Remember this? And this? Well, I finally take my own advice and purchase a sliding pad for softball. After an intense and fun doubleheader tonight, looks like it really came in handy.
^_\
Showing posts with label The Hawk's Eye. Show all posts
Showing posts with label The Hawk's Eye. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 20, 2011
Stealing Home
Day: Three Hundred and Fifty Three
Photo taken on Wednesday, July 20, 2011 outside our apartment at 1113pm.
Remember this? And this? Well, I finally take my own advice and purchase a sliding pad for softball. After an intense and fun doubleheader tonight, looks like it really came in handy.
^_\
Remember this? And this? Well, I finally take my own advice and purchase a sliding pad for softball. After an intense and fun doubleheader tonight, looks like it really came in handy.
^_\
Wednesday, June 8, 2011
Take Me Out to the Ball Game
Day: Three Hundred and Eleven
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Photo taken on Wednesday, June 8, 2011 at the Hecksher Park softball field in Huntington, NY at 912pm.
Lisa has invited me back to play with The Hawks this season! I am honored considering I had a rough start last year and spent most of the time letting balls get past me in the outfield (though everyone was cool about it and just waited for me to settle into the season which hopefully I did). Lisa is a fantastic ballplayer, one of the best shortstops I've seen (I think she can rival Jeter) and very good at bat too. She dives for hard grounders like it's nothing and runs like the wind after cracking one into the outfield. Lisa is very good at managing the team as well and makes it seem effortless.
I'm happy to be playing again this year and hopefully I can bring more to the team than infield pop-ups and sliding injuries. So far the season has been great!
^_\
Lisa has invited me back to play with The Hawks this season! I am honored considering I had a rough start last year and spent most of the time letting balls get past me in the outfield (though everyone was cool about it and just waited for me to settle into the season which hopefully I did). Lisa is a fantastic ballplayer, one of the best shortstops I've seen (I think she can rival Jeter) and very good at bat too. She dives for hard grounders like it's nothing and runs like the wind after cracking one into the outfield. Lisa is very good at managing the team as well and makes it seem effortless.
I'm happy to be playing again this year and hopefully I can bring more to the team than infield pop-ups and sliding injuries. So far the season has been great!
^_\
Wednesday, June 1, 2011
Crack is Whack
Day: Three Hundred and Four
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Photo taken on Wednesday, June 1, 2011 in the upstairs hallway after a Hawks doubleheader at 1137pm.
First off, I apologize for my butt. I toyed with the idea of censorship so you wouldn't vomit upon seeing my Grand Canyon by placing a large black strip in the valley but that just looks silly. I am brave enough to wear boobie shirts all the time and my cleavage resembles a butt crack anyway so why be embarrassed of the real thing?
Now let's move on...
17 has always been my number and I really don't know why. Maybe because it is the number of the house I grew up in or that it's Moma's birthday or Marty McFly's age in Back To The Future or that people mistake me for being that young. Whatever the reason, I always make sure to have it on the back of my jersey all those years playing softball for Tri Village. Then I make sure to get it when playing hockey for CU. Now I have it again playing softball as an adult.
I take three years to consider this tattoo. 17 is important to me because it encompasses more than just a number, it represents many moments in time so it makes sense to permanently brand it on my body. The image to accompany it is hard to choose until I make captain for CU my senior year. It is a great honor to be considered by my teammates because I am not the best hockey player but I am a great team player both on and off the ice and this is why they have chosen me. At the end of the year I tell Christine my wish to tattoo the number and something hockey related on my butt so she sets to work designing different options. Three other players join us at the tattoo parlor one day and forever link ourselves to each other:
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Katie P. opted for Ralphie over the hockey sticks with her number (3) as well as an "A" because she joined me in the ranks of hockey leaders our senior year. A speedy defenseman that played hard in practice and even harder during the game. She also shared my love of Traveling Wilburys and skiing, beating me down the mountain through the woods in perfect form. Definitely one of my fave peeps I met at CU.
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Mallory chose Ralphie and the hockey sticks and instead of an arm, gave her rear. A fierce goalie that was fast and flexible, keeping our team on top throughout the entire year. Mal has a great spirit and is just all around fun. She's one of my fellow runners that keep me abreast of her races via Facebook which helps me train harder when I hear of her success.
