Are there other men like me?

Softball, hot ones, and the fear of looking weak.

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This week, we answer an audience question from the Are There Other Men Like Me? files.

Do you have a masculinity ask that needs to be answered? Fill out our form and I’ll answer your question here or on the podcast.

Dear Other Men,

I have to join this softball league for work (or I should, to be more of a “team member.”) A lot of my coworkers are psyched about this. They wanna have athletic time in their lives. I don’t wanna shit on what other people are into, but this isn’t my idea of fun. I wasn’t great at sports when I was younger and still carry those feelings of being one of the last ones picked on the team. I’m embarrassed cause I can’t really compete with these dudes on the softball team but still feel like I need to “pump up” or something. I don’t want them to make fun of me or judge me. I’d rather go play video games after work or even just grab a beer with coworkers without being judged physically. I thought these sorts of feelings would go away as I got older.

Sincerely,
Not Hot For Softball

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Dear NHFS,

For five years, I was stationed in Coney Island twice a week. Starting on the day of its post-Hurricane Sandy reopening in October 2013, I was in charge of a media program that ran out of the beautifully restored Coney Island Library (along with four other Brooklyn Public Library locations).¹

Originally named Narrioch by the Lenape and later Konijn Esland (Rabbit Island) by the Dutch (there were loads of wild hares in the area), this colorful peninsula in my adopted home of New York City quickly stole my heart.

Recently, the Best Picture champion, Anora, won me over with its warm embrace of Southern Brooklyn.² But the indie darling also pointed out something else that I adore about Coney Island—its winters.³

Walking in a winter Wonder Wheel land—Anora (2024).

These seasonal merits include calm, windy walks along the beach, the feeling of shoes quietly pushing down on soggy boardwalk planks, bowls of hot borscht at Tatiana’s (technically in Bensonhurst), and, developed over the past few decades, the banyas stemming from South Brooklyn’s immigrant population.

At least once a year, I head into/out of the cold for a shvitz.

“For Every Collective Farm—A Well-Built Banya.”

I’m a big fan of the banya, although I’ve never experienced anything so oppressively hot. What makes it more intimidating is that Eastern European men of all ages appear blissfully unaware of how monstrous the heat is. Then, when I get on the other side of this microwave, there’s an ice-cold pool of water that everyone’s supposed to dunk into (all the way) to balance out the therapeutic aspects of the sauna experience. When I say ice-cold, I mean it—I’ve never seen my body so quickly shrink into itself like somebody plugged a vacuum hose into my butt.⁴

During my time hotboxing along with my Brooklyn neighbors, I feel a sense of competition. By physical demographics alone, I automatically feel out of place when I walk in. The entrance into any of these hibachis automatically starts a mental egg timer that I continually reset based on how long others are staying put. Then, my one-step-in-at-a-time approach to the ice water challenge is quite a contrast from the polar plunges executed by my sweaty comrades. Finally, it's all exacerbated by the language gap, with groups of men saying something I can't understand and guffawing. Most likely, they're sharing an inside joke rather than calling me a pussy in Russian.

All this internal fraught for something I've elected to do—and I'm in my 40s, mind you.

But, the result of this torture: when I return home, I sleep like a Russian (baby) doll.

Soviet public heath propaganda, circa 1986-1988.

It’s hard to explain the weird mix of relief and unease that comes with feeling like an outsider—even in a group you don’t want to belong to. For men, all-male spaces can stir up certain status-based anxiety, making guys more likely to feel threatened or act hyper-competitive.

Take this study published in Biology Letters. It found that men in mixed-gender groups tend to compete for dominance in subtle ways, like racing to buy the first round of drinks. That instinct kicks into overdrive when they’re outnumbered by other men as if flashing their resources will keep them from slipping down the social ladder.

But enough social science talk—this stuff still lingers for me on a personal level. I grew up as a shorter guy in spaces where dudes would size each other up. Did I develop a Napoleon complex? Maybe. But I think it’s more about self-preservation. When you enter a space where you’re outnumbered—whether it’s physically, socially, or just in pure vibes—the fight-or-flight response kicks in. Judgment in those moments, and most moments, frankly, is palpable—there’s a reason public speaking ranks as scarier than death for many.

So, what do you do about the whole softball situation, NHFS?

If I'm reading your question right, you know that nobody actually cares how you play softball (and if they did, your reaction would probably be, grow up). But that logical reasoning doesn't always stand a chance against the gnawing pit in your stomach—the masculine pinch that overpowers rational thought.

First off, people love it when you ask for help. If you're insecure about your throwing arm or want a second opinion on your swing, ask someone you trust to take a look. More than likely, they'll pay more attention to you throughout the game, and you might even find yourself enjoying it more. At the banya, I'll sometimes ask for advice on which sauna room is best for whatever's ailing me—it's a small thing, but it makes the experience feel more communal.

But here's the main advice: find a buddy who'll laugh with you through the ridiculousness of it all. Do you have a coworker who shares your vibe? If not, who in your life gets you well enough to appreciate the absurdity of this whole situation? Bring them in. Have them come as your "supporter" (if they're game), or at least set up a text thread where you can debrief the whole thing afterward. (IMPORTANTLY: if you're that friend, set a reminder to check in with your softball pal.)

I have a buddy who will join me on these banya trips. He doesn't speak Russian either, so we crack up trying to guess what these sweaty dudes say about us. The last time we went, we took a break in our bathing suits and towels, drank Baltikas and planned my bachelor party. That's more of what I remember from that day than anything else.

If you can get yourself down to Coney Island, I can recommend a banya or two. Otherwise, there’s lots to love on any visit. You can use my I Spy card below or I encourage you to create a version with a friend during that future excursion.

1. Salsa dancing on the boardwalk.

2. My prized (but rarely prize-winning) Brooklyn Cyclones.

3. The Wonder Wheel.

4. The Wonder Wheel in the Applebees (RIP).

5. Tanning retirees.

6. The not-so-recently decayed at Spook-a-Rama.

7. People walking around with snakes.

8. The excellent acoustics outside the Surfside Projects (one time, un viejo was blasting the song "Tequila," and it reverbed for a few blocks).

9. Any of the spectacular hand-drawn signage.

10. Stillwell Optical (I assume still advertising “a free Snapple with eye exam”).

Adios, ciao ciao, byeeeeeeeee,
Mark✌🏼

P.S. South Brooklyn has a lighthouse—the only one in the borough. Appropriately, it’s called The Coney Island Lighthouse.

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1. Truly, a great redesign. The branch suffered five feet of water after Hurricane Sandy. One year after the storm, the library reopened with local details including ceilings made out of original wood from the boardwalk, historic images of Coney Island adorning the walls, and an open-light pattern that makes it feel very calming to be inside.

2. Controversial Coney Island in Cinema take: I’m not the biggest fan of The Warriors (I always found the Walter Hill film too sluggish and silly).

3. Anora also sits in the canon of Great Winter Romance in New York Movies (a list that includes gems like Obvious Child and Coming to America)

4. No shade if that’s your kink.