected were the kids above: "That was a good one!" they told me when I actually lined one that actually almost went to the edge of the infield. "Two in a row," they said, encouraging me.

I have to admit I thought the kids were going to be punks. And I feel bad about that now. They weren't in the least bit smartass. So thanks, kids. If you ever give up skating perhaps you could go into motivational training. I'd hire you.