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Naughty chose the same awesome hockey tattoo as yours truly and included her number as well. I was so worried about my parents finding out about our tattoo excursion so I begged her to wear a sweater to graduation which she did because she is wonderful like that. Looking back on it now, I don't know why I would think my parents would have seen her tattoo on her arm and automatically know I had a matching one on my ass? But Naughty is a trooper and a very good friend so she didn't mind my craziness. After all, she did live with me for a year so she understood how off the wall I could be.
Naughty was a big reason why I stayed in Colorado when I was flirting with the idea to come back and go to BU instead. Our friendship was chock full of singing Moulin Rouge loudly in the car, playing Harry Potter on PlayStation to all hours of the night, and when I needed help getting better in order to stay on the team, she was there to give advice.
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After having so much fun designing our respective tattoos, Christine decided to get one too. For two years I played with her, enjoying having her at point and being so supportive of everyone on the bench. The last year I played she was assistant coach and team mom (Mama Pee Pee) instead and I have no idea how we would have survived without her. She kept the drama amongst us at bay, made numerous calls to straighten out travel issues, worked very well with Stef (our star player and other "A") to make everything smooth sailing for us fundraising wise, and was always there for anyone in need. Christine is a great person, easy to get along with, and always willing to bend over backwards for a friend. She is also a great companion to have on trips because she's fun as hell!
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Despite me putting this picture last, I actually went first because I was afraid if I watched someone else in pain I would chicken out. Katie kept giving me updates on the progress and Mallory let me squeeze her hand. It lasted about 20 minutes or so and it felt like someone took a dull key and rubbed it back and forth on my skin, giving off that rug burn feeling. It wasn't too bad having my ass in the window of the shop and even having other team members drop by to check out our new editions to our bodies. It was an experience I will never forget and hope to repeat with someone special again.
First off, I apologize for my butt. I toyed with the idea of censorship so you wouldn't vomit upon seeing my Grand Canyon by placing a large black strip in the valley but that just looks silly. I am brave enough to wear boobie shirts all the time and my cleavage resembles a butt crack anyway so why be embarrassed of the real thing?
Now let's move on...
17 has always been my number and I really don't know why. Maybe because it is the number of the house I grew up in or that it's Moma's birthday or Marty McFly's age in Back To The Future or that people mistake me for being that young. Whatever the reason, I always make sure to have it on the back of my jersey all those years playing softball for Tri Village. Then I make sure to get it when playing hockey for CU. Now I have it again playing softball as an adult.
I take three years to consider this tattoo. 17 is important to me because it encompasses more than just a number, it represents many moments in time so it makes sense to permanently brand it on my body. The image to accompany it is hard to choose until I make captain for CU my senior year. It is a great honor to be considered by my teammates because I am not the best hockey player but I am a great team player both on and off the ice and this is why they have chosen me. At the end of the year I tell Christine my wish to tattoo the number and something hockey related on my butt so she sets to work designing different options. Three other players join us at the tattoo parlor one day and forever link ourselves to each other:
Naughty was a big reason why I stayed in Colorado when I was flirting with the idea to come back and go to BU instead. Our friendship was chock full of singing Moulin Rouge loudly in the car, playing Harry Potter on PlayStation to all hours of the night, and when I needed help getting better in order to stay on the team, she was there to give advice.
Tuesday, August 17, 2010
Road Ragin'
Day: Sixteen
Steve's cousin, Paul, claims I am a crazy driver. Unfortunately for Paul, the first time he's a passenger in my car, I'm driving in the city. Now city-driving and Long Island-driving are two entirely different things. City-driving consists of jerky movements, no signals, and cussing. Long Island-driving is all about leaning back and steering with three fingers of my left hand. I prefer highway-driving the best actually, but I digress.
