Saturday Morning Softball (1994-2026): 33 Years Later

 

Thirty-Three Years Later: To Hell and Back... And the Game Refuses to Fold

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Three decades have slipped by since World Series games were watched at Al's flat in Clementi, when mobile phones still belonged to science fiction (they still do for Coach) and travelling from Serangoon to Clementi required a ninety-minute expedition across Singapore.

Empires have risen and fallen. Governments have changed—mostly proving that history has an unfortunate habit of repeating itself. Pandemics threatened civilisation. Social media empires have been born and buried. Artificial Intelligence now promises to solve every problem except how to hit a curveball.

Yet through it all, one question has remained unchanged:

"Who's bringing the bats, balls and bases this week?"

Many of the original conspirators have long since departed this humid former British colony. Some returned to Canada to rediscover snow. Others drifted to Australia, Britain, China, Venezuela and the United States in search of tenure, retirement, grandchildren—or simply lower humidity.

Those who once sprinted effortlessly after line drives now compare orthopaedic surgeons, cholesterol medication and physiotherapists with almost scholarly enthusiasm. Warm-ups take longer than the games. Memorial games and reunions still bring everyone back, even if weak knees now surrender to routine fly balls and backs seize after three practice swings.

Yet, in one of history's stranger anomalies, the game—and more importantly, the community—refuses to fold.

Former members still organise conferences, family holidays, sabbaticals and improbable flight itineraries around Saturday softball, now mercifully played in the morning. Coach's departures have acquired the comforting predictability of Billy Martin under George Steinbrenner. Just when everyone assumes the dynasty has ended, he quietly reappears, reminding us why this strange little movement has endured.

Whenever the old guard returns, gloves that should have been retired twenty years ago come out of storage, somebody inevitably claims the infield fly rule doesn't apply, and another jug appears on the table. Few of us care very much who wins anymore. We are simply grateful for another Saturday—to lose a fly ball in the sun, sneak a single through the infield and discover on Sunday morning muscles we had forgotten existed.

Apparently, some traditions survive longer than governments.

Demographic Revolution

Rickey and Chris deserve much of the credit for keeping the league alive after 2004, occasionally disguising the inevitable shortage of players with the equally noble pursuit of ten-pin bowling with the Lords of Death. Somehow, despite careers, marriages, children, relocations and even a global pandemic, the game endured.

Compare today's roster with that of 1993 and the transformation is remarkable. The expatriate professors who once formed the backbone of Saturday Softball have gradually given way to a new generation of Singaporeans. Former NUS students and Montfort alumni now return as teachers, engineers, entrepreneurs, nurses, civil servants, parents—and the occasional durian seller—bringing with them the same love of the game first nurtured on the Elysian Fields of NUS.

The clearest sign that Saturday Softball has outlived its founders is that the teenagers who once nervously played with veterans now arrive with children of their own. Some of those children have become regular players, proving that softball, unlike cricket, has a strong hereditary streak.

Today's newcomers come from Montfort, Yusof Ishak  and elsewhere, turning up early at Lorong Ong Lye, Montfort or, until a year ago, Parry Field to shag fly balls, take extra batting practice and simply play. The gloves are newer, the jargon different and the knees considerably younger. The ritual, however, remains unchanged. Veterans still explain why one never runs on a caught fly ball, why the cutoff man matters and why, as Coach has reminded generations of players, "It ain't rocket science."

Every newcomer eventually becomes the veteran teaching somebody else. That quiet passing of knowledge - and culture -is perhaps the real reason this little Saturday gathering has refused to grow old.

The game may look less international today, but its spirit remains gloriously cosmopolitan. English remains the common language. The banter still crosses continents. Softball merely provides the excuse.

The real game still begins after the final out.

The Faculty Club Is Gone. The Beer Survives.

The old Faculty Club, our unofficial clubhouse, has disappeared into the mists of time,  along with Mr Chua, Joe and an era when beer somehow tasted sweeter after eighteen innings.

Only the venue has changed.

The post-game symposium now convenes at Coach's Corner, local coffee shops, hawker centres and anywhere willing to tolerate a collection of ageing ballplayers solving the world's problems over cheap beer.

Civilisations have risen and fallen. The post-game rituals withstand the tests of time.

