If you've ever looked closely, which I'm sure you have, you'll notice that the pinkie finger on my left hand is rounded, due to spraining it hours before my last ever Little League regular season game.
After having been an All-Star the three previous years, for some reason my final year I went into a weird slump - weird as in I'd go up to the plate and would never swing. Somehow I got it stuck in my head to wait for a walk every time. What the fuck - even against the Red Sox, who the year before had gotten me out ONCE in 5 games, and that was when I swung away on a 3-0 pitch and crushed it, unfortunately right at the one guy in the league tall enough to snare it, William Scott who was, if I recall correctly, 9'10." I don't know what hapened, but for like half a season I froze, wouldn't swing.
The day of my final game I was in the back of the library where Mothatime! worked, and Brothatime!! and I goofing around (probably inventing the cell phone) and somehow he threw a baseball that pinned my finger up against the wall and it blew up instantly. Fuuuuuuuuuckk, I thought, ain't snapping outta my slump tonight. AND I was a catcher!!
Of course I went 4 for 5 with the GW RBI, then followed the next week going 7 for 8 in a 2-game All-Star tourney against Lancaster & Northumberland (including my last-ever LL at bat, a triple that should've been a fucking "Thanks Little League, it's been for reals!!" Home Run Finale send off, but I was held up at third base by D____ A____'s fucking father. Thanks, "Coach." Grrrrrrrrr.)
XMASTIME XTRA: some Little League advice for you young bucks out there stroking off to my musings (teen masturbation jokes: too soon?)
No comments:
Post a Comment