Monday Memoirs: Peanut Saves the Day

With my son starting t-ball practice this week, I can't help but reiminsce on the good old days of competitive softball.

I played on the Smash Hits and the Lady Express. I was always small and quick, but never batted clean up. From an early age I had noodly arms, so I relied on my quick feet for base-running.

Over the years, I developed an ability to place hit which kept me in the top of the line-up at least. I'll never forget District tournament one year when the stars aligned and I got to be hero of the game.

We were in a battle with this team (I forget who) and we were fighting our way out of the loser's bracket. For one reason or another, I was playing catcher (not typical as I am a second-baseman by trade) but my guess is we needed someone willing to take some hits to guard the plate and I wouldn't back down from a freight train if it meant winning the game.

And I proved that during this game because a truck of a woman saw me as fresh meat. She kept running full steam at me even though I had the ball and was guarding the plate. Her plan?

Knock me over and make me lose the ball.

My goal?

To not do that.

She plowed into me and we both tumbled and rolled.

When the dust settled and I was spitting a mouthful of dirt out on the ground, I reached into my glove to show the umpire that even though I tumbled like a weed in an old western movie, I didn't let go of the ball.

Bitch was OUT!

Had she scored, they would have been one run up on us. In overtime.

But as it stood then, we were tied.

When two outs were up on us at bat, it was my turn to take the plate.

Apparently, I had a shit-eating grin on my face the whole time. We had a runner on third and the right fielder was basically in center field. This was my chance to take this team out!

The first pitch I got, I swung hard, never erasing the smile off of my face.

When the ball landed in right field, it drew foul line chalk. The stands erupted in screams! The fence was rattling from all of my teammates and parents jumping on to the fences cheering!

And that poor right fielder's ass was just hustling trying to catch up with the ball!

As I rounded third, everyone was chanting, "PEANUT! PEANUT! PEANUT!"

I scored the winning runs for that game before the ball ever made it back to the infield.

I felt like a hero. Our team had fought so hard that tournament and I was able to help keep us alive for one more game.

I'll never forget that feeling. Especially since that was my last year to play before fast-pitch softball took over. Sure it was still fun, but it'll never take the place of the action in slow-pitched softball.