Try-outs were open. Anyone could attend.

Georgia searched her garage for her gear. Way back, behind the camping cots, hanging on a hook in the corner she found the long skinny bag that held her bat, mitt, and cleats. It was dusty and surrounded by a substantial cobweb. She grabbed a broom and swept the cobweb away and then lifted the bag down off the wall. First, she unzipped the top of the bag and slid the long bat out. The leather grip had dried out after several seasons of no use. She would have to replace it. She checked the main compartment. The leather mitt would need a little oil, but it would be just fine. The cleats were there with a pair of old socks inside from the last game she played. There were also a couple of balls, an empty water bottle, and a small half-eaten bag of Swedish fish, twisted at the top – a dugout snack.

Georgia was returning to the game after a hiatus. Family obligations. But she was fit and healthy, she had been preparing in the off-season. With over 20 seasons under her belt, how hard could it be to make a come-back? Georgia took the rest of the week to repair and prepare her gear. She would be ready to go by Saturday.

Saturday morning came, and it was going to be a beautiful day. The grass outfield was mowed, and the cinder infield was raked and pristine. Crisp, white chalk lines marked the edges of the playing field. Georgia watched from the car while two young men set up a folding table and pulled stacks of paper out of a banker’s box. They wore nylon pull-over jackets with the team logo on the left shoulder. Georgia didn’t want to rush them, so she soaked-in the morning sun and waited. When they finally seemed to have their table in order, she got out of her car, slung her gear bag over her shoulder and walked to the entrance.

“Hi, I’m here to check in for the team try-outs. My name is Georgia Fischer.”

One of the young men looked up at her. He smiled, positively.

“Oh, awesome, my first customer.” He said. “Let me look here… ok, I see you here under Fischer. George-a! I had you down as ‘George.’ My bad.”

Georgia estimated this young man was barely old enough to buy a beer. His smile was sincere, however. She smiled back at him reassuringly.

He continued, “Shouldn’t be a problem, Georgia. This is a co-ed team. So, how long have you been playing?”

“I started when I was 10 years old and continued on through high school. I played some college ball but took time off to raise my kids after I got married. I’m back in playing shape, though, and ready to get back into the game,” Georgia replied.

“Wow, that’s inspiring,” he said. “We have a very competitive team. Tryouts will be tough! But we would love to see what you can do.”

He reached into a bin and gave her a piece of paper and a red jersey with the number 10 on the back.

“Here you go. We just need you to sign this waiver and then we will see you on the field in about 30 minutes. You can get changed and warm up if you’d like.”

At the end of the day, Georgia felt like her tryout had gone well. In some ways, it wasn’t fair. She was playing with children. Sure, they were quick. But Georgia quickly realized her competition wasn’t against the men. The team was required to have a minimum of 4 women in the batting line-up and on the field, during defense. The team would add 6 women to the roster, in order to have a couple of subs handy. Georgia had the strength of at least 2 of these girls just from the rigorous work required of being a mom every day. On top of that, she had been putting in some serious hours at the gym.  

The muscles on their lean bodies showed definition, but they lacked real-world strength. Georgia could out-hit them, and with the many years of experience, she could place the ball where she wanted in the outfield.  In the infield, Georgia didn’t shy away when the men were up to bat. She wouldn’t hang back for fear of getting a bruise. All she wanted to do was stop the ball. If she couldn’t get her mitt on it, she would take a hard bounce off her shins, and grab the ball out of the dirt to make a play. She hoped her consistency made up for and surpassed their quickness. She may not be able to steal bases, but she could get to first base nearly every time she had a chance to bat.

Later that evening, the coaches posted the roster on the team website. Georgia scanned the list twice and did not see her name. Her mind swirled with confusion. What did she miss? Of all the women at try-outs, she couldn’t imagine not making it into the top 6. Stymied, she put her phone away and went back into her kitchen to finishing cleaning and putting away the evening meal. She wiped the counters, then walked into the laundry room to move a load of towels from the washer to the dryer. She quickly folded the load of dark colored t-shirts, shorts, and socks. Mindlessly she finished these chores while she mentally went back over every detail of the day. She wondered, “what did I do wrong?”

