My team stormed, just stormed into the playoffs last night the owner of two hard-fought, gutsy victories. Well, one of those and one forfeit, but that’s irrelevant.
There we were. In the playoffs. Well represented too. Our team had more people last night than at any other point this season that I can remember and very nearly everyone was early to boot. Our hopes for advancing to the next round were sky high. And then slowly, sadly, the members of the other team began to trickle in, increasing their roster size from two to the required number of players. Despite the tragic misfortune of the other team’s presence, we, as a team, agreed to play on.
I settled into my home in right center field. Somehow, even though we had lots of players, that is where I remained the entire game. Logic and good sporting strategy would have me alternating between catching and warming the bench for the five inning contest. I may be better suited for those other roles, but if you’re going to play me and you’re going to allow me to go more than five tiny baby steps from my own dugout, then somewhere in right is really where you want me. The damage I can inflect from there will likely be minimal.
It was actually a busier night than one might expect in right. The other team had a nasty habit of driving grounders between our first and second basemen, forcing me to charge in, pick the ball up in my glove, toss it to the nearest person who wasn’t me and then jog back to right center. Luckily for myself and my team and the good state of Pennsylvania, the other team only managed to get the ball in the air to right one time.