Pick up your coaches!

Wow, that was a record-setting game last night!

And, by "record-setting", I mean (to quote Comic Book Guy):
Worst. Game. Ever.

Wow, did we stink it up last night, or WHAT? The Translative Dick Ripplers have played some bad ball over the course of this season, but it was universally agreed that that was our worst performance. Which is really saying something.

I was back at short, and played a decent game there. I stopped one ball with my ribs, and I've got a nice bruise to show for it. I went to my knees a couple of times to corral sharply-hit grounders. Ripped my knee open (just above my raspberry-protecting wrap), so there was some fresh blood to show for last night.

I don't know how major-leaguers do it, unless they've got some kind of knee guards. I, for one, want to play with those big, 70's-style volleyball kneepads. You know, vintage Patrick Ewing. (See photo.)

At the plate, I went 2-for-3, and was involved in a regrettable play while on base. I led off our second inning with another really nice rip between third and short. (Just call me Tony "5.5 Hole" Gwynn. [* See note below])

It would probably have been a double, but for another very good defensive team. I rounded first and was about a third of the way to second, but the left-fielder fielded it cleanly and got it back in in a hurry, so I had to retreat. The next batter hit another hard ball to the left side, fielded by the third baseman. Maybe it was my blazing speed, but he chose to go to first, and not try to get me at second to set up a double play. The first baseman couldn't pick the throw, runner safe.

Runners on first and second, nobody out.

I stood on second, waiting to run at the crack of the bat. I couldn't see the plate, or the contact, because you can't lead off the base, and so the hit was blocked by the pitcher's body. With no outs, I had to be prepared to tag on a fly ball. I didn't see the ball rise above the pitcher's head, so I presumed it was a ground ball to the middle. I glanced back and saw that there was a throw to first, so I presumed it was a grounder to the pitcher.

But what, in fact, had happened is that the pitcher had snagged a line drive (batter out) and thrown it to first to double off the runner. I stood, indecisively in the 5.5 Hole, not knowing whether to run on or go back. (I was still unclear as to what had happened, and why I should go back when the batter was forced out at first.)

Probably a good, oh, twelve seconds elapsed before I decided to go back to second. It took the other team about, oh, eleven seconds to figure out that I hadn't, and they threw the ball over to nip me on a bang-bang play.

Triple play.

That's not something you see every day.
Needless to say, I heard a few words about that play for, oh, the rest of the night. It actually took about an inning and a half before they would even explain to me what had happened. Obviously, I know you can't advance on a caught ball without tagging. But I never saw it as a caught out; the ball never got higher than the pitcher's head. As I say, he must have snagged a low liner - completely blocked from my vision.

Anyway, the moral of the story, kiddies, is that you have to pick up your third base coach. The indomitable Dave was coaching third, and was hoarse the rest of the night, having shouted at me "GET BACK" about 500 times. I never even glanced in his direction.

Oh, well.

I missed a few grounders to my right side, so eventually I slid over to cheat that (say it with me, now) 5.5 Hole. Of course, the very next pitch was a sharp grounder to my left, in the recently vacated hole. So, I don't feel like I really acquitted myself at short.

But after the game, I was talking with the guys - including our erstwhile shortstop Steve - and they were talking about Steve's great play in left field (dude's got wheels) and Brett's admirable play at second base, and then asked how I liked it at short. I said I loved it there, but didn't feel like I was our best option at the position. It's kind of an ARod/Jeter thing. Steve's a better shortstop, but I want to play that position, too.

I don't know that it will come up again; Chuck will be back in left on Sunday (he was out last night), which likely means Steve will be back at short. Which will either mean someone's going to have to decide whether to play me or Brett at 2B (or, frustratingly, platoon us) or possibly leaving Brett at 2B and putting me back at first, letting Jeff just play EH.

We'll see.

Double-header Sunday. That should be fun. Most families will be out there, and there will be a barbecue, it looks like.

