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.
2 comments:
You're tetnus joke made me laugh out loud
you would give a thumbs up
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