THE HARDNESS OF SOFTBALLS
I don't know why I decided to play on the church softball team that year and I remember asking myself that question several times during the season. Maybe I thought it would be healthy or fun. Anyway, whatever I thought, it turned out to be quite an experience.
A few days preceding the first game I started having horrors picturing myself with a bat in front of all those people. We hadn't had any practices and I didn't know if I could even hit a ball. My horror intensified when I found out the name of the other team... "Military Supply Depot". That was enough to make anybody shakey at the bat.
Well the night arrived and to say the least, I was scared to death. However, my coach, Richard Phillips sat me on the bench where I stayed the entire game. Although I was 1% dissappointed, I was 99% relieved. How do I spell relief?... B-E-N-C-H. I was really glad though because it gave me chance to kind of see what the game was all about. All I knew was hit the ball and run to the bases and 3 strikes made you out. I cant say that game was a good example game though. We lost it thirty something to one. I mean it was so bad the referees (and I have since learned that they are called umpires) asked the other team if we could have a turn at bat because we couldn't get them out. In fact they did that twice. I couldn't figure out if we were that bad or if they were just that good. I remember sitting there when one of their players came up to bat thinking to myself, "Why do they have a man playing on their team?"
We played "Showbiz" next. I liked the sound of that better. Somehow the idea of Billy Bob and Rock-A-Fire didn't seem quite so intimidating. But they were still good.
My first night at bat was everything I thought it would be. I was so scared I could hardly get my breath. Believe it or not I hit the ball and made it to first base pulling both thigh muscles as I took off. I had never pulled a muscle in my life. I was always in shape in school, but I guess after eleven years of doing nothing, I was a little stiff. This upset me though because I knew that if I couldn't hit very well or anything else, the only thing I had going for me was running. Track and Field had always been my favorite sport in school.
Although I did get two hits that night, I had my share of goofs. We only had one out and I was on first. Whoever hit the next ball hit a fly that was low line drive straight to shortstop's glove. I thought it was a groundball and therefore took off to second base. After getting the second base runner out they got me out too. I'm probably the only person that's ever made the fourth out.
I started out playing right field that night. That's where they put the worse players. I didn't get too many balls but with what few I did get I discovered that I couldn't catch a ball... on the ground or in the air. The only ball I got was one that rolled to a stop just before it got to me, and with that ball I discovered that I couldn't throw either. This may have been one of those times when I asked myself why I was doing this. Needless to say, we lost that one too.
The following game consisted of nothing but frustration. Being moved over to right center, I knew I would be in for more balls. But this time it didn't just rain, it poured. With the first ball that zipped by, I tried once again to pour on that running ability I once had. Re-pulling both hamstrings, all I could do was run at a slow trot. This went on all night. Balls flew by my left, bounced by my right, darted between my legs, went just over my head and even one of those dreaded fly balls went straight in my glove and bounced out. The other team had zero'd in on me and although I was flooded with embarrassment, I was consistently flooded with encouragement. One of my teamates, Sandi Gatlin, kept telling me I had potential and one of my coaches would always pat me on the back and say, "That's ok... we're just out here to have fun." So far it hadn't been much fun, but I had this strange drive that just kept saying, "Don't quit. Hang in there."
As I drove to the next game I kept trying to tell myself to just go out there and have a good time. After all... the Lord did "give us richly all things to enjoy." (I Tim: 6:17)... and with that I took my place on the field.
As usual I missed my 1st ball of the evening, but this time when I took off after it, I could run. My exercising during the past week had paid off. I was so proud that I had my legs back. I gave it all I had and when I slowed down to pick up the ball I noticed that I was in the middle of a huge water puddle. By then it was too late... my feet flew straight out from under me and I landed flat on my rear. It didn't really hurt anything except maybe my pride.
Later on in the evening I did get a hit and make it to first base. With the next batter I ran to second. Then it was my first attempt ever to get on third. I would have been alright if I had slowed down and stopped on third base, but learning my lessons by my mistakes was the way I was mastering this game. I realized I had done wrong when my coach grabbed me by my shirt and tried to swing me back on the base. I was totally confused. I knew the other team had tagged the base and I wondered why I should go back and why that girl was chasing me around my coach and third base. So I just ran around til she tagged me with the ball. I was later informed that I shouldn't overun third base.
