Wednesday, February 9, 2011
My girlfriend's a what?
On a warm April afternoon in Northern California, the team gathered after a baseball game. The head coach (college teams don't have managers) was Tony Bloomfield. Bloomer was indeed a flower. With flowery language. After a defeat, his verbal assaults were more like weeds in the rose garden. After a victory, however, his banter/diatribe/monologue was the gardena in spring. The gravelly voice was laced with sarcasm and encouragement as he berated us. But playfully. And with his permanent smirk.
I'd zoned out. It was another game in which I performed well, but only quietly did my job. Being the narcissist that I was, I tuned it out. I heard "that was Watts' girl", as four or five team mates pointed at me. I looked up, thinking to myself 'who is my girl?', but saying "huh?"
Bloomer said again, and a bit impressed, "who were those girls in the stands making out Watts?"
"I don't know man. I didn't see it." I was still trying to figure out what girl they were talking about.
Bloomer. "There were two Asian chicks swappin spit Watts! Is that your girl?"
The Asian thing knocked the blocks into place. "Oh, Ooooooh. Ya, that mighta been her." Non-chalantly, and with a demented sense of pride I maintained my placid expression.
"Not bad Watts. Not bad at all."
Looking back, I should have guessed. But I didn't know this girl was freaky like that. After all, she went to Catholic school.