INJURY UPDATE:
The raspberry continues to be raspberry-y.
As I mentioned above, I also cut a small gash on my knee.
Both knees are fairly-well bruised, as well.
I tried to catch a hard liner to my right with my bare hand, and I only caught a piece of the ball with the tip of my right ring finger. Which was numb for most of the rest of the game, but seems fine this morning.
I poked myself in the eye, but recovered.
Lower ribcage bruise from the grounder I took off the belly.
Wrist still doing its wristy thing.
Ankle seems fine.

Anyone got some HGH?

=====

* (Note for Mary): The defensive players are arrayed on the diamond in a specific alignment, and each position is assigned a number, for scorekeeping purposes. The numbers are:

1 - pitcher
2 - catcher
3 - first base
4 - second base
5 - third base
6 - shortstop
7 - left field
8 - center field
9 - right field

Therefore, if the batter hits a ground ball to the shortstop (6), who throws the ball to the first baseman (3) to get him out, this is scored a 6-3. Any player who touches the ball is recorded in the order in which they touched it.

This can get complicated, on double (or triple) plays. Hypothetically, if the pitcher (1) catches a line drive, and then throws to the first baseman (3) to double off the runner on first , who then throws to the shorstop (6) to double off the runner on second, that would be scored a 1-3-6. Of course, that would never happen, because the runner on second - if he had any baseball sense - would have had plenty of time to scramble back to the base while the runner on first was being doubled off.

Tony Gwynn was one of the best hitters in the history of baseball. He was a left-hander who had an uncanny knack for slapping hits between the shortstop and third baseman. He did this so frequently that he took to calling that the "5.5 hole". (Third baseman is 5 and shortstop is 6, so the space between them, he figured, would be 5.5.)

Lineup

Late game tonight (9:30 first pitch) . . . which is always an odd time to play.
I'm back at shortstop tonight, and Steve is out to left field. An odd choice, but I'm not the manager.

Yesterday my legs were really feeling all of the hard running I had done on Tuesday night. By the time I got home from work, they were starting to stiffen up, and my thighs basically felt like there were ice picks being driven into them. (A side effect of trying to run as fast as I could when I was 24.)

So, I decided to take a warm bath with epsom salts.
To soothe the aching muscles.
Which was, in and of itself, a fine idea.

But remember how I described what a raspberry is?

If you don't know what a raspberry is, it's when you burn the top couple of layers of skin off, leaving a huge, red, incredibly painful scrape. It's red and kinda bumpy (due to pores or hair follicles or something), giving it the general look of a raspberry skin.

Well, what's the best thing to put on a big (and by "big" I mean about 4 inches by 8 inches), raw, nerve-ending-exposing scrape?

How about warm, salty water??

Talk about "rubbing salt into the wound".

Yeah, I won't be doing THAT again.

Just call me Nomar

It was great to get back out there last night. Once again, it feels like weeks since I've played a game. It was good to see the guys (including our intrepid shortstop Steve, back from his wedding in Florida).
I was pencilled in at second base, but as gametime approched, we realized that our big slugger Jeff (who has hit several balls out - as in over the fence out - and has little catchphrases he uses when he makes contact, "See ya!") was not going to show.

We were the road team, and I did not come to bat in the top of the first. Chuck, who feels cheated if he does not go 5-5 with four triples and 15 RBI in a game, hit a sharp two-hopper to the left of the shortstop in the first, who snared it and made a snap throw to first to nail him. When Chuck gets nailed on a hard-hit ball, you know you're up against a pretty good defensive team.

As we took the field in the bottom of the first, Chris, our erstwhile captain, re-distributed the bodies to cover for Jeff's absence. "Brett, you're on second."
I looked quizzically (is that really how you spell that word?) at Chris, as I was supposed to be on second. And I knew Steve was back at short.

