The quintessential second baseman glanced over to second base to hold the runner. At the plate, the batter was ready. You could see the malevolence in the eyes of the middle-aged, paunch-ridden, ne’er-do-well who was attempting to end our season in defeat. I snuck a look over to the runner at second, every fibre of my being focused, like a cat on a hot tin infield. This was it! The time was now!
Their runner was poised to head around third and into home with the winning run. But, after a season of suffering and struggling, we were finally on the cusp of winning the title. If we got this miscreant out, we would win it all . . but a single by paunchy would mean we would sink down into the muck of second place, with all the other losers.
Yes, there was a time when I thought winning the title was everything, so I communed, meditated and trained every year with the expectation of running the table, winning all the marbles, winning one for the proverbial Gipper. . but, oh, the ignominy of losing.
A crack of the bat sent a bounding ball toward the irreverent, but brash, second baseman, who, with a stab of a well-worn glove, prevented the ball from hitting him in the chest. Self-defense at its best! Two birds with one stone . . but only if I could throw it to first, which I did with the most limp-wristed throw of my adult life. Zut alors, we won the pennant!
Now I only mention this because I am now more evolved. Winning isn’t everything. Really, winning is being able to play the game and participate . . . .
.02 🙂 !