I was reading the news, and found this article about a major league player getting hit in the face with a fastball. Usually, such things aren't experienced by most people, but I can relate to the event.
I was little fart, when I played little league. The put me in the outfield because I couldn't run real fast, wasn't a natural player and they had to do something with me.
I remember we were playing the best team of our league. They had this badass pitcher that not only threw a mean fastball, it was out of control enough to keep you on your toes.
I was at bat, and he threw a strike. The next pitch was a ball; so was the next. I was thinking: "I'm either fixing to get really lucky, or he's going to strike me out.
He wound up, threw and the next thing I knew, a crowd was standing over me and I was laying on the ground. His last pitch caught me at the temple, and would have crushed my skull, if I hadn't been wearing a batting helmet.
After enough time passed for everyone to realize I wasn't dead, the stars cleared a little and I confirmed I could make it to first base without assistance, the game proceeded.
I don't remember anything else about that game, except how much it hurts to get hit in the head by a fastball. Such memories are best left where they started, yet there's always something that comes up that brings them around.
In Case You've Wondered
My blog is where my wandering thoughts are interspersed with stuff I made up. So, if while reading you find yourself confused about the context, don't feel alone. I get confused, too.
If you're here for the stories, I started another blog: scratchingforchange.blogspot.com
One other thing: sometimes I write words you refuse to use in front of children, or polite company, unless you have a flat tire, or hit your thumb with a hammer.
I don't use them to offend; I use them to embellish.