I'm sure she's really a lovely woman, and was just having a bad day.
Meanwhile, I caught part of my game last night, the first time in a decade, anyway. I like it; my hips don't, though. You're always in motion, backing up throws, up and down. I'm a fairly intimidating presence on the field, although I don't mean to be. I'm really downright easygoing! However, one gal tripped over me as I was blocking the plate, and she gave me a dirty look and some comment about how she was hurt, wahhhh; I could hear her sniping on the bench. How about a left-field triple over your head, bitch? Glad to oblige. Ha! Ha! (It might have been a home run if it didn't take me a month just to get out of the box. Like cartoon characters--maybe Fred Flinstone--when they're trying to go somewhere fast but their legs just whirl and spin and they don't go anywhere? That's me.)
As a rule, I do not get drawn into the sniping and bitching, not even when my own team does it. I'm a lover; a peacemaker. I'm there to play, and I play hard, and that's the best defense against bitching and sniping.
But I see there's a theme going on here: I really have a problem with conflict.
