Softball last night, so you know the result. It actually was a reasonable game for a while. We only had 11 (which meant we still outnumbered the other team) and some of our “big guns” were missing, but it was 12-2 going into the top of the fifth. That’s when everything just fell apart and, as you can see from the sidebar, we lost 27-3.
That doesn’t mean there wasn’t some personal excitement, or at least what passes for it on the diamond. Since head coach Bobby wasn’t sure he’d be there on time, it fell to me to make out the lineup. I stuck myself in the leadoff slot. Which does seem kinda ridiculous, knowing my lack of speed, but there was a couple of rationales behind it. One, my average is fairly solid, so there was a decent chance we’d have a runner on for the power bats behind us. And two, that meant I could get a couple of at-bats, then get someone else in for me fairly early. The second reason didn’t come into play, of course, since we had the minimum.
We were down 3-0 when I came up in the bottom of the first. I swung at the first pitch, which was high and popped it up, but it landed foul. After taking a couple of pitches, it was 1-2 when I swung next. It was probably one of the hardest balls I’ve hit this year, but it was a mid-range fly ball that carried to the outfielder for an out.
Next time around, I topped a ground ball down the line, but was able to reach when the first baseman couldn’t handle the throw. Jon was up next and hit a solid ball to right field. Since it was behind me, I was a little uncertain about if it was fielded cleanly or not, so I looked and saw it wasn’t. I continued on to third, but about halfway there I was given the “slide” sign.
I’ve commented a few times that sliding and I aren’t exactly fast friends. This time, though, it actually probably looked like a slide. Arms stretched in front of me, straight out, diving for the bag. All well and good—until I hit the bag
Immediately, I felt a little more pain than I was expecting. I looked down and, through the stirred up dirt, I noticed my right pinky finger not looking the way it should. I first thought it might be broken, but being that I wasn’t involuntarily screaming in pain led me to believe that was out of the picture. I got up and shook it off, figuring it was just a stinger. Chuck, the next batter, hit a medium-deep fly ball to left and I scored on the sac fly.
Someone brought me some ice and I put it on the finger while I was in the dugout. It wasn’t very long, though, before I was back out catching.
In the bottom of the fifth, with the score out of hand, I came up with one out and no one on. I really wasn’t sure if I’d be able to hold the bat and swing or not, but I got a very solid hit to left. As I stood on first, I yelled to Jon, “You’ll have to hit it real hard for me to go to third!”
He didn’t, but he put a ball almost exactly where he had the last time. I was prepared to stop at second when I heard, “Daniel, go!” Against my better judgment, mainly because I figured I’d get run over if I didn’t, I headed to third. Gary, who was coaching third again, indicated I could get in standing. “I wasn’t going to tell you to slide,” he said. “You better believe it!” was my response. I wound up scoring our last run on another sacrifice fly by Chuck.
After getting home, it was pretty obvious that the finger had been jammed. It was already starting to swell somewhat. Today, as the day has progressed, it has turned an ugly shade of purple along the left and underneath. I’m sure tonight’s ball game will be a lot of fun to try to navigate, but we are probably going to be short again, so there’s not much choice but to get through it.
2 comments:
You big stud! :)
It took you that long to figure this out, Deb? :)
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