Artists Win 75th Annual Artists & Writers Charity Softball Game

It’s been said that the annual Artists & Writers Charity Softball Game was first played during the Spanish-American War in 1898, but it’s not true. That first game happened in Springs in 1948. We have the pictures.

As usual, the 75th annual game was contested on the softball field in back of the East Hampton Stop & Shop. It’s been held there since 1956. And this spring, the field was completely refurbished. It’s gorgeous, a joy on which to play. Thank you, East Hampton Village Mayor Jerry Larsen.

About 200 spectators came to watch. And they were not disappointed. Among the players were great athletes but also some complete bumblers. As a result, when a fly ball would soar off into the outfield, one could not know ahead of time if it would be caught after a diving catch or dropped by an unprepared outfielder standing directly under it who receives it in his mitt and then has it dribble out.

Proof of that uncertainty took place in the bottom of the eighth inning. I was umpiring at third base at that time, and sportswriter Mike Lupica, the coach of the Writers, stood beside me. The Writers were behind, but almost catching up. Bases loaded, two outs. And now the Artists’ left fielder was circling under a fly ball.

Lupica walked over, put his hands on my shoulders and looked at his feet.

“I can’t watch,” he said. “Tell me what happens.”

It was complicated. The fielder caught the ball, stumbled, got separated from the ball and then fell to the ground backwards. A moment later, face up, he was astonished to see the ball he’d lost now coming down to land gently on his stomach where, in delight, he trapped it with his free hand. Out.

“The inning’s over,” I told Lupica.

Earlier, I had been calling balls and strikes from behind the pitcher’s mound. There, in the third inning, I called three strikes on movie star Lori Singer. But she apparently hadn’t heard me, because she remained at the plate, waiting for the next pitch. And so I waited. And so did she. Finally, I turned to the Writers’ pitcher Paul Winum, and asked what he thought we should do?

“Dunno,” he said.

“Well, give her another pitch,” I said. And so, he did.

Boy did she hit that! A hard line drive headed straight toward the hole between short and third. However, at the last minute, White House Correspondent for The Hill Jonathan Lemire, at shortstop, lunged sideways, zipped through the air and crashing into the dust, nabbed it in the web of his mitt.

“Out,” I said. And she, running to first, saw that.

At noon, two hours before the game, Gov. Kathy Hochul spoke in a private home at a luncheon thanking the Artists & Writers Game for its annual charitable donation to the Phoenix House in East Hampton. The home was just two blocks from the field. After lunch would she play? As she spoke, I whispered to my wife, “She’s wearing a dress. Nobody plays softball in a dress.”

I was correct.

Artist Parker Calvert hit the only home run of the day. It was a monster to left center. It went over the left field wall, over the chain link fence beyond that and over the net to the far court of the tennis match in progress, bouncing between two players. They stopped for a moment — a softball from the sky — and then continued on.

The most controversial play of the day occurred in that exciting bottom of the eighth. And it occurred at my beloved third base. Runners were on first and second with one out. The batter hit a short pop-up down toward third. The fielder there ran toward it, but too late. It landed almost right at my feet, fair, just beyond third base, but then skittered off into foul territory, where the fielder, after chasing it, picked it up and tagged out the runner coming from second.

I called it a fair ball, the second out. This emptied the dugouts of both teams causing a delay of about 10 minutes as everybody shouted at everybody else. But what I called stood.

The final score might have been 16 to 9 instead of 15 to 9. The Writers challenged one of the runs. And their challenge had stood. The wife of one of the players, not in the lineup, asked if she could pinch hit as an unofficial treat. She hit a single and scored a run but it wasn’t allowed because it was not official.

After the game, the hot and sweaty players — winners and losers alike — repaired to the nearby Buttero Restaurant for wine, beer and snacks. The place was packed, collegial and noisy, and the Player of the Game was announced.

A small young blonde woman nobody knew played the outfield for the Artists during the contest. She came to play at the request of Leif Hope, the head honcho of this game, who had met her in the Sagtown Coffee shop about a week ago and invited her.

At first, I thought she was a high school kid, or a college kid. She stands about 5’ 3”, is slender and graceful, and stood out while playing the outfield. Bridget Evans was voted Player of the Game.

In real life, she lives in the Chelsea section of Manhattan, works for Instagram as an artist, is in her early 30s and hasn’t played baseball since she was in high school growing up in California.

And she stood out for another reason. She caught every ball that came her way. Hit a single and scored a run. Had a great time doing it.

And so, she was honored. Player of the Game to cheers and applause.