Having failed to find a softball team at my new home base in Washington State, I’m visiting in California when I get a chance to play for my old team, the Bums. To pull a few items from Crash Davis’s Book of Clichés in Bull Durham, I’m just happy to be here, ready to give 110 percent and help out the team. Seriously. I haven’t been on a diamond for six months, and it’s killin’ me.

The third batter, let’s call him Mad Max, powers one so far into left field that I find myself running into a grove of trees. My centerfielder, Mace, has evidently been through this drill before, because he’s shouting very specific instructions.

"Let it hit the branches! Then toss it out to me!"

We’re in luck. The ball takes out a couple of small limbs and drops to the grass, stopping just short of the skate park. In my haste, however, I turn and fire wildly. The ball misses Mace by a good six feet and comes to a rest in shallow left field. Max jogs home, uncontested.

The Johnny Appleseed Rationalization: Anyone who hits a ball into the trees probably deserves a home run, anyway.

From there, it gets worse. Our opponents - let’s call them the Thrashers - are killing the ball, and when they’re not, we’re killing ourselves. My fellow outfielders are muffing plays left and right - and, what’s worse, strolling after their ricochets like it really doesn’t matter.

Bull Durham, Revisited: "Ya lollygag out to the field, ya lollygag back to the dugout. You know what you are? Lollygaggers!"

It doesn’t help when Mad Max strokes a shot to center that winds up somewhere in the next zip code. When I catch the third out, everybody cheers, like fielding a routine fly is some kind of heroic feat. Back in the dugout, I discover the reason for my team’s poor attitude: the Thrashers have been doing this to everyone, all season, and Mad Max was kicked out of a local softball complex for being too good. Just then, Max goes into the hole at short and rifles the ball to first. I’m beginning to wonder why he isn’t playing on a Braves farm team somewhere.

But you know what? None of this matters to me, because I’m just happy to be here, ready to give 110 percent and help out the team. Which leads me to...

Vaughn’s Axiom of Unceasing Effort: Even when your team is being mercilessly pummeled; you should keep playing hard, because you might do something to ease the pain of losing.

We are, however, about to discover the other reason that Mad Max was kicked out of the softball complex. The next time he comes up, first base is open, so pitcher Joe signals for an intentional walk. This ticks off Max no end, and he responds by questioning Joe’s manhood all the way to first. To which I offer...

The Barry Bonds BB Rebuttal: If you don’t like being walked, stop hitting the #@*&! ball over our heads!

Plus, Joe’s strategy works. The next batter grounds into a force (the force created by walking Max), and our team heads for the dugout.

However! The conflict is not settled. With men on first and second, the Thrashers intentionally walk Joe, loading the bases. This is apparently the softball equivalent of baseball’s unwritten code: you bean our guy; we throw at your pitcher’s head. You walk our guy, we walk yours. No offense to Joe’s batting skills, but he’s more than happy to take the free base. But regardless, the Thrashers’ intentions are pretty clear: it’s not good enough to be 20 runs up; they must also take every opportunity to ridicule the opposition. Leading me to ask...

The Great American Softball Conundrum: Is there anybody left out there who cares about winning with class?

Ah, but karmic forces are at work. The next batter strokes a double, clearing the bases (including Joe) and pulling us to within, um, 17 runs. So there. Ha!

As we return to the field, shortstop Doug (who sneaks into every column I write) invites me to sublet a couple of innings at his position. Now, with six months of rust, left field is a manageable assignment. Shortstop? That’s another matter entirely. Before I have a chance to get nervous, however, the Thrashers send two hot shots my way. I pick them both cleanly, fire the ball to first, and watch Joe (who has moved to first in order to get another mention in my column) as he unhinges all his joints and stretches to Shaquille heights in order to fetch my throws down from the heavens. This brings to mind...

The George W. Bush Brainless Fielding Theory: Sometimes you get the best results when you haven’t got a thought in your head.

The very next inning, I’m standing there, minding my own business, when someone hits the ball. Next thing I know, I’m sprawled on my belly in the outfield grass, the ball is in my glove, and the umpire’s signaling out. I am forced to go to Doug for an eyewitness account.

"Hey, Doug. On that line drive, was I, like, laid out?"

"Completely airborne," says Doug. "Full extension."

"Weird! I don’t remember a thing."

The Temporary Insanity Defense: Sometimes you make your best plays when you’re really not there.

As we go back to bat, I’m about to rev up some more trash-talk about the Intentional Walk Incident when the Thrashers’ third baseman interrupts me.

"Hey, man - nice play out there."

This takes the wind right out of my sails, due to the...

Donny Osmond Memorial "One Good Apple Spoils the Whole Rotten Bunch" Principle: Just when you’re working up a good healthy hatred for the other team, some jerk wrecks it all by saying something nice.

At the end of the game, and despite the score, I feel an oddly displaced sense of satisfaction. After six months off, I have just gone two-for-three and made four tough plays at short. Which leads me to the...

Ernie Banks Theorem of Interdisciplinary Individual/Team Dynamics: Even after your team loses 27-5; you are allowed to take pleasure in individual accomplishments. As long as you keep quiet about it.

Ah, but there is a happy ending to my story. After fielding many, many complaints about the Thrashers and Mad Max, the Parks and Rec coordinator kicked them out of the league. For being too good. And for being jerks. So there. Ha!

Michael J. Vaughn is author of the softball novel The Legendary Barons, and still looking for a team in Tacoma. Home page: geocities.com/michaeljvaughn.