What Endures

Looking back over thirty-three years, one realises that nobody stayed because they hoped to become the next Pete Rose, Rickey Henderson or Tarik Skubal.

They stayed because somewhere between dropped fly balls, impossible catches, rain delays, post-game beers and endless good-natured abuse, strangers became teammates, teammates became friends and friends became family.

For many expatriates, Saturday Softball became home.For many Singaporeans, it became a second family.

The scorebooks have faded. Many of the faces have changed.

Some of the legends are now remembered more often than they are seen. Others have passed on.

Yet every few weeks, somebody still asks,"Can I play?" or “Can I bring a friend?”

And after thirty-three years, the answer has never changed

"Grab a glove, kid."

Everything else is just details.

DAN [Coach] CROSSWELL/ BILLY

Coach remains, and always will remain, simply Coach.

Some titles are earned. Others become permanent.

Thirty-three years after dragging a handful of expatriates and exchange students onto the scorching afternoon fields of NUS, the founder of this curious movement has somehow created something far more enduring than a weekly softball game. What began as a few homesick North Americans searching for a taste of baseball has quietly evolved into a community spanning continents, cultures and generations.

Like every successful missionary, Coach spent decades converting unbelievers, berating skeptics and persuading complete strangers that they desperately needed to embrace the religion of baseball. Looking back, nobody has sacrificed more for the Game. He found the fields, organised the players, coached the teams, argued with umpires, chased equipment, recruited newcomers and somehow convinced hundreds of people that giving up every Saturday afternoon was a perfectly rational thing to do.

History professors are expected to leave behind books and journal articles. Coach has certainly done that. More importantly, he left behind students of the Game. Hundreds of them. Many have gone on to coach their own teams, teach their own children and introduce complete strangers to baseball. His greatest publication was never printed; it was played.

Coach has left Singapore more times than anyone can remember—for NUS, NIE, Georgia and now, perhaps, back to the Great White North. Yet his departures have acquired the comforting predictability of Billy Martin under Steinbrenner. Just when everyone assumes the dynasty has finally ended, he somehow wanders back onto a softball field. One moment he is helping a primary school how to generate power by rotating their hips and hitting his open palms  like a kung fu master.

A pitcher who cannot find the strike zone inevitably hears, "Jeeeeeesus Christ!"

Somebody misses the cutoff man and comes the equally familiar, "It ain't rocket science, sistuh!"

A big speech on tournament day or celebration always ends with an emphatic and vigorous “Hoooooo aaaah!”

The vocabulary is not extensive, but always memorable and effective. All this, we will miss.

For more than three decades, Saturday softball has been a home away from home for expatriates, exchange students, locals schoolboys and complete strangers who wandered onto the field asking, "Can I play?" Under Coach's watch, they found far more than baseball. They found teammates, lifelong friendships and, for many, an extended family.

At 73, his baseball instincts remain untouched. He still spots the missed cutoff before anyone else, still notices the tiny flaw in a batting stance or a hole in your swing, and still sees the game a play ahead of everyone around him.

His greatest legacy was more than tactical. It was cultural. The game never ended with the final out. It continued over cheap beer at the faculty lounge, Coach’s corner, the thinking spot and now the coffee shops of Hougang, where stories mattered more than statistics.

Long before "team bonding" became management jargon, Saturday Softball simply lived it.

To all of us, he will always be Coach. Some titles are earned. Others become permanent.

NUS

LLOYD [Chief Wahoo] YEO

Once called  Ouppy (to the Coach's Andy), Lloyd remains one of the few Singaporeans capable of arguing that the Cleveland Indians/Guardians to the politically enlightened— will one day be destined for greatness and their curse broken. Three decades later he still carries the burden of defending every October collapse with the sort of historical revisionism usually reserved for failed empires.

The Chief eventually abandoned the hallowed grounds of NUS for the greener pastures of Montfort, where he embarked on an evangelical mission to convert unsuspecting teenagers into “true blue” baseball players.

What began with a handful of borrowed gloves and liberated equipment from SAS has since evolved into one of the most successful alumni grassroots movement for school softball programmes in Singapore.

The ultimate indignity (for SAS) arrived when Lloyd's Montfort “boys” began turning up on Saturdays and later routinely administering comprehensive routs of old guards who still came out to play.

Nowadays the Chief carries the exalted title of “Mr Yeo”, which sounds much less impressive than "The Cheetah of the Savannah”.