That night was really wild and when I thought about it, it was really pretty funny. Then I realized that although I still had made a lot of mistakes, I had really had a great time.
The next few games were about the same. We still hadn't won any yet, but the scores were getting closer. Every once in a while I was catching a ground ball too. I still hadn't caught any flies and I made that my goal for the season. I never thought about a homerun though. I had to keep my goals within reason. My number of goofs were decreasing too. But I could have buried my head in the sand the night I missed a fly and after retrieving the ball, thinking to myself... "Turn around and throw if hard"... only looking up to see I had thrown it to the referee. I hoped nobody noticed.
As the time drew near for the next game, I was really down on myself and had gone around all day singing, "Old grey mare she ain't what she used to be." Then just before I left home, I thought to myself, "This is ridiculous." So I bowed my head and asked God to just help me have a good time and that it sure would be nice if our team could just win one game. We walked off the field that night with a 14-12 victory. Personally it was the best night I'd had so far. I caught all my balls (except the flies) and I made it to third base on my own unbelievable hit. What made it so unbelievable was that I only hit it about eight feet in front of me... a total fluke. In a panic, the other team had overthrown first and second base. Ya know... I know that would have been a homerun for me but there's something that happens to your bladder control after bearing 2 children. I chose the gentle trot instead of a hard run that would have yeilded a flowing run down my legs. We won that game and I knew it was the result of prayer.
Two games later was another game I'll always remember. The first ball that bounced my way missed my glove and hit me in the chest. There is nothing soft about a sofball. Then a fly ball came my way, hit the tip of my glove and kept on going. Totally discouraged and feeling as if I might cry, I said, "Lord, I don't want any more balls." Then pop!... here it came... high and falling in my direction. As I stood there in my panic fly ball position, (which is merely gazing upward, mumbling to myself "Oh no!" and hoping the ball wouldn't hit my thousand dollar nose job), the ball hit my glove and stayed there. It had taken nine games but it had finally happened. The Lord knew I needed a lift at that very moment and he couldn't have made me any happier. My teammates, coaches and church fans let out the loudest roar that I had heard all season. The cheering was not only loud but it was long. I was happy but I began to feel awkward and self concious of my bird legs knowing that all eyes were on me. I don't remember anything else that night.
I didn't know it at the time but my next game would be my last. I walked out to take my place of right center only to find one of my teamates there. I knew they had called my name in the lineup and right field was covered too. I was then told that I was playing left center. Horror filled my heart. Surely the coaches had made a mistake and didn't realize it. That position was one of the main lines of fire. Did they know what they were doing? Worse than that, did I know what I was gonna be doing? It didn't take long to find out. My first ball was a high fly. Gazing heavenly, I walked backwards, sideways and forward and ended up catching my second fly of the season. I missed about as many balls as I caught, but it didn't matter to me beacause the ones I caught in my opinion made up for the ones I missed.
My batting average wasn't anthing to brag about though. I struck out two times that game. I wasn't because I couldn't hit the ball. I just kept standing there letting good balls go by. My third time to bat, which was my last, I made it to first. Then it happened. The next batter hit the ball between first and second base and I knew I had to get to second fast. But then there, standing in the baseline waiting for the outfielder to throw her the ball was second baseman. I wondered why she didn't move over. Instead she just hit the dirt. Later I wondered why I didn't just run around her or do a hurcle over her. The next thing I knew I was going head first toward second base. I landed flat on my nose job with my body and legs straight up in the air. My arms were too far apart to get the weight off my face and I thought my neck would break any second. When my body came back down I knew my neck was ok but oh....My nose! I couldnt' move. All I could do was just lay there and let it hurt. I didn't even have the energy to tell everybody to leave me alone when they rolled me over. When I thought I was ok they sat me up bloody nose and all. I began to get embarrassed with people hovering over me just looking at me. Finally I got up and went on in the score on the next hit. With that the game was over and we lost.
I decided then it was time to check out my suspicion I'd been having for a couple of weeks. It turned out I was right when my pregnancy test came back positive. So with doctor's orders my softball career ended here. In case you're wondering, the team did go on to win two more games without me.... I wonder if that's why they won?
