Happy Friday All!
So it's Memorial Day weekend here, a weekend when most Americans will travel to see family, cook meat outdoors, and save ton of money on the purchase of a car or mattress.
Memorial Day is supposed to remind us of all the service people who gave their lives in the various wars our country has fought. I've seen memes going around telling us not to thank a Veteran for their service on Memorial Day because that's what Veteran's Day is for, and Memorial Day is for those who are dead. Well, um, bite me. I'm going to thank a Veteran on Memorial Day, July 4, and next Tuesday if I see one because I don't believe it's ever wrong to thank a veteran.
Rant over.
Baseball is considered America's pastime, just like apple pie is considered America's pie. I don't like either. Apple pie was literally the only pie my mother made and I think I was 10 before I realized you could put other fruits in pies. So..yeah, I'm done with apple pie.
Meanwhile, baseball. How could I be a sports fan (LOVE American Football and hockey...learning to love rugby and all things Olympics) and NOT love baseball.
When you hear my story, you may understand.
It started when I was six. Please hang in there...I have to give you some back story for you to fully understand:
From kindergarten to fourth grade I attended a two room grade school. My father was the upper grades teacher, the principal, and the gym teacher. Given the limited amount of time he had, teaching four grades and heading up discipline and administration, he developed something of a genius gym class. He divided the entire school into three teams, with kids from all grades 1-8 on all teams. Then he made use of the space we had (no gym, but plenty of outdoor land) and came up with sports and games that were definitely outside the box. (I was very good at chess, scrabble, and quoits. ((Don't know what quoits is? Look it up.)) I was also pretty decent at shuffleboard. And, I guess, at tug of war. But that's another story for another day.)
Softball was a cornerstone sport, because it involved everyone. Due to time constraints (gym class was held during recess. For team sports, two of the three teams would play while the other team would be free to do whatever they wanted. For individual sports, you just knew when you had, say, a tether ball match and you got over to the tether ball pole in time.) my dad devised "one pitch softball."
It's exactly what you think it is. Each batter got one pitch. That was it. Hit the ball and get on base, get a ball and get on base, or get a strike and you're out.
Well, when I was six, let's just say I wasn't real bright about the nature of people. So it never occurred to me that the CATCHER didn't have my best interests in mind when he/she "coached" me when I was up to bat.
Every time I got up, the catcher would tell me when to swing. And wouldn't you know it, I would swing and miss the ball. And I'd be out.
Every. Single. Time.
I don't know how long this went on. When you grow up in the Great Lakes area, you know outdoor sports have a short season, so I'm sure I didn't remember from one season to another that the catcher was playing for the other team, and while I was probably an easy out anyway, he/she was always cementing that bet by telling me when to swing.
It wasn't until I shared my frustration with my mom that I realized the problem. Once she was done laughing at me, she explained that the catcher wanted me to be out.
This was also the time when I realized that my dad was my dad but when we were at school there were NO favorites and he even believed he had to treat me tougher than the other kids just to prove I wasn't a favorite. Wouldn't have been so bad if he hadn't been on the staff of my school EVERY SINGLE YEAR OF MY LIFE through high school (except my freshman year of high school, my favorite year.) Everyone thought I was his favorite and I had to work twice as hard to get grades from him because he was tougher on me. Sure, that didn't damage me at all.
Anyway, back to baseball.
So my grade school experience shaped my opinion of baseball and softball through my high school and college years (didn't watch it, didn't play it if I could help, spoke out against it). Then I grew up, got married, and had a chance to join a church softball team.
I don't know how much you know about church sports teams, but the truth of it is that these perfectly lovely church folks turn into competitive maniacs when they start playing.
This I did not know.
I just thought this team would be a fun group of women coached by a fun guy to go have fun. I mean, my hubby was on a work team and they had a blast.
I lasted two practises.
The first practice was lovely. It was a sunny evening, everyone was cheerful, and we were practicing fielding balls. Turns out, I'm pretty good at catching stuff. I felt I'd put my baseball woes behind me.
The second practice was batting practice.
Everyone got three, maybe four pitches, while the coach looked on. Then it was my turn.
One whiff. Two whiffs. Three whiffs. Four whiffs.
I am not good at batting.
However, the coach was distracted by something else, and I was the last in line, so he told the pitcher to give me a few more.
Five minutes later (It felt longer, but I'm sure it was only five minutes) I'd swung that bat 40 times (I counted) and had missed all of them. The coach looked up from what he was doing and said, "Are you still swinging? Give someone else a turn."
I was 24. I was also crippled for the next few days, unable to lift my arms.
That ended my career in the bat and ball arts.
Since then, I don't play it, I generally don't watch it, and I've been known to mock people who do. Like my friend Sandy who takes me to Milwaukee Brewer games from time to time. As I've aged, I've learned to appreciate seeing a game in person or maybe listening to it on the radio, but it's still at the bottom of the list when it comes to sports for me.
And yes, I own a bat. But it's for personal protection only. And I haven't had to swing it in more than 20 years.
So, now you know!
Happy Memorial Day everyone!
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