Gettin' back to my roots

I haven’t mentioned my playing days too much on this blog, one because you don’t care and two because well, I don’t like to toot my own horn. There will be plenty of time for that when I’m livin in a van down by the river.

I had a pretty remarkable and over-achieved career. I played with and against so many great athletes I still can’t believe their own talents or how good I actually was.

Now the extent of my baseball career pretty much begins with picking up that old tired mitt in the garage, and throwing the softball or baseball with the wifey and ends with watching guys I played against or with in the Major Leagues, like Matt DeSalvo, Josh Sharpless, and a few others.

I guess I’ve got some pretty good stories from my playing days, that any good fan of the game would enjoy. Every now and then I might have to tell one, just for old times sake.

Tonight I’m headed to the park with the fiance, to throw the softball around with her. She’s pretty good-definitely does not throw like a girl. I always knew the woman I’d marry wouldn’t throw like a girl. Nothing is worse than watching that. The last time I threw a baseball for an extended period of time, I woke up the next day feeling like I’d thrown 9 innings of Ryan Express fastballs. It just goes to show me I’m no spring chicken anymore, and along with that, I’m completely done. My arm has gone through so many days and seasons of wear and tear that even if a team was out of their mind, and offered me a big league contract, I physically probably couldn’t do it.

Still every once in a while; it feels great to ‘dust off the gun’ and let it rip. Even if it sores the next day.