softball

I carry a torch for softball and my softball playing days.

Many, many, many, years ago I started playing “C’ league baseball. It was for the young kids to get started. I was the only girl on the team. And I wasn’t very good. But I went, and I practiced, and I played. Well, I played as much as any of the boys or even coaches would let me, which is to say, not much.

When it was time to pair up for catch, I often didn’t get a partner. And the coaches never did anything about it. Finally after a few weeks of this, I got in the car, slammed my mitt of the floor and said I wasn’t going back. Turns out my mom was thankful. She has been mad for weeks, but wasn’t going to tell me to quit.

So, my baseball career ended. And I found a girls softball team.

Let’s be clear. I was still pretty bad. But I loved it. And I wanted to learn. I suffered through a year of playing a combination of right field and the bench.

My legs were barely bigger than the bat. No really.

The next year, I caught on. I moved to the infield and found my niche. That year I won Most Improved.

The next year, I won Most Valuable Player. I had found my groove. Third base was my home.

Fast forward a few more years and I found myself playing fast pitch my Freshman year in high school. I only played third base for one year, but still have great memories of traveling to away games, not so great memories of playing third base and having to come way in during possible bunt situations, and having to wear full catchers gear to warm a pitcher up if coach though you’d been out too late the night before.

A few years later, I found myself playing co-ed softball in college. Love. That’s all I can say. Love.

I loved being the girl who could really play, not just a placeholder. I moved to second base and stayed there for the duration. More often than not, another team that was short a girl would “scout” the games being played and I would be “drafted” to play the game after ours. I loved every minute of it.

After college when I moved to Nashville, I found a restaurant league and happily played there until I got pregnant with Maggie.

During one game, I took a line drive hit to the thigh. It was the hardest hit ball I’ve ever been in front of. I almost got my glove there, but it was just too hard and too fast. The ball hit my leg and flew about 15 feet into the air and into the outfield. The guy who hit it ran directly to me instead of to first base. He kept saying he was so, so sorry. I was running to the outfield to get the ball, trying to get him out. Heh.

I ended up having the impression of the ball, complete with stitching marks on my thigh. For the next few weeks, the bruise grew and most of my leg from knee to hip turned black and blue. I was stopped by a woman at the mall who thought I was in an abusive relationship and wouldn’t believe that it was a softball injury. I finally took the card she was trying to give me so she would stop following me.

Another time I jammed my toe and had to play the rest of the game while it throbbed because we had just enough people to play. When I finally took my sock off, the toenail came off with it. (I’m still suffering ill effects from that damn toenail.)

So all this is to say, I love softball. I loooove softball. I wish I could find a league to play on.

…And Maggie starts playing softball in two months. I am not saying anything out loud, but in my head “Please let her like softball. Please let her like softball” is on a constant loop.

Tagged as: ahhhh - the memories, my glory days, softball