“I'd rather save a home run than hit one. I've always been like that. Defense is what I pride myself on."
A few weeks ago I’m playing center field, my position of choice, in my city softball league. I’m still trying to prove myself as an undersized kid who doesn’t hit with a lot of pop, so I gotta’ get it done in the field. So there I am, when a ball is squeezed through the hole between second and shortstop. As I charge, I hear yells from my teammates that the guy is going for two.
NOT IN MY HOUSE
I come up throwing. It’s a laser to second, right where I want it, the guy is toast. GONE. GO HOME.
My team picked me up off of the league message board. I’d never met them. I was a bit nervous. In my first game it showed. I was rusty. I misplayed a couple fly balls. I had started in Left-Center, and I ended up in right. I promised that I was usually better than this. But words would do no good. I’d have to prove it.
I played right the next game, and no balls were hit to me. The third game we were short people, so I was put back in left-center. I had a good game, snagging a few fly balls.
Two days ago, Tuesday night, we had another game. I’m back in left-center. I’d proven that I was a decent outfielder, catching the balls that I should catch, and even a couple tough ones.
Another ball is hit on the ground, it’s got eyes and it finds its way onto the grass in the outfield. I charge in again, and seconds before I grab it, I hear from the guys that we’ve got a guy going for third.
Again I come up throwing, firing a missile that hits the third baseman in the chest. The tag gets down. TAKE A SEAT, MUCHACHO!
It’s all becoming routine. At the end of the game my teammate tells me: “Man, that first game you really struggled out there in the outfield…but now your just makin’ it look easy!”
Not to mention my bat came alive that game, with a 2-run triple.
Watch yo back, Mr Hunter. Watch yo back.