The Pitch: Do I Look Like a Batter to You?

Boys are always playing a sport. The evidence is in their use of sporting terms off the court. For example, if they nail a new client, 99% of men will say at some point—even just to themselves--“score!” Or they will opt for the more obnoxious “And he scores!,” which is almost always accompanied by that gesture when one arm goes out and then in while one leg is momentarily lifted off the floor. This need for third person play by play commentary follows boys well past adolescence.

In recent weeks it has been brought to my attention that the use of sports-related vocabulary is a favorite among men who are trying to date a woman. Of course there is the ubiquitous “No, man, I totally struck out with her.” But there is also “the pitch.” Oftentimes, “striking out” follows “the pitch.” The pitch entails a presentation of information about the man that is intended to be impressive enough to the woman that first base is at least visible when squinting.

In recent weeks I’ve also noticed that the amount of so-called relevant information offered in the pitch is indirectly proportional to the amount of time a man has to make the pitch. The less time a man has, the more he has to show off. So, if a woman has accepted an invitation to dinner, she can expect a more diffused pitch in which bits of impressive—if boring and somewhat slimy-- information salt and pepper the conversation over the course of several hours.

Boy says:

Glenmorangie on the rocks and a glass of the house pinot noir= “You know, I used to sneak Glenmorangie in a flask to my World Economics class. Wharton profs soooo didn’t care.”

Buffala Salad: “I learned to appreciate the simplicity of a salad with really great olive oil while I was traveling for two months in Italy last summer. You’ll have to come with some time.”

Mahi Mahi with Garlic Mashed Potatoes: “I felt like such a drone on Wall Street. Capital investment is much less constrictive.”

Chocolate Pots de Crème: “I normally wouldn’t eat this. But I did run the Boston Marathon last weekend. Doesn’t hurt to treat oneself, now does it? Go ahead, have some. You’re a little on the too skinny side.”

Espresso: “I felt a little off balanced, you know? As though my entire life was consumed with the dire need to make lots of money. So I took in a stray beagle puppy and I bought season theatre tickets. I’ve found Saturdays are much more pleasant when they start on my boat and end in a standing ovation.”

Fair enough. You hear him, as any woman can expect a reasonably good effort if a man has several hours to impress her. However, the true MVPs of the pitch shine when time is short. And I am of the opinion that the slightly more mature man performs better in this sudden death* situation than a rookie.**

Let me illustrate. Say you are a woman who goes to the gym regularly. And say that one Tuesday evening you are doing your thing on the treadmill when one of the aforementioned more seasoned players hops on the treadmill next to you and says somewhat nonchalantly “So, beautiful, how much longer do you have to go? You’re going to make me look bad if I’m next to you."***

This is not small talk. The opportunist is determining the precise time frame in which he has to make an effective pitch. Now, of course you are annoyed because all of a sudden there you are—on a date! between mile six and seven in yoga pants and your hair in a bun. You are gasping for breath, your legs are not shaved, and despite the fact that this creep is creeping you out, you refuse to cut your workout short due to your recent spike in chocolate pots de crème consumption.

“Five minutes left,” you barely choke out. Your relative lack of adequate oxygen is an advantage for the visiting team. Reciprocity in conversation, after all, is such a time waster during the pitch.

As has been my observation, you astonishingly may learn the following in 5 minutes about a man who is truly genius—if, again, boring and somewhat slimy--when it comes to the time-restricted pitch:

1. He is a doctor. Either of the spine or of the hearts of infants.
2. If he is the first sort, you really should come in for some full-body alignment work soon. Pro bono, beautiful.
3. He is a third degree black belt.
4. When not aligning the spines of tragically disenfranchised youth or when not at the hospital performing emergency surgery on the tiny heart of co-joined newborns, he offers free martial arts lessons to inner city orphans. The Big Guy Upstairs, after all, will one day inquire what it is exactly he did with all of his disposal income and Wednesdays off.
5. He single-handedly tripled the number of some kind of nearly distinct exotic panther when he took in three or four cubs from either Mike Tyson or some other Hollywoodish friend whom he still meets occasionally for seared tuna. You’ll have to come with some time.
6. He has both an outdoor and indoor pool. The indoor pool is for when he can’t escape to Bali in February—and of course, you should come with sometime.
7. He loves to pamper women, beautiful.
8. What? No! His daughter and ex wife are perfectly accepting of any woman he is dating even when she is the same age as his daughter. Slumber parties with them catered by Wolfgang Puck have even been known to occur on occasion.
9. He’s really into Napa in the fall. And really—you should come with.
10. He can’t see even one ounce of body fat on you, beautiful. Which is why he would love to take you to dinner on Saturday. He knows the chef at this restaurant that serves the most extraordinary chocolate pots de crème you will ever have.

*to be honest, I haven’t the faintest idea if “sudden death” is the appropriate term here, but anyone who knows me and my fairly pathological aversion to sports spectatorship in general has to give me credit for even writing a post related to sports.

**rookie move of the year, boys: texting does not qualify as wining and dining. It does not make a woman swoon, nor does it mean when she responds that the two of you are dating.

***If this makes you want to gag just reading it, imagine the “conversation” at 9.0 mph on a respectable 5% incline.