I was never a strong athlete.
I have mentioned, in the past, here on Poop and Boogies, that when my dad was the coach of my T-ball team he made me play catcher so I could wear all the equipment because he was afraid I would get hurt.
I think I have written somewhere that the only reason my brothers would ask me to play in any type of game is that they needed an extra guy to make the teams even, unless it was a game of basketball in the driveway. They knew that, even though I could not dribble, shoot, or pass the ball very well, that I had inherited my mother’s legs and that I could box out anyone under the hoop for a rebound. Plus the fact that I have long arms, for which they called me Grape Ape, would help reach higher than other players rebounding the ball.
When I played regular Little League I spent a year or two on my brother The LawnWhisperer’s team. He likes to tell the story of how, one time, while I was playing left field, I was so busy yelling at the third basemen, Rob Reese, for letting a grounder go through his legs that I, too, let the same ball go, the one he missed, go through my legs.
The last time I played any type of organized sport was about 10 years ago. My brother Pat had a softball team that needed an extra man for one game. It was night game being played under the lights at the local field. LawnWhisperer was on the team. I was having problems with my contact lenses at the time and I wore my glasses to the game. There was a light rain/drizzle coming down on the field. They had me play right field so my lack of skills would not impact the team as much.
I played most of the game without incident. Meaning no one hit the ball in my direction. Towards the end of the game the opposing team’s batter hit a hard fly ball that was coming down right where I was standing. An easy out. I looked up to follow the balls trajectory, when the light rain started to splatter on my glasses. The drops of water that were on my glasses, against the bright white lights of the ball park made it look as if there were a hundred white dots falling down on me. I could not figure out which white dot was the actual soft ball. I raised my glove to catch any one of them. Of course the ball lands right next me. The other team scores and I am ridiculed for the rest of the evening.
I am writing this, because the Lawnwhisperer called me yesterday to ask me to join his Softball team.
I expect hilarity and ridicule to follow.