With Montfort now serving as the league's spiritual headquarters, one suspects Coach would be quietly proud that his efforts have found fertile ground in rebel territory in Hougang.

FEMALE CHRIS [GM]

One of the earliest recruits from Montfort, Chris disappeared from active duty for several years under the flimsy pretext of career advancement and raising a family. Fortunately, like all good veterans, she eventually found her way back to the diamond.

Chris remains the sort of player every manager covets. Reliable in the field, disciplined and punctual, meticulous, a fantastic organizer and simply goes about her business with quiet efficiency.

More importantly, she has mastered the unwritten rule that the game rarely ends with the final out. Whether producing a cold beer from her golden bag or persuading everyone to stay for a get-together after games,  Chris continues to perform invaluable service both before, during and long after the score has been forgotten.

GILBERT [The First Captain]

Gilbert earned the rather unimaginative sobriquet "The First Captain" by committing the singular historical act of becoming the inaugural captain of Lloyd's fledgling Montfort softball team in the late 1990s. History, unfortunately, rarely rewards pioneers with imaginative nicknames.

Gil  stands accused as one of the main conspirators behind Montfort’s baseball gospel. Mr Yeo  recruited the unsuspecting victims. He cracked the whip and also bribed, cajoled, or hypnotized them into coming back every single week. Through years of sneaky, behind-the-scenes work with the Montfort Alumni, he helped build something much bigger than just a sports team.

 Nowadays, old boys show up with their own kids in tow, current students attempt to play nice with veterans, and Saturday mornings have officially devolved into a massive, noisy family reunion cleverly disguised as a softball game.

Gilbert has always believed every successful softball game deserves an equally successful post-game session. His philosophy has remained remarkably consistent over the years: "Just one more beer." This simple declaration has been repeated so frequently that teammates have learned it possesses no measurable upper limit.

Gilbert has also long maintained that every successful softball game deserves an equally successful post-game recovery session. His philosophy has remained wonderfully uncomplicated:

"Just one more beer."

The phrase has been repeated so often that veteran teammates no longer regard it as a statement of intent but as the opening sentence of an afternoon that may continue well into the evening. Anthropoligists and linguists continue to debate whether "one more" refers to a quantity, a state of mind, or merely the opening bid in lengthy negotiations with those who have had too much to drink.

One of Gilbert's more memorable achievements came when he launched a home run while wearing nothing more substantial than a pair of slippers. It remains one of the league's greatest sporting mysteries, simultaneously proving that proper footwear is vastly overrated and that good hitting is apparently impossible to coach.

Fatherhood may have robbed him of a few steps in the field, but it has done nothing to diminish his enthusiasm for the Game or the community surrounding it. Gilbert remains the sort of teammate every club hopes to have—dependable, quietly encouraging, fiercely loyal, and always convinced that there is still time for... just one more beer.

 

ANTHONY [Bumble Bee]

Nobody remembers Anthony's first glove, but absolutely everyone remembers the glitzy yellow car, the neon shoes, and hair that changes colors faster than a traffic light. The whole setup became an iconic landmark, usually signaling the arrival “bumble bee” who provides frantic enthusiasm for the team. .

"Bumble Bee" is one of the  league's most lethal hitters. Although Father Time has inevitably stolen a step or two, the bat still possesses enough life to keep infielders honest.

More importantly, Anthony remains one of Saturday softball's finest ambassadors. Whether welcoming complete beginners, encouraging youngsters to take an extra inning, or happily drifting between different teams whenever numbers become thin, Bumble Bee has always understood that growing the game matters rather more than winning it.

These days the flashy hair colours may change more frequently than his batting stance, but the infectious smile and generous spirit remain reassuringly constant.

SUPER JOE

 Long before the “great migration” to Montfort, Jo had already quietly established himself as one of the best outfielders in the game. A Kent Ridge Hall alumnus and founding ambassador for the KR contingent, he set a standard that many have spent years trying to emulate.

Lloyd christened him "Super Joe Charboneau," not because he shared Charboneau's penchant for wild Rookie-of-the-Year antics, but because every now and then Jo would erupt for one of those unforgettable afternoons where every single ball hit into the outfield magically found his glove. Super Joe combines elite defensive instincts with a deceptively awkward slap-and-pull hitting style that regularly causes unsuspecting third basemen to take a cautious step back and re-evaluate their life choices.

