TFM
When I was 15, I got cut from my high school baseball team. I was 5’2” and 110lbs, but in all reality, the coach was a toolbox and can go fuck himself. I played in a couple games the summer after that, but since then the most I have done is thrown the ball around and taken a little batting practice. But last night I got the opportunity I’ve been waiting on all summer: not enough players on my roommates’ baseball team.
There I was: dead last in the batting order and waiting for the starting pitcher to come out of the game. When he finally did get too tired, I jogged my way out into centerfield. First inning in the field gave me no action, which was okay. I needed a little to get back in the zone. I was up 3rd in the inning to follow.
I walked out to the plate for my first at bat with one goal in mind: don’t strike out looking. After a hard-fought battle and a 3-2 count, I got a changeup that was never going to be a strike, but it was too close to let go. Had to take a hack. Whiffed real good at that fucker. Considering that there had only been one other hit before my at-bat and we were down 7-0, I didn’t feel too bad, though. I still had time to be in the field and make something happen.
There I am in left field next inning, and the other team starts to get some base runners. We’ve got no outs, runners on first and second, and all I’m thinking is dear god give me a chance. I just wanted one chance to show off the absolute cannon for an arm that I have. Then it happened:
A hard line drive over the infield. I see it bounce once, and I’m thinking to myself, “Don’t fuck this up, please Jesus, don’t fuck this up.” I charge in and field it cleanly – Okay, time to hose this mother fucker – one crow hop and I fire it to home plate as some asshole tries to take home on me. Oh baby, it’s a dot. Absolute laser. I watch it take one hop right to the catcher and the tag get applied. Gunned hi—FUCK. I watch the ball pop out of the catcher’s glove on the tag. Heartbreak.
We ended up losing 11-0, and I didn’t see any more action. I held it down in the one inning I played at short-stop, and I’d like to believe that I was simply too intimidating for anyone to hit it my way. Moral of the story: I want to join a beer softball league, so if you’re in the Philadelphia area and need someone to join, DM me.
