My moneymaker

For the past couple of summers I've played coed softball with a group of friends from BC at the Brookhaven Boys and Girls Club. This has grown from one team the first summer, to two the next, to six this summer.

It's a lot of fun, and considering that the last "organized" effort I made at playing anything resembling baseball was back when I was eight and playing tee-ball, I've done pretty well in terms of not embarrassing myself.

I usually manage to get a couple of hits per game and get on base. And, typically, I can motor home to score a run. Though I should say, every now and then I perfect my form for the "I want to not embarrass myself and strike out at softball, so I'm going to swing extra hard while taking my eyes off the ball at the same time" moment. You can guess how successful that form is for getting a hit.

Catcher is where you'll usually find me when we're on the field. Low in drama, I like this position. Except when we're down by three and the play is at home plate and some 250 lb marauder is chugging down the base line at me. The determination in his eyes lets me know I will end up a bloody heap if I get in his way. And since the ball usually comes in late from the outfield, I can step out of the way in most of those moments. I am proud to say that I have made an out or two while playing catcher. I have also managed to take a pitch in the shin, slammed into the backstop trying to get a pop fly and generally don't enjoy squatting in front of my peers while wearing shorts.

This past summer I did take one for the team. As in taking one in the face. A pitch was tipped off the bat of a girl who was a genuine slugger, and it rolled backwards to hit me above the right eyebrow as it deflected off my forehead. No, Mom, I was not wearing a catcher's mask. No one does. It's not cool and none of the cool kids do. Gah.

I blink, and I'm looking up at 7 people crowding over me. I'm asked where I am. What day it is. Who my favorite political candidate is. I answer all to satisfaction. (Brookhaven Boys and Girl's Club, Friday, McCain!) I slowly become aware of the awkward angle of my legs sprawled out towards the bench where 30 or so of our friends from all the other teams are sitting. With a perfect view of my underwear since my shorts are also now at an awkward angle. One of my girlfriends watching from the bench said later that she knew I was ok the minute I reached down and started tugging at my clothing to cover my exposed butt.

No bad damage, just a lump and a bruise, no broken skin, nothing that rubbing a little dirt into wouldn't fix. The sucker definitely hurt, but it was more a badge of honor than anything else.

The best part of the night was coming off the field and having a sweet girl approach me with anxiety written all over her face as she examined mine. Having surveyed for irreperable damage and finding none, she exclaimed "I'm so glad you're ok, all I could think of was – Oh no! She got hit in her moneymaker!"

All of a sudden, I was very glad that it was my face that had taken the hit.

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Listening to: Counting Crows - Black And Blue
via FoxyTunes