No matter which part of the island the SMS/Montfort is playing, Joe will lways show up, duss off the glove, and quietly reminds everyone that good baseball never goes out of fashion.

GEOK

Geok eventually exchanged the tropical hardships of Singapore for the equally demanding academic life of Hawaii, where she allegedly pursued Burmese epigraphy. Rumour has it much of her doctoral research involved sunshine, surfing and avoiding anything resembling real work, although she continues to deny these entirely unfounded allegations.

Many years later, Geok—better known as Jugs—returned. Curiously, she no longer seems entirely deserving of the nickname. Strikeouts, once a reliable source of league revenue, have become increasingly uncommon—a regrettable development for the beer fund. Fortunately, she still contributes just often enough to keep the tradition alive.

Now Professor Goh at NTU, she spends her weekdays excavating the past and her Saturdays reminding overeager teenage infielders that appearances can be dangerously deceptive. More than one ambitious infielder has crept in upon seeing "a girl" at the plate, only to watch a sharply struck ground ball whistle untouched into right field.

Her game remains every bit as difficult to analyse today as it was thirty years ago. We hope she keeps coming out because its great to see her back in the field. Whatever they are growing in Hawaii, perhaps we should import some.

DY [The Naked Savage]

Back in 2000, Dan acquired the distinguished sobriquet "The Naked Savage." Contrary to popular mythology, it had nothing to do with an apparent disregard for undergarments. The title was earned because, within seconds of the final out, DY's shirt invariably disappeared. Combined with shorts that seemed to grow shorter every season, it created the enduring illusion that he had wandered onto the diamond wearing considerably less than everyone else. Thanks to his remarkable speed, however, he rarely needed to slide into a base, sparing spectators what might have become an international incident.

Marriage, children and respectable adulthood have since encouraged a greater appreciation for proper athletic attire. What they have not diminished is his astonishing range. Even today, few players cover as much ground with so little apparent effort. The first step remains explosive, the glove impossibly soft, and the competitive instincts entirely intact.

 

DY also answers to another name - "DY would've had that."; It has become less a nickname than an immutable law of Saturday Softball. Every third baseman who watches a ground ball sneak into left field hears it. Every outfielder who misjudges a fly ball is reminded, with varying degrees of sympathy, that "DY would've had that."

Whether this is actually true has become increasingly irrelevant. Like Babe Ruth calling his shot or Abner Doubleday inventing baseball, the legend has comfortably outgrown the facts.

Following John's passing, DY quietly returned to the field after a long absence. Some players return older. DY returned as though he had merely missed a couple of Saturdays. The range was still there. The humility and gentlemanly way he plays the game even more loudly pronounced.

When we miss a defensive play, those of us who know him still console ourselves with the comforting refrain. - "Yeah...but DY would've had that."

ARTHUR [SANDOVAL]

Arthur wandered into one of our NUS games as an exchange student from Wuhan, China and, like many before him, made the fatal mistake of accepting the invitation to "come again next Saturday."  Months later he is still turning up.

Proving equally comfortable holding down the hot corner at third base or anchoring first, Arthur plays with the agility of Pablo Sandoval, combining a solid frame with surprisingly nimble footwork, quick hands, and an aggressive, fearless approach to every line drive  hit his way

Like Po from the movie Kung Fu Panda, Arthur plays the hot corner with zero hesitation and takes the endless bench banter in stride. He came for a post-graduate degree abroad at NUS, but ended up a quiet and permanent fixture on our diamond. We hope he holds off his flight home so he can never leave.

RAPHAEL [STONE HANDS]

Raphael and Arthur represent a welcome development in the long history of Saturday Softball.

Just when we thought NUS had stopped producing recruits, along came a former Sheares Hall resident (thanks Anne) who not only decided to play, but somehow persuaded his friends to join him in rebel country.

 In doing so, he has become the latest link in a long line of NUS regulars stretching back through coach and the history faculty professors, Nico, the Zoo players, and the many exchange students who once wandered onto the NUS fields before disappearing into the family, the workforce and the rest of their lives.

A good athlete with an Ultimate Frisbee background, Raphael plays every inning as though the score is tied in the bottom of the ninth. He has decent wheels on the bases, swings the bat well enough to keep pitchers honest, and willingly accepts whatever position the team needs that morning. Such versatility is always appreciated.