I thought Tim would cover first, Chuck would come in and play third, and Brett would rotate to the outfield. But evidently, in my absences in the last few games, Brett has acquitted himself admirably at second. I felt challenged.

"Tom, you cover first."

First base? Me?
Huh.

But then I thought, "Hey, if Nomar can do it, so can I." (Because, you know, he and I are so similar and all . . .)

I got a ball and rolled grounders to the infielders, and warmed up at 1B. I can't even remember the last time I played first in any kind of game. I don't know if I ever have. It was exciting.

(A handy hint to all of you up-and-coming ballplayers: If you're unsure of where to play your position, just check the infield dirt and go where there are the most footprints. That's usually the best place to line up. I discovered that at short a few weeks back; I tend to play a little deeper in the hole, when I noticed the worn area to my right. Of course, we actually play on fairly nice fields, which are dragged before the game, so if you're out in the top of the first, there are no footprints to follow.)

I assumed the position, and we were off. I got the footwork down in the first couple of batters: a ground ball, not to me, rotate over to the base, putting your right toe on the inside corner of the bag. Don't stand on the bag itself, but just slide the side of your foot against the side, so as to not be trampled by the runner hustling through. Give your infielder a big target, chest-high, and don't stretch until you see where the ball is going.

One thing that surprised me in slow-pitch softball is the amount of bend the shortstop and third baseman can get on a hard throw. You can see in pro ball (more in person than on TV) that a hard, long throw will bend fairly significantly. The rotation on the ball (depending on the grip and arm angle) can make a fairly big break, which is why little-leaguers are taught to take a four-seam fastball grip and throw over the top, as that is the straightest ball you can throw. Anyway, a couple of throws in to me tailed from my high right side down to my left, and I learned to read it pretty quickly, and didn't let any past me. Except for the one that Steve - trying to turn two - sailed over my head. But I made a quick recovery and fielded the carom and was able to look the runner back to third - not allowing a run on the E.

I also learned how to circle around the batter on deeply-hit fly balls . . . I'd go a little bit up the line, allowing the runner to take a big turn at first, and then sneak around behind them to be in position for a snap throw if they got too far off. We didn't nail anyone, but it was a good thought.

I had perhaps my best offensive game of the season. I went 3-4 (the last one should have been a hit, but the runner on first got forced at second to end the inning.) I also had a stellar day on the basepaths.

First time up I got a clean single, and then went station-to-station as the guys behind me kept the inning going, jogging in to score. The next time at bat, however, came the real excitement.

I got another single (to the left side), and beat out the throw at first. I don't know how fast I am (I would guess not that fast), but I was at my absolute top speed down that line. Chest heaving, I stood on first. There were two outs, so I had to be prepared to run on contact. Contact there was, a grounder to short. The easy play would be the flip to the second baseman for the force, ending the inning. But I was busting it again, and - with the play in front of me - saw the ball eat up the shortstop. I knew it would be close, so I went in with a strong slide* and beat it out - keeping the inning alive.

Now standing on second, huffing and puffing, I stood still prepared to be off at the crack of the bat. The next batter hit a looper into the outfield, and, as I was hustling towards third, the third base coach was waving me in. I took the corner at my absolute top speed, and as I was coming down the line, I could see the catcher squaring up to receive the throw. From behind me, I heard, "You're gonna have to get down!" - meaning that I would have to slide to avoid the inning-ending tag.

By this point, however, I was beyond my top speed, and I could feel my limbs starting to lose control. I think I had a vague notion to slide in, headfirst, and do one of those sleek around-the-back-of-the-plate slides, just reaching my hand over to swipe the plate as I passed.

However, as Nickle-Ass Jackson** would say, "That's not exactly the way it happened."

As I say, I could feel my limbs getting away from me, and I stumbled into a face-first, rolling, thundering catastrophe at home.

But I was safe.

All in all, I had a great time and, if I am asked to play the balance of the season at first, I will do so with equanimity. (Again, just because Nomar did it. I don't see myself as your prototypcial first baseman.) I'd prefer to slide back over to second, although I did see more action at first.

