Ladies of the World

(Just a little treat from You Tube and Flight of the Conchords)

Loveliness Sometimes Doesn’t Sell:

How Patty, Laura, Pam, Susie, Becky and I Became Batgirls for the American Legion Post 22 Baseball Team of 1973.

It was a little like revenge of the nerds.

Becky and Pam went to that other high school across town, but they could be forgiven because Patty and Pam were friends. Pam’s dad somehow knew Mr. Dave Ploof, the coach who built the Post 22 team into something special. Under his leadership, South Dakota farm and ranch boys went on to be professional baseball players for decades to come.

Mr. Ploof – we called him Mr. Ploof – had an idea for boosting attendance at his games. How about having some lovely ladies serve as batgirls for the team? They could mingle with the crowd, rub up the balls (Spaldings only, of course) and snatch up far-flung bats during the game. Batgirls would put Post 22 in the news and stir up some buzz for the sport.

Pam, ever the opportunist, immediately recruited her friend Patty, who in turn twisted the arms of the rest of us and we were in. In our uniforms of white pants, red tank tops, blue jackets and baseball caps, we were a sight to behold. I wish I had the photos to share with you, but think Charlie’s Angels.

Sort of. Put some clothes on Jacqueline Smith, add 3 more girls, and you’d get the picture.

Seriously, we were hot – in a wholesome kind of way – the best-selling combination of all time.

Looking back, I think the first mistake we all made was ignoring the strict social caste system of our respective high schools. Who knew the kind of power that unspoken social structure could wield? Sometimes I think it still rules the world. None of us were cheerleaders, none from the top tier of the uber-popular alpha girls. We were all lovely people, seriously. But we were in the band/choir/drama/debate stratum. No doubt healthier, but definitely not upper crust. The boys on the team knew it. Deep down we knew it, but we thought maybe we could overcome, somehow break through that glass ceiling. I suspect that each of us secretly hoped it was our ticket up into that rarefied atmosphere. Sadly, thankfully, it was not to be.

All in all, though, it was a fun summer. My love of baseball was born that year. We had fun-filled evenings out in the Black Hills air. We made fun of the players, we cheered them on. We flirted with geezers in the stands, and we got our hands dirty. We never seemed to be able to properly rub up a baseball though. We got complaints.

The second mistake was to take us on the road. After hours of debate with the board, they decided they would take us to North Dakota for the weekend, a series of about 6 games in Minot. Minot, holy cow. But we were excited. Double headers in 100 degree heat in the middle of North Dakota – hardly glamorous, right? But nothing could dampen our enthusiasm. We were part of the team!

Meanwhile, at the hotel, the boys finally started to notice us. But not in a hey baby you’re cute how about we go for a coke sort of way. More in a juvenile 6th-grade I like you so I’ll punch you kind of way. Pranks ensued, involving shaving cream (who knew they shaved?), running and screaming, throwing water, etc. The clincher, though, must have come when one of us – gosh, I don’t remember who – hung out the window screaming RAPE! – into the downtown Minot late night air. How did we know they didn’t know we were kidding?

When that knock at the door came, and we asked “who’s there?” while holding 3 glasses of water ready to fling them into the faces of the boys on the other side, luckily we paused and considered maybe they were telling the truth when they said “THE POLICE.”

Mr. Ploof himself stood alongside 3 Minot police officers, looking very disappointed.

Oops.

They never yelled at us. I don’t remember being shamed, or fired, or dragged into scandal. Everyone was very appropriate. But that was the end of the batgirl program.

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