Raphael's preferred address is shortstop. Here his technique is... unconventional. Most infielders are taught to get in front of the ball, funnel it smoothly into the glove and throw in one motion. Raphael prefers to attack ground balls like chasing mudskippers or frogs through the mangrove - lunging, reaching and improvising with remarkable confidence. Baseball purists sometimes avert their eyes. Somehow, he still gets the out often enough to keep everyone guessing.

More importantly, Raphael keeps showing up now and then. In a community where bringing a friend is valued almost as highly as bringing a glove, he has already earned his place.

As he begins working life, we hope Saturday mornings remain free often enough for him to continue making the journey back to the diamond. After all, every generation needs someone to remind us that NUS still knows how to produce ballplayers.

MONTFORT

NEO YUAN [SILENT ASSASSIN]

Some players announce their arrival with loud voices, colourful equipment and elaborate warm-up routines. Neo Yuan simply turns up, quietly takes his glove, and proceeds to outperform everybody in the outfield and let’s his bat do the talking.

First coming out as a student to our games in NUS, Neo has become the sort of player every captain dreams to have – effortless range, soft hands, tracking down fly balls with quiet grace, and making difficult catches look like a casual stroll in the park. There is zero flash in his game, which probably explains why it is so consistently excellent.

Everybody knows that his biggest contributions often happen long before the first pitch is thrown. Neo is the meticulous, detailed and a logistical mastermind who keeps our tournaments running. Without any kkind of flash or fancy,  Neo quietly helps to organize the touranemtns,  tournaments, sorting out the logistics, and single-handedly saving us from administrative chaos.

Quiet, sharp, and indispensable—Neo Yuan doesn't just anchor the outfield and win ballgames; he makes sure we actually have a tournament to play in the first place.

WEE MENG [ROLLIE FINGERS]

Nobody has ever accused Wee Meng of having a predictable schedule. As a nurse, he spends his Saturdays performing the delicate balancing act of saving human lives before attempting to hit a softball.

Shift work keeps him from being a weekly fixture, his occasional appearances instantly electrify the dugout—bringing clutch hitting, elite fielding, and unhinged antics like casually catching fly balls behind his back just to flex.

Wee Meng achieved local legend status at the tender age of 13 after taking an absolute missile of a throw from third base to first. After the dust settled, the ball was dropped, and his pinky was distinctly pointing the wrong direction, he looked up at me and dropped the immortal line: "My fingers are broken, Mr. Yeo. Can I still play?"

A proud Montfort alumni and occasional Cardinal, Wee Meng proves that true reliability isn't about perfect attendance—it's about making the effort to show up, giving 110% on the field, and passing the torch to the next generation of Montfort kids.

MR LIM [KEMOSABE]

As the father of Kang Wen, one of Saturday Softball's own alumni, Mr Lim represents something even more important than a coach. He represents the families who quietly sustain the Game.

Busy schedules seldom prevent him from dropping by the field these days but we always look forward to his visit to the coffee shop for his favorite “kopi si”.

Lim’s story tells us that very successful youth programme always has a person who  quietly helps without seeking acknowledgement or asking for recognition. Patient almost to a fault, Mr Lim possesses the coaching gift of correcting mistakes without raising his voice. While others bark instructions fence, he simply picks up another fungo bat and hits one more ground ball. Then another. Under his tutelage, young pitchers discover that throwing strikes is considerably easier than throwing excuses.

Mr Lim also refuses to remain on the sidelines for long. Although his knees regularly remind him that they have served faithfully for many decades, he still enjoys taking the mound, fielding any available position, and sneaking the occasional line drive or bloop single that ends in an RBI. Experience, after all, often compensates for declining sprint speed.

JEROME [CHER]

Jerome belongs to that increasingly endangered species of someone who follows in the footsteps of being a dependable schoolteacher. Whether guiding his students in his classroom, touching young pitchers the fine art of hitting the strike zone, or playing different positions in the diamond, the “Cher” operates with the same  unbothered professionalism and quiet mastery.

Quiet almost to the point of stealth, Jerome somehow remains completely immune to the chaotic nonsense that engulfs most Saturday games. Rarely out of position and almost never guilty of doing anything spectacularly foolish, and always greeting everyone with a wide and infectious smile, Jerome serves as a living reminder that not every play(er) needs to be a fireworks show.