I don't know why I decided to play on the church softball team that year and I remember asking myself that question several times during the season. Maybe I thought it would be healthy or fun. Anyway, whatever I thought, it turned out to be quite an experience.
A few days preceding the first game I started having horrors picturing myself with a bat in front of all those people. We hadn't had any practices and I didn't know if I could even hit a ball. My horror intensified when I found out the name of the other team... "Military Supply Depot". That was enough to make anybody shakey at the bat.
Well the night arrived and to say the least, I was scared to death. However, my coach, Richard Phillips sat me on the bench where I stayed the entire game. Although I was 1% dissappointed, I was 99% relieved. How do I spell relief?... B-E-N-C-H. I was really glad though because it gave me chance to kind of see what the game was all about. All I knew was hit the ball and run to the bases and 3 strikes made you out. I cant say that game was a good example game though. We lost it thirty something to one. I mean it was so bad the referees (and I have since learned that they are called umpires) asked the other team if we could have a turn at bat because we couldn't get them out. In fact they did that twice. I couldn't figure out if we were that bad or if they were just that good. I remember sitting there when one of their players came up to bat thinking to myself, "Why do they have a man playing on their team?"
We played "Showbiz" next. I liked the sound of that better. Somehow the idea of Billy Bob and Rock-A-Fire didn't seem quite so intimidating. But they were still good.
My first night at bat was everything I thought it would be. I was so scared I could hardly get my breath. Believe it or not I hit the ball and made it to first base pulling both thigh muscles as I took off. I had never pulled a muscle in my life. I was always in shape in school, but I guess after eleven years of doing nothing, I was a little stiff. This upset me though because I knew that if I couldn't hit very well or anything else, the only thing I had going for me was running. Track and Field had always been my favorite sport in school.
Although I did get two hits that night, I had my share of goofs. We only had one out and I was on first. Whoever hit the next ball hit a fly that was low line drive straight to shortstop's glove. I thought it was a groundball and therefore took off to second base. After getting the second base runner out they got me out too. I'm probably the only person that's ever made the fourth out.
I started out playing right field that night. That's where they put the worse players. I didn't get too many balls but with what few I did get I discovered that I couldn't catch a ball... on the ground or in the air. The only ball I got was one that rolled to a stop just before it got to me, and with that ball I discovered that I couldn't throw either. This may have been one of those times when I asked myself why I was doing this. Needless to say, we lost that one too.
The following game consisted of nothing but frustration. Being moved over to right center, I knew I would be in for more balls. But this time it didn't just rain, it poured. With the first ball that zipped by, I tried once again to pour on that running ability I once had. Re-pulling both hamstrings, all I could do was run at a slow trot. This went on all night. Balls flew by my left, bounced by my right, darted between my legs, went just over my head and even one of those dreaded fly balls went straight in my glove and bounced out. The other team had zero'd in on me and although I was flooded with embarrassment, I was consistently flooded with encouragement. One of my teamates, Sandi Gatlin, kept telling me I had potential and one of my coaches would always pat me on the back and say, "That's ok... we're just out here to have fun." So far it hadn't been much fun, but I had this strange drive that just kept saying, "Don't quit. Hang in there."
As I drove to the next game I kept trying to tell myself to just go out there and have a good time. After all... the Lord did "give us richly all things to enjoy." (I Tim: 6:17)... and with that I took my place on the field.
As usual I missed my 1st ball of the evening, but this time when I took off after it, I could run. My exercising during the past week had paid off. I was so proud that I had my legs back. I gave it all I had and when I slowed down to pick up the ball I noticed that I was in the middle of a huge water puddle. By then it was too late... my feet flew straight out from under me and I landed flat on my rear. It didn't really hurt anything except maybe my pride.
Later on in the evening I did get a hit and make it to first base. With the next batter I ran to second. Then it was my first attempt ever to get on third. I would have been alright if I had slowed down and stopped on third base, but learning my lessons by my mistakes was the way I was mastering this game. I realized I had done wrong when my coach grabbed me by my shirt and tried to swing me back on the base. I was totally confused. I knew the other team had tagged the base and I wondered why I should go back and why that girl was chasing me around my coach and third base. So I just ran around til she tagged me with the ball. I was later informed that I shouldn't overun third base.
