Baseball season – ahhh, the memories that flood over me at the sound of the crack of a home run and the cheering crowds.
Yep. One is the memory of being chosen pretty much last for PE forced ballgames. And the church mixed gender softball league, when as an adult they asked me to play once….
I’m sure there are great benefits from being able to hit little white balls and beat the pounding enemy feet to the base – unless they’d reached up and scooped the beautiful hit right out of the air, so we could switch sides and I could attempt to catch the ball. Yeah, no claims of sport prowess here at all.
My most memorable ballgame was during the spring season of my eleventh year. I didn’t play, but a friend and I rode along with my grandparents to watch my cousin’s little league team.
I believe I mentioned I’m not a big fan of baseball/softball, right?
Boredom set in quickly. Across the adjoining football field stood a playground. Late afternoon sun glinted off the peeling equipment. I think I may have heard the song of the sirens luring me…. With insistent cajoling and begging, we got permission to go to the playground.
At first it was great. Okay the equipment didn’t shine quite so beautifully, but hey, we were cynical kids and we pretty much expected that. My friend, I hesitate to give her real name, was a bit of a girl jock. Somehow, as she slid down the huge slide, her jacket hooked something and she executed a perfect somersault and gracefully finished her descent.
She jumped up, arms in the air with the universal sign for victory. “That was really fun. You should do it.”
All moisture left my mouth, traveled south and gathered in my bladder where I suddenly felt the need for a run to the bathroom. “No way!”
“Come on. It’s really fun.”
Did I mention that I have no athletic prowess or instinct? Did I or didn’t I? To be continued…..