ETHAN SKY [BEDOK EXPRESS]

Traveling all the way from Bedok every Saturday probably covers more ground than some of our former expatriates flew from neighboring countries. That level of week-in, week-out commitment deserves a medal—or at least a free drink at the dugout.

A proud Montfort boy and Polytechnic graduate, Ethan has steadily matured into one of the team's most reliable contributors. He’s earned his stripes the hard way, gracefully surviving the non-stop teasing reserved for the younger guys while proving his worth on the field. He represents the bright future of the program: dedicated, resilient, and always ready to show up for the team.

CURTIS [OZZIE]

Every generation produces one player who makes the veterans briefly contemplate retirement. Caleb may be that young fellow.

Aged 13, he is firmly established at shortstop and continues to home his skills. He  possesses outstanding range, soft hands and an alarming enthusiasm for diving and sliding after baseballs that lesser mortals would simply wave goodbye to.

His glove frequently evokes memories of Ozzie Smith, although others are quick to point out that there remains "a little work to do" before Cooperstown starts making enquiries. Caleb, naturally, ignores such counsel and continues throwing himself around the infield with youthful abandon.

Curtis has all the ingredients to become an amazing player who keeps coming back to keep this league young. The veterans are already counting on it.

KYZER [NOT KAISER]

Despite persistent rumours, Kyzer bears absolutely no relation to Kaiser Wilhelm II, although he occasionally commands the left side of the infield with similar confidence.

Stationed at third base, Kyzer's greatest weapon is often his glove but more so, his  laughter and high-pitched screams. It is almost impossible to have a bad day when he is on your team. Even after booting a routine ground ball, he somehow leaves everybody smiling. The league has discovered that infectious enthusiasm can occasionally compensate for questionable footwork.

HAYDEN [Alibi Ike]

Every league needs a 13-year-old who sprints fearlessly into the outfield after baseballs that somehow always land somewhere else. Hayden currently fulfills this ancient tradition perfectly!

Whenever a flyball drops or a tricky grounder sneaks past, his classic move is to put his hands on his head and shock,  instead of chasing the ball down. He always has a reason or an excuse ready, earning him the nickname "Alibi Ike." Someday, we all know with time, he will get over this bit of stage fright with the ball.

Still learning the game, Hayden brings youthful enthusiasm and growing instincts to the field. He has more than enough potential to keep his supportive teammates shouting contradictory advice from every direction at the exact same time.

MIKKAEEL [Stretch]

Possessing arms apparently borrowed from Inspector Gadget or Mr. Fantastic, Mikkaeel has the potential to reach baseballs the rest of us had already written off as base hits.

Still one of Montfort's younger products, Mr. Stretch remains a work in progress. The raw ingredients are all there; the league now waits patiently to discover just how good he might become.

CALEB (EDDIE)

Caleb is easily the smallest player on the field, a distinction he exploits with the sort of tactical ingenuity that would have earned the approval of Bill Veeck. Caleb has has played and had more hits than the famous one-plate-appearance experiment with Eddie Gaedel and actually plays the outfield.

Possessing what umpires generously describe as a "compact strike zone," Caleb has mastered the ancient baseball art of making pitchers throw strikes where none appear to exist.

Caleb still possesses the uncanny ability to disappear under a table to escape the searing sun but he plays with considerably more confidence than before in the batter’s box.

One of the great pleasures is to hear both teams erupt whenever Curtis reaches base, and nobody cheers louder than the veterans at tournament time, partly because everybody enjoys watching youths succeed and partly because it usually means somebody else has made an embarrassing defensive mistake.

Every season he stands a little taller, swings a little harder and speaks a little louder. One day the rest of us will probably stop thinking of him as the smallest player on the field. Until then, pitchers would be wise to remember that the strike zone belongs to the rule book and not to their imagination.

KAI JUN

Still a student of the Game, KJ improves each at-bat and plays the game like so many before him – enthusiastic, eager to learn and helpful. He is discovering that Saturday softball has a habit of turning nervous youths over the years into dependable adults. Some of us still never grew out of it andstill need more time.

Away from softball and like Hayden, KJ is a  Taekwondo exponent, a fact that more people should know. In the field, he shows admirable restraint, preferring to settle a bad call with a shrug of his shoulders  rather than a spinning back kick.

