Play Ball

A few days ago, while I was playing tennis with my older brother, I suddenly got very sad. It wasn’t because I was losing (I beat him for the first time in years). It was because I had come to a terrible realization.

Beyond the fence of the tennis courts, there was a Babe Ruth League baseball game going on. The kids weren’t great—there were errors, collisions, base running blunders. Yet, I wanted to be playing with them. I wanted to be the man on first, distracting the pitcher like Jose Reyes. I wanted to be the runner who should have plowed into the catcher, but instead meekly trotted home.

I grew sad, because I realized I would probably never play baseball again.

Instead, I would play softball. Softball intramurals, softball summer leagues, softball picnic outings. Softball is so black and white. There is no stealing, no situational hitting. You go for a homerun every time up—at least that is what I do.

Within the past year or so, I have watched more and more baseball and realized what a complex, thoughtful, game it is.

When I was in the Little League, and actually played baseball, I was somewhat bored by the sport. Sure, hitting was fun, but it didn’t make up for the hours spent sitting in the dugout, chewing gum and waiting for something to do.

I was missing out on so much. While on the bench, I could have been thinking about what pitch the pitcher should throw next, or whether the infield should be in, mid-way, or all the way back. Sadly, all I thought about was spitting my sunflower the furthest.

And now I’m condemned to slow-pitch softball for the rest of my life. Sure it’s fun, it’s social, but it’s not baseball.

Though this first post is about sports, I promise that not all of my posts will be.