I don't usually rage on the road anymore instead I just grip the wheel and move my hands back and forth until I hear the sound of aggravated friction. I'll only honk if another driver is being stoopid and possibly causing a dangerous situation for others. But what I will do is flip a driver off who is going sooooo incredibly slooooow that I can't fathom why they are even driving at all. They might as well get out and walk it because it'll be faster. At this point, the car in the pic has been with me since Jericho Turnpike and I fear I will not make my 9 o'clock playoff game so I flip the bird in anger. I know he can't see me but it's satisfying nonetheless.
Monday, August 9, 2010
And it burns, burns, burns
Photo taken after my nightly shower on Monday, August 9, 2010.
Remember the raspberry I posted on Saturday? Well we had a make-up softball game tonight and I reopened it either sliding into first, second, or third and didn't notice the sticky blood until I returned to the bench after being batted in. Steve and I wrapped it up real good too so I have no idea how it happened to rip open again.
This is the face I make when hydrogen peroxide is applied to an open cut. I think it's time I invest in a sliding pad...
Saturday, August 7, 2010
Scraps
Day: Six
The first time I leave for a Hawks game in my green lacrosse shorts, Steve takes one look at me and warns, "You really should wear pants if you're going to slide."
I wave him off. "Pssh. I'm not going to slide."
Three hours later I return with a dirt and blood smattered left leg.
"I slid." I manage a sheepish grin and he just shakes his head in disappointment.
At least I was safe.
So now before heading off to a game I wrap my calf in an ace bandage (because right now I'm nursing an on-going running injury there anyway) so it adds sliding protection and then I place knee-high softball socks over it. Needless to say, I still receive raspberries sliding into that damn second base! People tell me I should wear pants but on certain occasions the dirt would rip my skin up through my Tri-Village issued uniform pants anyway. I was like half my size back then so I think my weight is the leading factor to me constantly hurting myself because really, no one weighing in at 175 should ever run as fast as they can and slide in dirt. The physics of it just points to disaster.
Photo taken around 11pm really quickly because I lost track of time today. I really have nothing creative to show you so instead here is my newest injury:
I wave him off. "Pssh. I'm not going to slide."
Three hours later I return with a dirt and blood smattered left leg.
"I slid." I manage a sheepish grin and he just shakes his head in disappointment.
At least I was safe.
So now before heading off to a game I wrap my calf in an ace bandage (because right now I'm nursing an on-going running injury there anyway) so it adds sliding protection and then I place knee-high softball socks over it. Needless to say, I still receive raspberries sliding into that damn second base! People tell me I should wear pants but on certain occasions the dirt would rip my skin up through my Tri-Village issued uniform pants anyway. I was like half my size back then so I think my weight is the leading factor to me constantly hurting myself because really, no one weighing in at 175 should ever run as fast as they can and slide in dirt. The physics of it just points to disaster.
Wednesday, August 4, 2010
Bench Warmer
Day: Three
Photo taken on August 4, 2010 around 845pm on the bench at the softball field in Hecksher Park (the one in Huntington, behind the stage where my sister, Kim, had us campers perform the Free Willy Dance about sixteen years ago).
Lisa sends out an email on Facebook in early spring or late winter, one of the two, asking if anyone is interested in playing on her 2010 softball team. I jump at the chance to play with her again and eagerly lie about being a Town of Huntington resident in order to be on the roster, so I can reminisce along with two other girls, Jackie and Jen, that I played Tri Village with back in the day. Back when I made Williamsport teams easily. Back when I used a mouth guard because I charged the ball like it was nothing. Back when hitting in-the-park-homeruns was a piece of cake. Back when I could stand on my head in the outfield facing the fence while singing Luck Be A Lady and still flip myself up right in time to punch my glove and catch whatever ball made it out to me in centerfield.
Back then I was good. Now I just plain suck.
Maybe it's the fact that playing one semester for St. A's killed the spirit of softball for me because the majority of the team was catty and didn't give me a chance. Maybe it's due to deciding to play hockey for three years in college now every other sport I engage in can't keep up with the speed of that game. Maybe I'm used to being fast, out of breath, masochistic, and non-competitive that I just don't have what it takes to play like I used to when I lace up my cleats.
