tarptastic mayhem

If there is one thing I've learned recently, it's that my teammates and I definitely do not have a future in irrigation or engineering. We are not the brightest bulbs in the tanning bed. We. Are. Inept.

And so, as an attempt to reflect on precisely how dim witted we are, I am taking a moment to collect some thoughts regarding our inability to logically maneuver water from our tarps to the designated area.

For those not from the Pacific Northwest, here's a little meteorology lesson: In January and February and March and the first half of April, it rains, pretty much at some point, every single day. Some days it's just a light drizzle, other days it's more like a torrential downpour. That is just the way it is. And while I wouldn't change a single thing about it, I sometimes shake my head in bewilderment when we act like it's a rare chemical substance that is difficult and dangerous to deal with. Hello! We're talking about water, here. You know, that clear binary compound that occurs at room temperature. Also known as the most abundant substance in the world. Completely harmless, might I also add, just in case anyone wasn't clear.

A typical day goes something like this: We all arrive at the field trying feverishly to think of a new, clever plan to get the tarp cleared off. Then, we brainstorm amongst each other, execute our "brilliant" plan and fail. As expected, we soon find ourselves (yet again) in a huge garbage dump of a situation. To wrap up the debacle, our coaches (who are by this point beyond frustrated with our ineptitude) provide us with the much quicker strategy. And then the water is gone in 2 minutes flat.

One day recently, our innovative and brilliant strategy (of using a smaller tarp underneath to guide the water and create something of a stream) failed. Surprised? What happened was the smaller tarp slipped and let all of the water run onto the field. This led to everyone dropping what they were doing and rushing onto the scene with buckets and brooms and squidgys in a futile attempt to help. Teammates were lending their muscle. Teammates were comically slipping and falling in the middle of the field. Some were sprinting to get out of the way. And all in all it was just general jovial mayhem from one corner of the field to the other. Like I said before, we're the merry band of idiots. Had you been there during this event, you would definitely not disagree.

Perhaps my favorite part of this particular ordeal was the maintenance guys who were supposed to be leveling and constructing our bullpen. It went something like this:

"They're having a tough time getting that water off" one of them observed.

"They sure are," the other said.

"They need help," the conversation continued.

Gee, thanks you guys. Although, I don't understand why they are critiquing our efforts when they themselves fail repeatedly at their own job. Maybe I would react differently to their seemingly innocent (and entirely true) observations if they were on top of their game.

Our tarp is one of the greatest gifts and we love it dearly. It lets us play the game we love every day and I'm incredibly thankful for that.

One day we will get it right on the first try. One day.