Some doctors told me I’d never play again.
Others told me that the best-case scenario was very limited action after a long recovery period.
After several surgeries to repair torn ligaments, resulting from separating my left shoulder four times in three years, my odds of returning to competitive sports weren’t great. It was a sad reality to know that something so integral to my being since I was five years old was no longer going to be an option in my life.
OK, the only true part of that is the separated shoulder (no torn ligaments, no long recovery period and, as of yet, no surgery) and my one and only doctor told me I can play whatever I want if it feels all right.
After all, my shoulder problems stem from poor form on the Slip ‘N Slide.
But at least I’ve got your attention.
On Aug. 11, I received a phone call from Rocky View Weekly photographer Covy Moore saying that his slo-pitch team, The Sinners, needed an extra player for a double-header that evening. Without hesitation, I said ‘yes.’
I was told the game was at 6 p.m., when it was actually at 5:45, so I was 10 minutes late and received my first fill-in assignment: scorekeeping on centre bench. I didn’t mind though, as the threatening rain clouds avoided the field completely and the beer stand was only 15 metres away.
The first three innings went by without much production on our side and The Sinners faced a sizeable deficit.
Then I got the call to go play third base for the top of the fourth. I didn’t have to make one play, so that eased the transition from bench to field. Then the bottom half came up and I’ll admit I was a tad bit nervous during my first at bat.
It had been about four years since I’d even swung a bat at slo-pitch, and I haven’t played a real competitive baseball game since the weekend that The Blair Witch Project took over top spot at the box office from American Pie in the summer of 1999.
I was never a patient hitter during my 12 years of competitive baseball and used to almost always swing at the first pitch. This time, I told myself, it had to be different.
Forget about the added pressure of entering the middle of the game when your team is behind.
Forget about the two base runners looking to you to knock them in. Forget that your 1997-model Nike cleats you purchased in Grade 10 are pinching against your toes and halting circulation.
It’s just beer league slo-pitch and you’re a fill-in player for a team looking to have fun.
First pitch came and it was easily the best one I ended up seeing all night. But I somehow resisted swinging at it, because I just had to get the feel of being in the batter’s box again and couldn’t possibly face the inner anguish of anything except getting a solid hit.
Second pitch was short. Confidence started to come back and over-confidence started creeping in.
I started to scour the field looking for gaps in the defence, instead of just focusing on getting a hit.
Third pitch came in and my eyes lit up. Then contact between bat and ball was made and I was able to breathe a little easier.
It hit the hole between the third baseman and the shortstop and drove in a run. Even if that ended up being the only hit I got all night, at least I didn’t embarrass myself in the first at bat.
It was a good time all around – and my shoulder stayed in place.
