The Boys of Summer

Somewhere behind the athlete, behind the hours of practice, behind the coaches who have pushed you is a little boy who fell in love with the game and never looked back. – Unknown

Last night I was hit by a truck. I must have been, there can be no other explanation for why I am so sore. I mean, I exercise regularly, I run, I stretch, I think I’m pretty fit. But when I woke up this morning I had no desire to get out of bed, and neither did my muscles.

Last night, for the first time in two years—since I was in prison, in fact—I played softball. For many of you that don’t know, I love all forms of baseball. I fell in love with it as a kid and never grew out of it. I love to watch it, listen to it, talk about it, and especially play it. So when I got the opportunity to be a sub in a couple sober-league games last night, I jumped on it.

This opportunity came after an already long day of work, and a trip to the gym, but after I had eaten an entire chicken alfredo pizza by myself. I was lounging in my La-Z-Boy recliner, trying to figure out how to turn all of those calories in to pure lazy fat, when my good buddy Mason called and asked if I was interested. There was no hesitation. He had asked me a couple times before but being on I.S.R. held me from doing a lot of things. Not tonight, damn it!

I went to pick up mason and we went out to Maplewood. Now, I was a little nervous, I mean, this isn’t a prison game where it’s completely unorganized. In prison, it was nice to have two or three guys on a team who knew the basic fundamentals of the game, and we struggled for about 45 minutes to keep it going with people losing interest constantly. This would be different. I would be the one with the least (recent) experience, and all I hoped is that I didn’t look like a moron out on the field. This would be challenging. This would be fun. About three blocks away from the field, I started seeing the lights, and my adrenaline started to pump.

We arrived and found our field, and Mason and I began to chuck the ball around. Even after just the first fling I could tell I still knew how to toss a ball. We stretched, which is the smartest thing to do before any period of exercise, and we watched the teams on the field finish up their game. I was introduced to the team members as they arrived one-by-one, and we formed a lineup. I was batting 8^th and playing left-center field (there are ten positions in softball vs. nine in baseball). We won the coin-toss and selected home-field advantage, and took the field.

I jogged out to take my position and looked back toward home plate. It was time for me to shine. Unfortunately, nobody else thought that, and the ball didn’t come toward me in the first inning. It was our turn to bat, and if I remember correctly, we batted eight men in the first inning. I was the last with a very weak infield fly. Bummer. I remember from playing in the past that I have a tendency to swing just a bit early in this game, I would have to remember that for the next at-bat.

The game played out, and I fielded well. I did misjudge one line drive that went over my head, but I fielded everything that came my way including a few towering fly balls that can be tough to track down if you haven’t played for a while. My hitting struggles continued through the first game where I went 0-for-3, and we ended that game in a 14-14 tie. In the next game, I found my stroke, and belted all three of the pitches offered to me with considerable force. Two of them landed for hits, and one of them nearly took off the pitcher’s head, but was caught by the second baseman who happened to be in the right place, at the right time. I had a few R.B.I.s and a couple runs scored. It felt good to contribute to a game in which we eventually won 19-14.

I’m actually not that sore. I originally wrote that because I wanted to follow it with a Jew-Joke that I thought of, but it really didn’t seem appropriate. (The original opening is below.) Thankfully I actually am fit, or I wouldn’t be able to work today. This will be the biggest day of the year for the Wild—opening day—until the playoffs, and I need to be at my sharpest. The opportunity given to me last night reinforced my love for the game, and although it is unlikely that I will have another chance to play this year, I am now motivated to start looking for a team to play with on a more permanent basis next summer.

Last night I was hit by a truck. I must have been, there can be no other explanation for why I am so sore. I mean, I exercise regularly, I run, I stretch, I think I’m pretty fit. But when I woke up this morning I had no desire to get out of bed, and neither did my muscles who were complaining like a Jew who just saw a receipt with the gratuity already added.

Ba-dump ching!