As he mulls over the playoff roster, gifts continue to pile up in front of coach Ian Herbert’s house.

Washington, D.C. | It started with a plate of cookies left on his seat late Tuesday night. “Thanks for all your work coach,” read the note taped to the plate with a “You’re a Star” sticker.

The next day, there were three plates of brownies, two balloon bouquets and a cyan Snuggie.

And on Friday? Four Omaha steaks, a gift certificate to DC Coast (unconfirmed reports suggest that the price listed was close to $50), and a new set of Shun knives.

“It’s so bad I had to drive to work Friday,” coach Ian Herbert said in an exclusive interview with 20- Minutemen. “I couldn’t get all this stuff home otherwise.”

Such are the challenges for a manager who must, for the first time, prepare his team for the Metropolitan Media Softball League playoffs, which will take place on July 11, two weeks after Saturday’s regular-season finale against Gazette.

Continued …

Washington, D.C. | This is probably my last column for the 20-Minutemen. I didn’t accomplish what I set out to, and barring some kind of miracle, I probably won’t this Saturday — I haven’t gotten the ball even close to the outfield, never mind over a hypothetical fence.

This season, I discovered what people who play sports regularly have probably known for years — a lot of things have to go right for a batter to even get on first base. I used to think that if you hit the ball, well, then you’d get a hit. But I learned quickly there are a lot of people in the field trying to stop that from happening.

Instead, I’ve come to appreciate the thrill of small steps. Getting halfway to first before someone threw the ball to the baseman seemed like a big accomplishment a couple of games ago. Smacking the ball hard enough to (barely) get on base took a season of figuring out how to hold the bat and swing with my whole body. And when I finally did it, I was as proud of myself as I would have been had I hit a game-winning grand slam.

Maybe next year will be the year I hit a home run (or at least a double). In the meantime, I’m on to my next project — becoming a genuine baseball fan, complete with an encyclopedic knowledge of my team’s roster and its various ups and downs. Now that I understand the understand the rules, how hard can it be?

Amanda Erickson

Washington, D.C. | There are times when zero is good, like when that number appears on my credit card statements or as the “cost” of the pool passes at my apartment. But this is not one of those times. According to the latest statistics on 20Minutemen.org, I have zero hits.

I don’t really think this is a fair assessment of my developing skills — I have, after all, hit the ball (harder and better every time, I like to think). I just haven’t quite made it to base. But despite my begging and pleading, there is no statistic for that. Instead, there is just a string of zeroes next to my name, and the constant reminder that I’m probably dragging down the team’s average.

Continued …

No one on the Minutemen is currently dating Jessica Simpson.

Washington, D.C. | It happened to Tom Brady, it happened to Tony Romo, and now the 20-Minutemen may be struggling with the same phenomenon: the Jessica Simpson effect.

Coined after Romo lost spectacularly to the Eagles in December 2007 as girlfriend Simpson watched on the sidelines (donning a T-shirt adorned with his number), this affliction is known to cost players hits (even on balls they should have knocked out of the park), catches and even the occasional double play.

“I thought I had it, but really what I was thinking was ‘I hope Laurie is watching me catch this ball,” said third baseman Ryan Derousseau of his occasionally disappointing performance in last weekend’s game. “And that was the end of that.”

Coach Ian Herbert’s fiancé Krista Vogt refuses to come to games because she’s afraid of being a distraction. “Every Friday night I set the juice boxes, fruit and cake out for Ian to take,” Vogt said. “And every Saturday morning he leaves them home. He says even the sight of the apple slices makes him think of me, and he just can’t have that.”

Continued …

Amanda Erickson

As I stepped up to the plate for the last time on Saturday, something felt different.

We were in extra innings. There were two outs, and all I had to do was hit the ball. As I stared down the pitcher, I thought a hit was inevitable. It would be so poetic, I thought, a chance to redeem myself for an earlier strike out.

Instead, I choked, leaving last Saturday’s games without having gotten on base.

At lunch afterwards, I picked at my pizza and moped. I was surprised how sad I was. After all, the expectation for me are pretty low — last week, Ian upgraded my catcher responsibilities by asking me to move the bat out of the way when a play at home might be necessary so he doesn’t trip over it while doing the actual defending of the plate.

Continued …

Erickson in her “batter’s stance.”

As Italian Long Islanders from immigrant Brooklyn go, my grandmother is fairly progressive. She watches Rachel Maddow, loves Barack Obama, and adores Michelle. But when it comes to girls playing sports, she is pretty firmly old school — they shouldn’t, unless by sport you mean dance recital. When I told her I had joined a softball league, she was downright confused. “That just doesn’t seem very you,” she told me over the phone this weekend. “What if the ball hits you in the head?”

I hadn’t worried about this until I stepped up to the plate for the first time last Saturday. I’d gone to the batting cages (once) and hit the balls then (most of the time), so I figured I’d at least make contact. But facing a field full of people who were rooting for me to fail was enough to knock the self-assurance right out of me.

Continued …

Amanda Erickson

When I joined the Express softball team, I promised myself that I would do some training so as not to make a complete fool of myself. I imagined running 50 to 60 wind sprints a morning, lifting weights at night. Now it’s less than 48 hours before my first game, I’m no closer to winning Player Most Likely to be Confused with Derek Jeter Because of Sheer Talent than I was a month ago.

It’s too bad, because I have a goal this season – to hit a home run. It’s modest, yes, but so is my eye-hand coordination. I am just now getting the hang of not closing my eyes as the ball whizzes by.  Baby steps, I tell myself, baby steps.

See, I wasn’t much of an athlete growing up. In fact, I was sort of the opposite of an athlete. Cases in point: In tenth grade, I swallowed a soda can pop top at a swim meet and had to be rushed to the hospital; I managed to skip out on gym class for an entire semester in high school by offering to help the librarian move books around.

Continued …