We are allowed an "Extra Hitter" in this league - not unlike the hated DH, this is someone who is allowed to hit without having to play the field. Jeff, our erstwhile 1B (and power hitter) might be okay with EH - allowing me to play first base in the field without his losing his at-bats. But I don't want to offend him if he really enjoys playing first. My feelings were unduly bruised, seeing Brett nonchalantly jogging out to what I had perceived as "my territory" at second base last night.

Next game: Thursday, 9:30. Then we have the big double-header on Sunday.
I'm toying with the idea of wearing the high-knee baseball pants on Sunday. I think Charlie's going to come out and watch, and that might be kind of fun. We'll see . . .



* I should mention that the night before last I went to a college wood-bat league game (like the Cape Cod League, but on a smaller scale), and took part in the between-the-innings entertainment, having to race another guy from first to third. Needless to say, I slid into third (in shorts), giving myself one hell of a raspberry. If you don't know what a raspberry is, it's when you burn the top couple of layers of skin off, leaving a huge, red, incredibly painful scrape. It's red and kinda bumpy (due to pores or hair follicles or something), giving it the general look of a raspberry skin. Ow.

So, last night, I had it wrapped up with an Ace(c) bandage and covered with a neoprene shin wrap. I have to say, I felt a little bit like MJ out there. It's a good thing I had it wrapped.



** Teacher of American History, Vintage Highschool, 1986-1989. Notorious for his encyclopaedic knowledge of Billy the Kid and his catch-phrase "BAM!"
He would ramble on, lecturing for 20 mintues about American History, saying something like, "As John Wilkes Booth pulled the trigger, Lincoln whipped around and deflected the bullet with his titanium stovepipe hat. He then bicycle-kicked Booth off of the balcony, breaking his (Booth's) leg. Later that evening, Lincoln was involved in a firefight outside the Capitol, where he held off several gunmen until the SWAT team could arrive. It was during that fight that he was fatally shot . . . but that's not really how it happened."

Causing the students to glare at him, as we erased the paragraph from our notes, hoping that we would not be tested on things that "did not really happen."

Vintage High was not exactly an elite center of learning.

And now for something completely the same . . .

Game tonight.
Check.
Rain in the forecast.
Check.
Didn't play the last game.
Check.

I meant to log a big, dramatic post about exactly why I missed the last game, but then I got either too busy or too lazy (I'll let you guess which).

Gist is: there was a hazardous waste spill on my train line out of Chicago, and my 35 minute commute became a five hour commute. I left my office at 5:30 and got home at 10:25. So, I missed the horrible, lopsided loss.

But I am back in the lineup tonight. Batting sixth, playing second base.
Thankfully, Steve (Tinker) is back tonight, at short, so we'll have our "first team" defense out there.

More to come.

Groundhog Day

So, I didn't post after the last game, but here's a recap:

I sucked at the plate, but played pretty well in the field. I made a couple of really good plays for outs at shortstop, but didn't really make solid contact at the plate. I got a sac fly (once agan taking over the team lead), but didn't get any hits.
We lost, a heartbreaker -- allowing 2 runs to score in the top of the seventh, and then going down 1-2-3 in the bottom.

Sounds pretty much like every other game. It's getting hard to make that same story line sound fresh.

I played short, rather than second, and I did make some pretty nice plays, including starting a 6-3 double play, gliding to my left to field a sharp grounder, stepping on the bag, and firing over to first to complete it.

And I did totally suck at the plate, making out #2 in the 1-2-3 bottom of the final inning that essentially cost us the game.

But, still, it's men's adult rec league slow-pitch softball.
One of our guys was so angry afterwards I thought he was going to do physical harm to himself or others.

Dude. You just can't take it that seriously. Say it with me:

It's men's adule rec league slow-pitch softball.

