In Praise Of: Colonel Mustard

On the softball field....with the Boom Stick.

In Praise of: Colonel Mustard 

It's year 13 of Softball and time has claimed a worthy warrior. A late night game against those Bradken Bombers came and passed and with it an era drew to a close. Colonel Mustard, well respected opponent of the n.W.o. has officially retired. We gather here not to bury his career but to praise his fine fighting spirit.

His well drawn moustache was just the tip of the iceberg. Behind that curly stretch of manhood there was the puffy cheeked face of a warrior and for over a decade he stood tall upon the pitchers mound, ready to do battle. His own at-bats were the stuff of legend, a crafty stick swinger that knew just where to poke the hit and when to take second because the outfield was slacking. Year after year he shoved a basic meatball right through the strike zone and kept us honest enough that a season split was always considered a win.

He still walked among us mortals as recently as Summer Ball. One night I sat down to watch the frat guys team take another Wednesday Nite ass whuppin' and suddenly there he was, seated right beside me. Often had I joked with him about his appearance, how I was a 20 year flashback at his expense and how I longed to grow that curly moustache. On this night he spoke first, he immediately asked how I'd been, how the "Plaza Stuff" was going, inquired about my kids, talked shop on that "Ogre Ball" I've been trying to learn to throw.

I asked him how his hammy was feeling after I'd seen him go down like a sniper shot it out about 6 weeks prior. He said it didn't feel too bad but that the real hurt was losing a week of work to being laid up. I made a joke about retirement, he gave me a warm smile, one that reminded me of Santa and simply said that time catches up with everyone, but that it hadn't caught him quite yet.

We watched the rest of the game, had some laughs, talked some more shop, he had a game to pitch still and my own was already in the books for the night so we shook hands and called it a night. I didn't catch any more of their games last season, now I wish I had. We often joked about it his age, I told him I was wanted to be him "when I grew up", he'd tell me that my team reminded him of when he was a kid and people still loved to play.

It's not just sad, it's a little scary. He got hurt one too many times and time marches on. One day I'll get hurt one too many times, maybe it's that left knee, maybe it's the lower back...maybe I'll just get too fat. Colonel Mustard was in his early 50's.....hopefully I'll see him again and hopefully I've still got a lot of "growing up" to do because still playing in my early 50's is something I hope to do. That's one way I've got left to try and beat him.

I'll never get a chance to match wits on the diamond with Colonel Mustard again. I hope he's like the other old timers that still come down and watch on occasion. History is written by the winners and Colonel Mustard is a winner. He kicked my ass for about ten years before I finally got a win on him and he was nothing but a gracious mentor the entire time.