So all in all, I’d say my return to softball has gone much better than I expected it to.
My first game was about two weeks ago now and it ended in a victory for my team. The victory was by forfeit since our opponent for the evening didn’t bother to show up, but when you’ve got a guy like me on your roster, you’ve got to learn to take wins any way you can get them. By hook, by crook, or by mass indifference.
Lucky enough for my team, several members of the two teams that played before us that night didn’t mind sticking around to play a scrimmage. That way at least we could get a game in to go with our moral and statistical victory and our drives to the field wouldn’t be for not.
Somehow, against every conventionally held bit of baseball wisdom, I was placed in the leadoff spot. Typically this spot goes to the person who is most likely to get on base, which is the exact opposite of my track record at the plate.
My first at bat came and I was terrified. No matter that the game mattered even less than your average adult league game since it was technically an adult league scrimmage. I was in seventh grade all over again, desperately wishing to have been anywhere else. I stepped up to the plate, positioned my feet in the correct fashion, repositioned them when I realized that hadn’t been the correct fashion, considered bending my knees but decided it against it … OH MY GOD! The pitch was coming in! Sweet Jesus! This was going to be a disaster. I closed my eyes, swung the bat and …
Made contact? That’s not right.