Last Nights Game

Last night was softball game #4, and turned out to be an interesting game to say the least. This was the battle for second place...our team was 2-1 and so was the other team. We all showed up in our Sunday...er, Thursday night, best. Our uniform shirts (nice design Jordan) were all sparkly...and we had plenty of time to warm up. We started throwing around, and the lights came on...and let me tell YOU...night games feel very professional. Now I understand why B almost peed with excitiment on the way over.
So game starts after some suspense over whether or not they would even get enough players by game time...they slide in so close under the wire that they have to send a braless, shoeless player onto the field in order to beat the clock.
Play starts...good rally going on...always those players on the other team that think Jesus' second coming relies solely on THEIR performance on the field (and thusly dress the oh-so-professional part over their fat, old men guts!) And I was in my new fanFREAKINGtastic navy blue and white knee socks.
I'm playing my normal Right Field (que the instrumental of Right Field, by Peter, Paul, and Mary)and come to find out two of these professional city adult softball league players bat lefty...that means balls to me...YEAH!
Soooo, first ball comes out to me...I run like the wind at it, as its foul, but still POSSIBLY catchable...the guy playing center runs at a slightly sharper angle to be behind me in case I mess up horribly...
Now, I need to take a break and mention something. I live with my mom, and I love it. She's a great cook, she's fun, easy going, clean and generous. I try to help, but she never stops being the mom. Last night before the game, when I got home from work...she was just minutes away from putting halibut, roasted veggies, and my favorite...artichokes, on the table. I devoured that (need my energy for the game!). I guess it didn't cross my mind that artichokes have particular tendancy towards creating excess air in the lower digestive tract...
Onward and upward...I'm running for the ball, guy behind me to help...I swoop up the ball (off the ground, where the ball DID in fact, end up falling)and run to throw it...all the while little (BUT certainly audible) poofs of air are escaping from me. OH MY GOD! I'm tooting!! Pretty much crop dusting the crap out of this poor dude.
Fast forward to one of my hits. I get to first...then second...then third. Moving slow but forward....and then off to run home...running with all my might. I cross the line and again, dust the crops that this time consist of the ump...the catcher...and probably all the way up to the announcer.
Of course to me, this sounded like it should have been accompanied by a mushroom cloud and years of genetic deformation. Not sure if this was the amplification of embarrassment or a sad reality. Needless to say...as much as I will assert that girls don't fart...I had some fairly embarrassing something going on during last night's game - and unfortunately we still lost. Now had it provided additional defense, momentary paralysis of the other team, or jet propulsion of sorts, that rockets me around the bases...this would have been a different post.