Early the next day, Georgia checked her email. She had a habit of getting up early, before the rest of the house, to mentally prepare for her day. There was a new message from the coaches of the association. It shared the results of the previous day’s try-out and thanked all the players for their time and effort. It also gave a phone number, should any player have further questions.

I have to call them, Georgia thought. I need to know what I did wrong. I must have missed something.

Later that day, Georgia called the number. A voice answered, and Georgia recognized it as the voice of the young man from the check-in table.

“Hi, this is Georgia,” she said. “I tried out yesterday, and I see that I didn’t make the cut. I’m sorry, but I just need to understand what happened? I thought I played well yesterday. Is there any feedback you can give me?”

“Hi, Georgia!” He replied positively. “We really enjoyed having you out there, and yes, you did stand out. You obviously have a lot of skill to offer a team. One hard part about these try-outs is that our coaches are trying to choose players that will contribute to their ideal team culture. So, sometimes a good player stands out, but they just aren’t the right fit. And, unfortunately, that must have been why they didn’t pick you.”

“Well, isn’t your goal to play ball? To hit runs and make plays? I feel like I demonstrated my competency in those areas.” She pushed back.

“Certainly, Ms. Georgia. But you see, on our team, we have the men to do that. Our coaches have found that we are more successful if we free up the guys to do those things. That said, we are required to have women on our team. So, what we are looking for, are women who fundamentally understand the game and bring an energetic and positive presence to the dug-out. Other than that, they just need to fill the gaps in the field. It’s not how every team plays the game, but it’s worked well for us. We have the banners to prove it!”

Georgia closed her eyes, letting the disappointment of this conversation sink in. “So, skill and athleticism did not play into the tryout process?”

“Ms. Georgia, there is no doubt in our mind that you are a competent player, and your dedication to the sport, after all these years, is commendable. Basically, you are overqualified. But you know, that makes me wonder, would you be willing to volunteer with the team? Maybe our young, up and coming female players could use a mentor? I mean, this is unchartered territory for us, but you really do have a lot to offer. Why don’t you think about it and call me tomorrow? I’ll talk to the other guys. We would really hate to let you go.”

“Oh, ok. Well, I’ll think about it.” Georgia replied.

Later that night, after her kids and husband were asleep, Georgia was still thinking about it. She went to the laundry room where she found the basket of folded clothes sitting there. She dug down into the stack and found the red practice jersey with the number 10. She grabbed it and went to the liquor cabinet, where she found a bottle of Bacardi 151 rum. It had been sitting on the shelf from the last time her husband had a whim and made “Flaming Dr. Peppers” for a dinner party. Georgia stuffed the items in a tote bag and got into her car.

At the ball field, she walked into the home team dugout and sat on the bench. Georgia pulled the bottle out of her bag and took a swig. It went down hard, tasting like sweet gasoline. She shook off the burning sensation and dug around in her bag some more. She found the jersey and ripped it in two. She stuffed a piece of the jersey into the neck of the bottle. She waited a moment to watch the alcohol soak into the cotton material like the wick of a candle. Then, she pulled out a lighter and lit the jersey, tossing her crude bomb quickly into the home dugout trash can.

“There’s your answer.” She said, quietly, to no one.

Author Notes: This short story came out of a fiction writing assignment last summer. The goal was to write a story with a surprise plot twist. This is one of the first stories I’ve written, where the main character and story came alive as I was writing. I had no idea what was to come before I introduced my character. The story just rolled out, and ultimately expressed some societal observations/frustrations that were tucked away deep within me. So, in a way, telling my main character’s story was somewhat cathartic to me. Thanks for reading.