Spatter

People In Motion

After a week of hiding from the sun...from the world, actually...I paid a visit to a local park.  It was a perfect type of day to spend outside and evidently I wasn't the only one who thought so.  

There were cricket players... 

soccer players...

casural roller bladers...

and more aggressive ones...

 and then, there were the skateboarders. 

The only places that were idle were the baseball diamonds.  Nary a one was being used.  It seemed sort of sad to this ex-softball player.

Even so, it was great to see all the action.  Good times on the cheap!

Flashback Friday - National Champion

I'm feeling more like myself today...I've gained half my lost weight back, can tolerate more eye use, and am generally less apt to get nauseated...unless I watch the news, that is!  So, I thought I'd give posting a go with this flashback...one that seems timely given that it's the playoff season for professional baseball... 

I think I played ball almost before I could walk.  Well, that's a bit overstated, but certainly did before I could ride a bike.  My older brother needed someone to play catch with and I just took to it.  I  happened to be a natural and I was soon his secret weapon when we'd play street ball with other kids who didn't know us.  You see,  usually there were always a few kids considered to be weak links and each captain had to get one.  Being a girl, it was assumed that I was one of them, but knowing better, my brother would  snatch me up quickly and leave the boy who couldn't play worth a toot to the other captain.  Jaws would drop when they realized how well I could play. 

By the time I was in 5th grade, I was also playing softball in a  neighborhood league...a girls league, of course...back then, it was the only option.  Third base came to be my preferred position.  It's known as the "hot box" where  your reaction time needs to be quick and your throwing arm needs to be strong.  I loved it. 

I loved playing ball.  I couldn't get enough of it.  It was empowering and so much more exciting than dolls. 

My love of the sport continued during high school years.  I found my way to a county-wide league and joined a team called Georgette's Poodle Salon...a bit prissy sounding...but since it was the name of the sponsor's business, there wasn't much we could do about it.  Fortunately, it wasn't long before somebody talked the owner into allowing the name to be changed to the Ft. Lauderdale Gators. At any rate,  our team was part of the local league, but it  was also part of a state league and we'd  get to travel around the state to play other teams.  I felt like a pro...our expenses were mostly paid for by the sponsor.  Pretty cool.

My Mom and Gramp were my biggest fans and it was a nice coincidence for us all that  my uniform color was sort of Dodger blue!

Incredibly, this is the only photo I have of my softball days...not sure how that happened, but it is what it is.

In 1970...or was it 1972...our team went to the state championship tournament in Gainesville, Florida.  We were good, but still came into the event as underdogs.  The favored teams were the Miami Dots and the Satellite Beach Comets.  As fate would have it, we had our game with us that week...along with lots of heart. We played like champs and so, became the champs.

It wasn't without mishap though.  In one of the final games, a girl slid into me as I tried to tag her out.  She came in with her spikes up and sliced my kneecap open.  After hopping around for a few minutes, I collapsed and was taken to the University of Florida Medical Center where I got twenty stitches in a nice "L" shape.  The ER was so busy that my Mom ended up helping the doctor who stitched me up.

It was now on to the Nationals.  Of course, my injury would prevent me from playing.  I could only root from the bench.  And to add insult to injury,  my coach drafted the very girl who spiked me to play in my stead.  I have to admit though, she was good and was a worthy replacement.  Still, you can imagine how hard it was for me not to be out there playing! 

Incredibly, our team ended up winning.  We were National Champions. There was no Ed Sullivan appearance...but that didn't detract from the thrill of it all.  I kept the windbreaker with the big ole patch for years and years. 

I did go on and play in college, but after that I hung up my glove.   I had gotten out with all my teeth and only one scar...I didn't want to push my luck.!   



Post Note
A sad footnote to this story:  the girl who spiked and replaced me was in an auto accident a few years after.  She survived but was thereafter a paraplegic. 

Flashback Friday - Club Champion

I took up golf when I met Judy in 1984. Being an athlete of some sport all my life, that I would want to take up the game didn't surprise me.  What surprised me was how danged hard a game it was to master.  Did I say master? I don't think you ever do.
 

I became a decent player rather quickly...especially given the fact that I didn't have much time to play or practice.  For those of you who know the game, at one point I was an 8 handicap. Generally though I stayed in the 11-13 range. 

But I was never the champion that Judy was and I never quite was able to best her in our club's championship.  That is until 2002.  That year the heavens parted and I did.
 

The tournament had three rounds and I was in the lead going into the last.  I played the front nine flawlessly...in the zone, as they say.  Starting the back nine I had several strokes to spare, but as it came to mind that I could actually win this thing, the body stiffened and the swing started to fail.  Tension begat more tension and well, you know how it goes.  When the "bleeding" was about out of control, I landed in a green-side bunker.  At the time, my coming out of a bunker was at best a 50-50 proposition.  If I didn't make this shot, I could kiss my tournament good-bye.  I did and it gave me enough positive thought to right myself to the point of hanging on to my lead...by a hair.

Our group got the 18th hole.  All I had to do is par the hole and hope nobody made a birdie and I'd win.  Not so fast.  My tee shot was shanked.  I had to waste a shot to pitch out. Meanwhile, Judy had gone in the water and the other player was in the middle of the fairway.  I had to stiff the pin and sink the putt.  That was my only chance.  I stepped up to the ball and lo and behold hit the prettiest iron shot into the green that I'd ever hit.  Well, I guess I had hit others, but this felt the prettiest!   My competitor hit a good shot too, but her putt was longer. She missed...I made...I won. 

 

That's a photo of us playing in Prince Edward Island back in 2000.  I just realized I have no photos of my big day save the one on the plaque I got and that's back in Florida.  Incredible.  Ce la vie.

My high didn't last too long.  Later that same year (2002) I hurt my shoulder while playing in a tournament in Alabama.  It was cold and the course was long.  I hadn't realized it at the time, but it worked itself into some major hurt.  By year's end I could barely recognize my game.  The shoulder nor the game ever fully returned to what they were and since then golf has taken a backseat to other interests...like photography!

At The Old Ballgame

Take me out to the ball game,
Take me out on the town;
Buy me some peanuts and Cracker Jacks,
I don't care if I never get back.
Let me root, root, root for the home team,
If they don't win, it's a shame.
For it's one, two, three strikes, you're out,
At the old ball game

Norwith/Von Tilzer

Here I am at the entrance to Dodgertown wearing Dodger blue.  It felt good to be back.  Of course, it had had some modernizing done since my last visit, but all in all it was still the "ball park" I remember..not some monolith of a stadium as the sign suggests.  Perhaps that's why they're leaving?

It was a perfect day for a ballgame: sunny and warm. We had our hot dogs, peanuts and soda...we were ready! It didn't even matter that our seats ended up being a bit farther down the first base line than what I thought when I bought them.  Here's our view of home plate:

The national anthem played and the game started. There was a quick little "oops" where the Cardinals knocked one out of the park, but before long, the Dodgers' bats got hot.      

They regained the lead and then some.  Then the game settled into the middle innings with not much happening. Kids studied the programs and old timers kept statistics. My Gramp used to keep statistics. Every hit, every error, every run was penciled into a chart and later studied.  I was amused to see someone still doing it.

I took this time to find some seats that had been abandoned right behind the dugout. We were now "in the game", but it might have been bad luck.

In the 8th inning, the wheels came off.  Despite all my rooting, the Dodgers blew their lead and lost. "A shame", as the song says, that the home team lost, but perhaps it was fitting: they lived up to their nickname: "Bums".

Game over. Now it's done. A tradition ended. Time to go home. Time to leave Dodgertown forever.