I don't want to talk about it...
Every two or three years, I have a Buckner moment. Why it involves baseball, I will never know, but if you ask a fan of baseball what a Buckner moment is, or if they have a Buckner moment they don't mind sharing in public without crumpling to the floor, assuming the fetal position, and crying, that person will say "Yes".
Well, I had mine today. I was half decent at the plate batting right-handed, however I wasn't getting elevation on the pitches that I would like. I did like how I fared in practice batting left-handed. When it was my turn to bat in the last inning, with one out, I chose to bat left-handed. I bat on the other side of the plate before with higher than moderate success. That year, I bat left-handed twice and reached successfully on both attempts, so my teammates knew I could switch hit.
Three different pitches, three wacky swings, one foul tip, and an at-bat ending in a strikeout. We went on to lose the game by one run (again). If I decide not to be stupid, and hit the right way from the right side of the plate, and hit the ball right in the open area or behind the fielders and into the grassy knoll behind the fence, then we tie the game and put us in position to win our first game. I didn't do that though, because instead I did something 'daring', something 'gutsy', and something STUPID.
No one wanted to talk to me after the game; I get that. What remains to be said is what they will think the next time I play, whether it is in the field or in the batter's box. I can't be trusted, I can't deliver, and I can't be called upon in the clutch. I cost my team it's first win of the season. I'm sorry; I don't think you heard that: Our FIRST WIN of the SEASON!
I didn't cry, thank goodness, yet I wasn't the first to leave the field either. As I left, a dude from the other team, who was walking behind me, thought I was going to impale a neighbouring trashcan with the two bats I held in my grip. Eventually, after driving at a ridiculous slow pace, I got home; I don't talk about my games with my parents, but Momzo makes it a point of trying to get under my skin and prod me until I give her an answer. Dad can tell when I had a bad game; I don't invite him to watch my games anymore (if you read the previous blog post, you may now a little bit as to why), nevertheless my body language is a good indicator that I'm not in the mood to talk -_-
I had my chocolate milk within thirty minutes of the game, which is nice as it builds up the proteins, and a shower. An Internet Troll said to me, "Diet Pepsi in the Shower!", so I decided to do it. Hooray for Internet Trolls...they tell it like it is...almost o_O
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