Tuesday, April 19, 2022

April 19

Brady's team bettered their record to 10-3 tonight at the Sports Park, and although that is indeed Brady in the pic during a post-game visit to his pal Andrew's game, it's not what this entry about. This entry is about me being a total bone head.

See, before Brady's game began, Isaac noticed that no one was using the next field over, so he went to the car to get his bat and a ball. I watched him toss the ball into the air and whack it a few times, and then strolled over and offered to serve up some soft tosses.

Now I know baseball pretty well: the rules, the scoring process, all that. I'm a knowledgeable spectator. But I am not a player. And I misunderstood what Isaac was saying when he swept his arm toward first base and suggested I "move over." So I stood a few feet in front of the pitcher's mound (because again, an athlete I am not and I wanted to be sure I could get it over the plate) and lobbed the ball toward the plate. He whacked the first one to the outfield. The next three weren't hittable. But he got ahold of the fourth one. I saw it take a hard bounce off the ground and then watched as it flew toward me. And then before I could even think to move out of the way, it drilled me in the upper leg. Oh, the pain. 

I hobbled off the field and toward my seat on the bleachers. Isaac was apologetic and I told him I was fine, even as shockwaves of pain shot up my leg. There's no bruise just yet, but I know it's coming. And I'm guessing it'll be pretty sore come good morning time tomorrow.

So what's the point of this long, meandering entry? I guess it's this: everyone does stupid things sometimes. For example, I should've known not to stand too close while throwing BP to my five-foot-eleven 13-year old son. The consequences of that dopey move are unpleasant, but like a child who touches a hot stove for the first time, I've gained valuable knowledge. And whenever I gain nuggets of wisdom (even nuggets I should've garnered years ago), it makes me wiser, which is always a blessing.

My advice? Take those lumps, learn from them, and do better next time.

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