So there I am, playing good ol' Christian, co-ed, slo-pitch (we won, we're 2-1 now), and I'm about to bat. One of the other team's players comes to the plate and proceeds to tell the ump that a city worker has approached their bench and told them that they will be turning the lights off at 10:30pm. The game started at 9:30 and the diamond was booked until 11pm and it's minutes to 10:30pm.
We hadn't got enough innings in to make it a legal game, thusly, we had a problem. Suggestions were made to use feminine charms to coerce the man into letting us have our half hour, have the ump talk to him, etc. Then the member of the other team said, "I don't think those will work, I think he's a deaf, mute."
So guess who ended up pulling out her sign language alphabet to talk this guy into letting us finish the game... yup, you're right, me. We got our half an hour and finished our game. End of story, right...?
After the game, a couple of friends and I wandered across the park to Rolly Rocket's BBQ and I was relaying this story to the owner. As soon as I mentioned "deaf, mute" he responds with "oooooh, that's Joseph. He's not a city worker. He lives across the street, he's kind of a volunteer." I asked if he was the kind of volunteer who should be turning on the lights and Rolly juuuust wasn't sure. Crap.
The moral of the story is that sometimes you're trying to play hardcore Christian, co-ed, slo-pitch and end up a) being heckled by a drunk guy on a bench in the outfield b) straining your thumb c) making a pseudo diving catch and throwing someone out at 2nd from your belly, or d) spelling out words in sign language to convince a neighbourhood "volunteer" that he shouldn't turn lights off that he may not even have the ability to turn off.