Coulda been worse

The announcement at church brought back bad memories of one of many embarrassing days in High School. Our Sunday School classes were to compete in a softball game at the Youth Ballpark in Arlington and all I could think of was the last time I played softball in High School and not only struck out but struck out and fell down in front of everybody in the school. Surely, things would turn out better this time.

The mood was festive. People were laughing. Birds were singing and the self-expectation and confidence were high. The bottom half of the inning was spent in the field where luckily nothing was hit my way and I hardly moved. Fine with me. Three up and three down and we headed to the dugout. Several people on our team batted and some did better than others. No pressure if you are a child. No pressure for the women. Pressure for a full grown man.

I hid the shock of my name being called to bat and ran toward the bats hanging on the fence. I grabbed one like I knew what I was doing and jogged confidently towards home plate. I dug my feet into the dirt next to the plate and took some practice swings. Crowd cheers. Pitcher rocks back and lobs. No fancy stuff. Not too fast. Right toward the plate and a swing! I was surprised to not hear the crack of the bat hitting the ball but instead...silence. Strike one.

I vaguely heard the gasps of the crowd and with all of the confidence I could muster I dug in a little deeper in the dirt and took another powerful practice swing. No problem, I just needed to see one. This next one is going downtown! I think I heard my wife holler something. Was that my daughter laughing? Concentrate. Watch the ball. Here's the wind up and a lob straight toward the plate. Big swing! Swish. Strike two.

Two strikes and my head is swimming. This couldn't be that hard but it seems like things are moving too fast and the repressed High School memories are making concentration difficult. I stepped out of the batter's box and batted at my shoes a couple of times like I had seen real players do. Ouch! That was a little too hard. Now I have two strikes and a sore foot and I'm watching the taillights of my confidence fading fast. I step back to the plate and looked at the pitcher. He's old. Maybe he'll have a heart attack on the mound and I won't have to face another pitch. No such luck. The wind up...the pitch...I ain't swinging. Should have. Strike three.

But I didn't fall down! At least I didn't fall down. Right? Right?