That night was really wild and when I thought about it, it was really pretty funny. Then I realized that although I still had made a lot of mistakes, I had really had a great time.
The next few games were about the same. We still hadn't won any yet, but the scores were getting closer. Every once in a while I was catching a ground ball too. I still hadn't caught any flies and I made that my goal for the season. I never thought about a homerun though. I had to keep my goals within reason. My number of goofs were decreasing too. But I could have buried my head in the sand the night I missed a fly and after retrieving the ball, thinking to myself... "Turn around and throw if hard"... only looking up to see I had thrown it to the referee. I hoped nobody noticed.
As the time drew near for the next game, I was really down on myself and had gone around all day singing, "Old grey mare she ain't what she used to be." Then just before I left home, I thought to myself, "This is ridiculous." So I bowed my head and asked God to just help me have a good time and that it sure would be nice if our team could just win one game. We walked off the field that night with a 14-12 victory. Personally it was the best night I'd had so far. I caught all my balls (except the flies) and I made it to third base on my own unbelievable hit. What made it so unbelievable was that I only hit it about eight feet in front of me... a total fluke. In a panic, the other team had overthrown first and second base. Ya know... I know that would have been a homerun for me but there's something that happens to your bladder control after bearing 2 children. I chose the gentle trot instead of a hard run that would have yeilded a flowing run down my legs. We won that game and I knew it was the result of prayer.
Two games later was another game I'll always remember. The first ball that bounced my way missed my glove and hit me in the chest. There is nothing soft about a sofball. Then a fly ball came my way, hit the tip of my glove and kept on going. Totally discouraged and feeling as if I might cry, I said, "Lord, I don't want any more balls." Then pop!... here it came... high and falling in my direction. As I stood there in my panic fly ball position, (which is merely gazing upward, mumbling to myself "Oh no!" and hoping the ball wouldn't hit my thousand dollar nose job), the ball hit my glove and stayed there. It had taken nine games but it had finally happened. The Lord knew I needed a lift at that very moment and he couldn't have made me any happier. My teammates, coaches and church fans let out the loudest roar that I had heard all season. The cheering was not only loud but it was long. I was happy but I began to feel awkward and self concious of my bird legs knowing that all eyes were on me. I don't remember anything else that night.
I didn't know it at the time but my next game would be my last. I walked out to take my place of right center only to find one of my teamates there. I knew they had called my name in the lineup and right field was covered too. I was then told that I was playing left center. Horror filled my heart. Surely the coaches had made a mistake and didn't realize it. That position was one of the main lines of fire. Did they know what they were doing? Worse than that, did I know what I was gonna be doing? It didn't take long to find out. My first ball was a high fly. Gazing heavenly, I walked backwards, sideways and forward and ended up catching my second fly of the season. I missed about as many balls as I caught, but it didn't matter to me beacause the ones I caught in my opinion made up for the ones I missed.
My batting average wasn't anthing to brag about though. I struck out two times that game. I wasn't because I couldn't hit the ball. I just kept standing there letting good balls go by. My third time to bat, which was my last, I made it to first. Then it happened. The next batter hit the ball between first and second base and I knew I had to get to second fast. But then there, standing in the baseline waiting for the outfielder to throw her the ball was second baseman. I wondered why she didn't move over. Instead she just hit the dirt. Later I wondered why I didn't just run around her or do a hurcle over her. The next thing I knew I was going head first toward second base. I landed flat on my nose job with my body and legs straight up in the air. My arms were too far apart to get the weight off my face and I thought my neck would break any second. When my body came back down I knew my neck was ok but oh....My nose! I couldnt' move. All I could do was just lay there and let it hurt. I didn't even have the energy to tell everybody to leave me alone when they rolled me over. When I thought I was ok they sat me up bloody nose and all. I began to get embarrassed with people hovering over me just looking at me. Finally I got up and went on in the score on the next hit. With that the game was over and we lost.
I decided then it was time to check out my suspicion I'd been having for a couple of weeks. It turned out I was right when my pregnancy test came back positive. So with doctor's orders my softball career ended here. In case you're wondering, the team did go on to win two more games without me.... I wonder if that's why they won?
posted by MindBloggling | 5:58 PM
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