Back on the Diamond

For the first time since moving to Winston Salem, i participated in an athletic event, when my department at work held a fun softball outing one recent Friday afternoon.  It all started when our "real" team kept getting drubbed in a local city league, and we started razzing them at the office.  Our department head, my boss, taunted that he could take the leftovers from the non-players and beat the real team.

I was one of those non-players.  So drug out the dusty white cleats that had sat in the garage all these 8 years.  Borrowed Caroline's glove since i couldn't find my own.  Stretched for all of 3 minutes, tossed for another 3, and then we hit the field.

I hadn't played ball since the Windsor vs. Atlanta Casualty showdown back in Atlanta, somewhere around 1997.  In that game (which we won), i went 4-4 batting lefthanded for the first time in my life, and helped turn a triple play from 1B.  I decided it would never get any better than that, and retired from the game.

But duty called me back to the diamond.  Like riding a bike.  All the little things came naturally back to mind.  Where to go on each play, how to position myself defensively.  Batting was a but rusty.  In 3 at-bats, had a meager popup to SS, and sharp fielders-choice grounder to SS, and a Texas Leaguer to RF for a double.

After that double, the next batter hit a grounder to short.  When he pegged the throw to first, i took off for 3b, having noticed that the 3B had drifted away (no idea where she went).  The astute SS notices and starts running with me to third.  I know the 1B is good, and now i'm in trouble.  I'm gonna have to slide.  At least that's what those baseball instincts told me.  Head-first.  At the last moment, though, i noticed the throw going wide, and i maybe remembered the warning from Julie (don't get hurt!), and decided not to slide.

Alas, the body didn't mind the mind, and i got caught in-between, and ended up pounding into the pebbly dirt knees-first.  Then i tumbled over the bag, scrapping my right shin/calf, but still able to stay safely on the bag.  I lay in the dirt, too embarrassed to rise and face the guffawing crowd, laughing myself at how goofy that must have looked.

I came into score, but the game ended 2 outs later.  I trudged over to the first aid station (me on the sidewalk, pouring bottled water over my wounds, gooberly trying to stick a bandage on a wet knee).  I didn't feel it at the time, but these strawberries have been killing me since, as have the sore muscles.

I'm back in retirement.  They'll need cash money next time.