The women on the Hawks are all so nice, welcoming, and amazing players. I enjoy their camaraderie and the thing I like the most about playing with them is that I can hear them all the time, whether it's cheering each other on or shouting out directions like, "get down!" or "hit your cut-off!" I always know exactly what I should be doing. That's the meaning of teamwork and I hate letting them down. They take everything in stride though and never make anyone feel bad about getting out or making an error but they all play so fluidly I don't like making mistakes. They deserve a better teammate.
Tonight, as usual, I get there late due to my commute and I patiently wait my turn to be placed in the batting order and then out in rightfield for the second game. I screw up my first three at bats then miscalculate a pop-up, and throw a wild ball. I do some things right, like back up Gina at first and scoop up a passed grounder though I feel like I understand why I'll always be a DH and a righty because my skills are so beyond rusty I'm not sure even a tetanus shot could save me. Especially now that I let the tying run score.
There's only one thing I can do...I have to make my last at bat worth it. And somehow, some way, I channel that gangly 13 year old with braces and wobbly Patella Femoral Syndrome knees with a bunch of sunflower seeds in her back pocket and a Raab Bag full of snacks stuffed in her dusty Easton bat bag (minus a bat) to step up to the plate in place of my 28 year old-ass. On one pitch she cracks it to a spot it's never gone before, that lovely little pocket above the short stop's head and she advances the winning run home. As I hit first base the team erupts and a rally starts and a smile I've misplaced since leaving the sport of softball behind breaks out across my face. I thank all the ladies with a thumbs-up and a megawatt smile that lets everyone know:
I'm on my way back.
Lisa sends out an email on Facebook in early spring or late winter, one of the two, asking if anyone is interested in playing on her 2010 softball team. I jump at the chance to play with her again and eagerly lie about being a Town of Huntington resident in order to be on the roster, so I can reminisce along with two other girls, Jackie and Jen, that I played Tri Village with back in the day. Back when I made Williamsport teams easily. Back when I used a mouth guard because I charged the ball like it was nothing. Back when hitting in-the-park-homeruns was a piece of cake. Back when I could stand on my head in the outfield facing the fence while singing Luck Be A Lady and still flip myself up right in time to punch my glove and catch whatever ball made it out to me in centerfield.
Back then I was good. Now I just plain suck.
Maybe it's the fact that playing one semester for St. A's killed the spirit of softball for me because the majority of the team was catty and didn't give me a chance. Maybe it's due to deciding to play hockey for three years in college now every other sport I engage in can't keep up with the speed of that game. Maybe I'm used to being fast, out of breath, masochistic, and non-competitive that I just don't have what it takes to play like I used to when I lace up my cleats.
The women on the Hawks are all so nice, welcoming, and amazing players. I enjoy their camaraderie and the thing I like the most about playing with them is that I can hear them all the time, whether it's cheering each other on or shouting out directions like, "get down!" or "hit your cut-off!" I always know exactly what I should be doing. That's the meaning of teamwork and I hate letting them down. They take everything in stride though and never make anyone feel bad about getting out or making an error but they all play so fluidly I don't like making mistakes. They deserve a better teammate.
Tonight, as usual, I get there late due to my commute and I patiently wait my turn to be placed in the batting order and then out in rightfield for the second game. I screw up my first three at bats then miscalculate a pop-up, and throw a wild ball. I do some things right, like back up Gina at first and scoop up a passed grounder though I feel like I understand why I'll always be a DH and a righty because my skills are so beyond rusty I'm not sure even a tetanus shot could save me. Especially now that I let the tying run score.
There's only one thing I can do...I have to make my last at bat worth it. And somehow, some way, I channel that gangly 13 year old with braces and wobbly Patella Femoral Syndrome knees with a bunch of sunflower seeds in her back pocket and a Raab Bag full of snacks stuffed in her dusty Easton bat bag (minus a bat) to step up to the plate in place of my 28 year old-ass. On one pitch she cracks it to a spot it's never gone before, that lovely little pocket above the short stop's head and she advances the winning run home. As I hit first base the team erupts and a rally starts and a smile I've misplaced since leaving the sport of softball behind breaks out across my face. I thank all the ladies with a thumbs-up and a megawatt smile that lets everyone know:
I'm on my way back.
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