One of the best signs I ever saw at a sporting event said, Sports don’t build character - they reveal character. Sometimes, however, I’m not even sure if I buy that.

Let me tell you a story.

I know a couple of brothers named Dave and Jimmy (the names have been changed, frankly, to protect the author). We all played at the same softball complex, so our paths crossed quite a bit, and I became quite familiar with their playing styles.

Little brother Dave was a real hustler. He showed up for games in full baseball gear, including a few strategically placed pads for his frequent encounters with the dirt. He was also in outstanding physical condition.

Dave wasn’t much at the plate - just your average line-drive hitter - but at short he was incredible. I played a weekend tournament with him that I remember for three reasons: I was surfing one of those Midas-touch 15-at-bat hitting streaks, simultaneously sucking wind at first base (which can be a tricky position if you’re not used to it); and spending the rest of my time watching Dave pick off every ground ball in sight and hurl it in my direction. For a weekend, at least, he was my hero.

That same year, I played in a coed league against Jimmy. Sad to say, I was not impressed. He showed up in those funky plaid shorts that were big in the nineties, and would only slide if you held a gun to his head. He played outfield with all the grace and determination of Jose Canseco, and had a similar approach at the plate: fences or nothing, resulting in the occasional two-homer game but mostly long, impressive fly ball outs.

And here’s the clincher: he played like this by choice. Faced with a tight situation, Jimmy could stroke a single up the middle or fire the ball home with the best of them. Of course, he didn’t have to do this very often, because he played with a group of veteran softballers who liked to join lower leagues and hammer everybody in sight.

I was much more impressed with Jimmy’s teammate, Marisa. The first time I saw her, she came to the plate in full baseball gear, reminding me of the tough jockettes my sister played with in semipro ball. I noticed that my right-centerfielder, Matt, was cheating in, and was about to warn him that Marisa looked like she meant business when she launched one over his head for an inside-the-park homer.

I found Marisa in the clubhouse afterward and thanked her for making Matt look like a complete idiot ("God," I said. "You should have seen the look on his face!") In later games, I noticed that Marisa could also play just about anywhere on defense, which only added to my esteem.

Imagine my surprise to find out that Marisa and Jimmy were an item. It seemed like a clear mismatch - but although Jimmy didn’t play that hard, he did play a lot, and they proceeded to conduct their courtship at tournaments all over the West. A couple years later, Marisa got pregnant, and our odd softball couple got married

If you’re an observant reader, you’re probably feeling like I’m setting you up for something. Viewed in pure, sports-reveal-character terms, the righteous individuals here are Dave and Marisa, right? And there’s not much hope for poor plaid-wearing Jimmy, right?

Well, you’re right - I am setting you up.

Let’s start with Dave. Dave got involved with Sarah, an obnoxious hunk of white trash straight off the Jerry Springer Show. She’s that pseudo-friend you’re all plagued with, the one who blames all her failures on unseen forces that are out to get her, and talks smack about her enemies in that head-wagging manner that makes you wonder where she’s coming from.

Dave told me quite often that he couldn’t stand another second with Sarah, and he was only waiting for the right opportunity to break up with her. A couple of times he did, but Sarah would always whine, complain and threaten her way back into his heart.

Truth was, the man who could work his way around a ground ball like Cal Ripken the freakin’ Third was absolutely paralyzed by insecurity, and convinced that no other woman would ever have anything to do with him. And so, as insecure types often do, he took the worst route possible, making sure to burn all his bridges on the way out. He married monstrous Sarah and disappeared to Southern California - too ashamed by his awful taste in women and the thousands of dollars he owes his stepfather to show his face since.

Now for our other all-star. This is tricky territory, because no one really knows what goes on inside a marriage. From the outside, however, it appears that Marisa suffers from dual addictions to softball and alcohol.

She and Jimmy had a baby girl, followed by a boy. Parenthood had little effect on their playing schedule, however - they continued to play in three or four weekly leagues and frequent weekend tournaments, leaning heavily on their extended family for babysitting.

Whatever the motive, Marisa evidently decided her party years were not yet behind her, and freed up some of her time by sticking Jimmy with a guerrilla divorce. She’s been maintaining her demanding softball schedule ever since, and the last time I saw her playing, she was clearly inebriated. Recently, she asked Jimmy if they could have another child, since they "made such beautiful babies together." And there’s your all-star.

As for plaid-wearing, cigarette-smoking Jimmy, he has revealed his character by (gasp!) giving up softball completely, focusing his efforts on working a job he doesn’t really like and raising his kids. I see the three of them regularly, and am always impressed at what a good father he’s become. It seems that the mellow disposition and wry sense of humor that probably contributed to his lackadaisical attitude toward softball now serve to bolster the patience that is any good parent’s best weapon.

In short, out of our three players, Jimmy’s the one who became a grown-up.

And you shouldn’t ever get your life philosophy from a sign at a football game.

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of the softball novel The Legendary Barons, available through Amazon.com. He lives in Tacoma, Washington.