The real reason I didn't post after the last game is that the following morning I went in for a check-up with the periodontist (that's latin for "sadist") and we decided to go ahead and "do the procedure" that day.

The procedure involves (if you're squeamish, look away) slicing out a chunk of the roof of my mouth and inserting it into my lower gums. Of course, to make my gums ready to accept a chunk of the roof of my mouth, they needed to be slit open, right below the tooth line.

How does that sound for a good time?

Any why, you may ask, did I have this glorious adventure?

Because I brush my teeth too well.

From early childhood, I've used a firm-bristled brush, and have brushed with great fervor. I really wanted to show that plaque what it was up against. You want to mess with MY teeth? Deal with THAT!
While I have kept my teeth fairly cavity-free, I've also been wearing away at my gums, not unlike the Colorado River and the desert of Arizona.

Anyway, several stitches, a bottle of vicodin, and a week later, and I'm ready to strap it on and go again. I get the stitches out tomorrow morning, and hopefully will be back at second base tomorrow night.

8:30 central daylight time. Be there.

What time is it?

Gametime!
Well, not exactly gametime, but at least gameday, which is something.

Does it seem to you like it's been about two weeks since I've played a game?
It does? That's funny, because it does to me, too.
And do you know what that is?

Because it has.

Last Tuesday's game was rained out (scroll down to see the lovely satellite picture), and last Thursday's game had a direct conflict with one of Charlie's little-league games, which naturally took precidence. This past Tuesday was a "bye" - our team was not scheduled to play - leaving tonight the first time in a fortnight I will be taking the field.

On the morning after a game, our team captain usually sends out the results from the night before, with an enthusiastic e-mail attachment, "Great game last night, guys!" or "We played them close - next time we'll get them!"

This message is then usually kicked around the team in a "reply-to-all" e-mail chain, with the various players' opinions tacked on.

Last Friday (the morning after the game I missed), the game results came out, with no message from the captain. After a couple of hours, with no witty e-mail chain forthcoming, I sent out a tentative e-mail to the guys to ask how the game had gone.

I got a couple of one-word answers, some of which I can't repeat here, as this is a family blog. I can however, quote Zorak (pictured at left), who would have described the game as a "red-ass beat-down".

About twenty minutes later, I got a follow-up from my pal Steve, the erstwhile "Tinker" to my "Evers". Steve seemed to imply that my absence from the middle infield had ultimately doomed the mighty Translative Dick Ripplers, and that but for the lack of my stellar defensive presence, the 19-7 score would have been much closer, if not inverted. He went so far as to say that the core group of guys who went out for root beer floats afterwards agreed to pin the loss on me, and my absence.

While that is certainly not the case, it did feel good to feel missed. As I've said before, while I don't necessarily feel like a drain on the team, a negative presence, I certainly don't feel like a real positive force out there sometimes. I think I have decent "baseball instincts", and sometimes I even execute them. I just have to remember remember, while at bat, that there's a force in the universe that makes things happen, and all I have to do is get in touch with it, stop thinking, let things happen, and be the ball.


Injury Update:
Haven't posted one of these lately.
I really am surprisingly together for as out of shape as I am. I have a weird ankle tweak, which really hurts sometimes, and I have this ongoing wrist deal, which is always very sore the morning after a game. (It's also very sore after I play golf; there's something in the swinging motion that pinches a nerve in there or something.)

But my legs, muscles, et al seem to be holding up nicely.

Rained Out

Bummer.

Gametime!

The lineup has been posted, and I'm back in the 8-hole, and again playing 2B.
There's a massive line of thunderstorms bearing down on the region; there's a chance we're going to be rained out, or the fields may be washed out.

I have to miss Thursday's game (direct conflict with a game of Charlie's), so tonight's my only shot at glory for the week.

It seems like forever since we've had a game; I guess the long weekend will do that to you. First pitch is at 8:30, central daylight time. I think it's being broadcast nationally on ESPN, but check your local listings.