‘We’ll build another table’: Making room for everyone

Bernie Stark is intensely focused at first base.

Knees bent, ready to spring into action at a moment’s notice, Stark’s eyes are fixed on the batter at home plate. It would be a very serious scene — if it wasn’t for the large triangle of watermelon sticking out of her mouth, juice dripping onto the softball diamond. But for Stark and many of the other players participating in the Mary Vazquez Women’s Softball League, they wouldn’t have it any other way.

The “Mary V” softball league is a modified fast-pitch adult recreational softball league. Its website describes itself as “a league dedicated to creating a fun, inclusive and safe space for women, LGBTQ+ individuals, and anyone who finds meaning and belonging in a women’s league.” It’s competitive but focused primarily on community and fun — the league doesn’t keep standings, and there are no playoffs.

It was started back in 1976 shortly after the passage of Title IX. Eileen Stewart, Jean Grossholtz, Susan Tracy and Maryann Jennings are credited with founding the Women’s League, which fielded six teams in 1977 — Common Womon, Hot Flashes, Women Rising, No Nukes of the North and two other unnamed teams. There have been as few as six teams and as many as 16, but no matter the size, the league persevered. The league was primarily started so women could play and learn the game of softball, but many of the members of the league were also strong advocates for other political movements.

“The league stands on the shoulders of some women who were really all for women’s equality as well as peace and civil rights for all,” said Linda Davis Delano, a pitcher for Women’s Rising.

While she’s not technically one of the league’s founders, Mary Vazquez is a large reason why the league still exists today. She heard about the league through word of mouth and was drawn to the idea of playing softball with other women, though she never picked up a glove until she was 32 years old. Despite it being the first league she ever played in, within a year or so she was running the place.

Though the league is now 50 years old, it has only had six commissioners — Vazquez, Mickey Gallagher, Stark, Teresa Brockriede, Natalie Ulrich and now Emily Fitzgerald, who has helped bring the league into the 21st century with a refreshed website and improved technology updates. It’s not easy work — booking fields, managing inevitable tiffs, updating rulebooks, coordinating the training of umps and lining fields — it can seem endless. But it never felt like work to Vazquez.

“Those were all things that to me were exciting and fun and with other women, and it didn’t seem like a job,” Vazquez said. “I loved it.”

While many players today grew up with access to sports in their towns or schools, the ethos of the league is that you do not have to know softball, or even be particularly good, to join — they want enthusiastic people who are willing to learn and help each other. One of the league’s main pillars is that all players, no matter their age, skill set or identity, should feel like they belong. Fitzgerald played softball and baseball her entire life and has been on many teams. But when she first joined the Incorrects, it felt different.

“To be very frank, it is the only team I have every played on where it felt like I was supposed to be there,” said Fitzgerald.

Some players have been in the league for decades — Davis Delano is 73 years old and still a terror in the circle. And now the league has been around long enough that there are people who never knew a world without it. Teenager Sasha Rodriguez is the daughter of current player Mary Grace Biastoff and grew up watching her mom play. The second she turned 18, she joined a team. This year is her first full season in the league, and she’s playing alongside her mom on the Incorrects. The intergenerational aspect of the league is part of why it’s lasted this long and, for many of the older players, has proven to be one of the few spaces where they feel seen and respected for who they are as people and athletes.

“I feel like the older women get the more invisible they become generally in our society, and there are less spaces where their value is seen, where their abilities are seen, where they’re seen,” said Stark. “So this helps counter that experience for many women in a lot of different ways.”

The league has also adapted its rules over the years to ensure that anyone who wants to play can take the field. Decades ago, Denise Roy played in the league for several years in a wheelchair, prompting the league to create rules that allowed her to play first base alongside her teammates. Even today, players can use a pinch runner or ask the pitcher to slow down when needed.

“There’s a ton of brilliant people, compassionate people who know what it’s like to be on the edge or on the outside and never fully welcomed. And I think there’s an intentionality of spirit — there’s never not enough chairs at the table. We’ll build another table. We’ll build more chairs. We will figure out how to make space for everybody,” said Umpire Coordinator Melanie “Mel” Blood.

While it is still called a women’s league, trans and nonbinary players have long been part of the league as well. They were formally included in the organization’s bylaws in 2014, while Stark was commissioner. The bylaws allow anyone to play who identifies as a woman or who, regardless of gender identity, feels that “membership in [the] women’s community is meaningful and appropriate.” Players determine for themselves whether they qualify for membership, and that decision is respected by the league.

“We are just people and we are just teammates, and that is the whole intention,” said first-year player Kristen Ironside.

And the players themselves have always been more than just teammates on the field. Many groups still go out and get dinner or drinks after games and remain friends in the offseason. It can also be an alternative to dating apps — most notably, players Donna “Pepe” Ginga and Alicia “Stewie” Stewart got married on Field 3 at Sheldon Field in Northampton. Friends and teammates slipped out early to place a trellis over home plate and scatter heart-shaped confetti across the field, where it remained throughout the rest of the season. After the ceremony, everyone celebrated with a rousing game of softball. Whether it’s friendship or marriage, the league has been a place of connection for many.

“When I cannot get ice cream with my teammates after (a game), that’s more disappointing than losing,” said umpire and player Sam Stolar with a chuckle.

Where could the league go in another 25 or 50 years? Some hope for more upgrades — fields solely dedicated to the league or covered dugouts, for example. Davis Delano had a more succinct answer.

“I hope I’m still playing in it,” she said with a laugh.