JADEN

Jaden inherited two inheritances : His father as a proud alumni of the school,  a love for the Game and the comforting knowledge that Saturday softball is less a sport than an extended gathering with “friendly” gloves on.

He is one of several steady, ready youths  in the league, playing with calmness beyond his years. Ground balls rarely surprise him, hard-hit balls rarely intimidate him, and pressure and criticism seems to bounce harmlessly off him. At the plate he is equally dependable, producing solid contact with an ease that makes the rest of us suspect he is not trying nearly hard enough.

BO LE (Gimme Vaughn)

Bo Le belongs to that proud fraternity of young pitchers who believe velocity solves everything. Accuracy is optional accessory. Like Rick Vaughn - the original "Wild Thing," immortalised in the movie starring Charlie Sheen – Bo Le occasionally regards the batter less as an opponent than as a convenient backstop.

When he decides every pitch must break the sound barrier, sensible hitters wonder whether  stepping into the batter's box remains a wise life decision. The encouraging news is that when Bo Le slows his mind down and plays calm,  he can really pitch and play first base. The ball suddenly discovers the strike zone, hitters swing instead of ducking, and one catches a glimpse of the good pitcher he can be.

Like many Gen Z players,  Bo Le possesses an explanation for every missed call, every hit batter, every hard-hit ball and every error. Most are imaginative. Few survive serious cross-examination. Fortunately, enthusiasm usually  exceeds  frustration. In hindsight, this game has seen its share of interesting players who colour its proud history.

HENG LI [Mr. Sax]

Most people spend years trying to acquire decent timing on a softball field. Heng Li arrived with rhythm built right in, courtesy of his time playing the saxophone in the school band.

Translating that musical tempo into a textbook swing and flawless fielding is still work in progress, but nobody can ever fault his enthusiasm.  Still fairly new to the game and without formal coaching, Heng Li steps into the batter's box with the supreme confidence of a soloist taking center stage - unfazed by strikeouts and fielding errors.

Heng Li, Bo Le and many others have one shared characteristic – the love of switch-hitting despite decades of scientific and biomechanical research which offers minimal tactical value in slow-pitch softball

A new graduate from the school, Mr Sax. reminds us that softball, much like music, isn't about being perfect every time—it's about showing up to play with passion, having absolute faith in your next performance and at-bat, and enjoying every minute on the field.

YUSOF ISHAK

QASIRYA & MARSYA [The Dynamic Duo]

Every successful softball community eventually produces a pair of players who become virtually inseparable. Both arrived from Yusof Ishak Secondary School, proving that the community work we do has spread well beyond NUS and Montfort. Somewhere along the way another school discovered the Game, and Saturday mornings have been richer ever since.

Qasirya rarely says very much. She simply plays. Quiet, disciplined and relentlessly hardworking, she began life as a shortstop whose bat at times inspired more optimism than production. Fortunately, she possessed three qualities that cannot be taught—excellent instincts, remarkable perseverance and the ability to throw a fastball for a strike. Today, she trains on the national squad and the encouraging thing is that despite representative commitments, she still finds time to return on Saturdays. Apparently, even national players cannot escape the gravitational lure of “playing ball” with this community.

Marsya is instantly recognisable by her short hair and infectious enthusiasm, she has volunteered for just about every position on the field, although she is best known behind the plate for her school team. At bat, she possesses surprisingly quick hands, spraying line drives to every corner of the field with alarming regularity. Unlike sensible people, Marsya thinks nothing of turning up alone even if her twin is unavailable and always tries to introduce the game to more neophytes in her school.

Together they remind veterans that the Game is still growing.

A Note on the Roster

Like all histories, this one is selective rather than comprehensive. If your name does not appear below, it should not be interpreted as a judgment on your softball ability, character, or capacity to consume post-game beer.

The roster simply reflects those who have been regulars over the past few weeks and the recently concluded 110^th Anniversary of the school’s founding, those who continue to turn up on Saturday mornings, and those who have somehow managed to find time to stay in touch despite careers, marriages, children, overseas postings and the occasional lapses in good judgment.

No doubt I have forgotten many but history is imperfect and a narrative, often like how we forget the score or whose team is winning at our games.

Pictures from 15 Aug 2026