I started playing ball at age five. I believe it was the summer after kindergarten. I was on one of the town’s two co-ed T-ball teams. I was on the blue team and we were awesome. No official score is kept, but even a five year old is aware of which team crossed home plate more often.
Come third grade, or age nine, ball was no longer co-ed. Girls moved on to softball and boys moved to baseball. This was slow-pitch softball and I wasn’t in love. Luckily I injured myself on like the second day of practice and was in a leg brace for the rest of the season. I kept playing for the next few years, mostly to hang out with my friends, not because I particularly enjoyed it.
And then something interesting happened. We moved to modified fast pitch. No windup like in fast pitch, but the pitch was flat and we could steal. Suddenly softball was more interesting. Even better, we started winning. My most interesting play ever occurred during this time period. I was playing second base, in-field pop fly to the pitcher, who tips it off their glove, I reach out with my right (non-glove) hand and snag it. Out.
Over the years I’ve played almost every position on the field, with the exception of first base. I’ve been hit by a ball more times than I can count, have a permanent dent in my left shin bone from using it to stop wild throws from the catcher down to second, have taken a throw down to third in the eye (I was safe) and have had a ball thrown at me so hard I had the laces imprinted on me for weeks (safe, again). This was one of the first sports I played where I learned how important the coach was. I loved the coach I had all through elementary and junior high school. Once I started playing high school ball, I was less enthused with the sport. Eventually I traded softball for golf and started assistant coaching the third and fourth grade girls’ softball team.
The great thing about softball is that it’s something you can play for the rest of your life. Even the small town I grew up in has adult softball leagues. I started a team for my office years ago and then passed the coaching torch on to a fellow co-worker. After a couple year hiatus, and primarily due to their desperation for a) bodies who are girls so they can play co-ed and b) girls who can throw a ball, I rejoined my company team this year.
While I understand the game and know how to throw a ball, at the start of each season, I need to get over my fear of the ball. I’m not kidding when I say I have a dent in my shin from being hit by a softball so many times in the same place. It’s no wonder it takes some getting used to each season. So last night a few of us got together to practice. The good news is I can still throw a ball. I can also still not only hit one, but place it as well. And best of all, I can still take a hit to my body and still make the play.
It’s interesting to me that those skills you start learning at five are still intuitive at thirty, after years of not playing. It’s a good skill to have, to be able to throw, field and hit a ball. I’m not good enough to make Team USA by any means, but certainly good enough to impress the guys. And at this stage of life, that’s almost as much fun as winning.
While I don’t normally post pictures, this one seemed appropriate. The Blue Team, circa 1987 I think. I’m the one dressed like a banana in all yellow. Don’t ask why, I was six.
Come third grade, or age nine, ball was no longer co-ed. Girls moved on to softball and boys moved to baseball. This was slow-pitch softball and I wasn’t in love. Luckily I injured myself on like the second day of practice and was in a leg brace for the rest of the season. I kept playing for the next few years, mostly to hang out with my friends, not because I particularly enjoyed it.
And then something interesting happened. We moved to modified fast pitch. No windup like in fast pitch, but the pitch was flat and we could steal. Suddenly softball was more interesting. Even better, we started winning. My most interesting play ever occurred during this time period. I was playing second base, in-field pop fly to the pitcher, who tips it off their glove, I reach out with my right (non-glove) hand and snag it. Out.
Over the years I’ve played almost every position on the field, with the exception of first base. I’ve been hit by a ball more times than I can count, have a permanent dent in my left shin bone from using it to stop wild throws from the catcher down to second, have taken a throw down to third in the eye (I was safe) and have had a ball thrown at me so hard I had the laces imprinted on me for weeks (safe, again). This was one of the first sports I played where I learned how important the coach was. I loved the coach I had all through elementary and junior high school. Once I started playing high school ball, I was less enthused with the sport. Eventually I traded softball for golf and started assistant coaching the third and fourth grade girls’ softball team.
The great thing about softball is that it’s something you can play for the rest of your life. Even the small town I grew up in has adult softball leagues. I started a team for my office years ago and then passed the coaching torch on to a fellow co-worker. After a couple year hiatus, and primarily due to their desperation for a) bodies who are girls so they can play co-ed and b) girls who can throw a ball, I rejoined my company team this year.
While I understand the game and know how to throw a ball, at the start of each season, I need to get over my fear of the ball. I’m not kidding when I say I have a dent in my shin from being hit by a softball so many times in the same place. It’s no wonder it takes some getting used to each season. So last night a few of us got together to practice. The good news is I can still throw a ball. I can also still not only hit one, but place it as well. And best of all, I can still take a hit to my body and still make the play.
It’s interesting to me that those skills you start learning at five are still intuitive at thirty, after years of not playing. It’s a good skill to have, to be able to throw, field and hit a ball. I’m not good enough to make Team USA by any means, but certainly good enough to impress the guys. And at this stage of life, that’s almost as much fun as winning.
While I don’t normally post pictures, this one seemed appropriate. The Blue Team, circa 1987 I think. I’m the one dressed like a banana in all yellow. Don’t ask why, I was six.
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