For a Minute There I Lost Myself--Part I

In keeping with my tradition of showing up severely hung over—the team’s superstition is that I play better that way (“better” being relative, of course)—I made the trip on Sunday morning to watch my Sunday morning, over-25 baseball team play in the championship. It was the fourth consecutive year we (they) have made the championship game. And for the third straight season they (we) lost.

But even though I didn’t play—my wrist injury limited me to four games on the season—there wasn’t a better way to spend a Sunday morning: outside, under the sun and, oh yeah, awake. Beats sleeping off a hangover. And between the jokes on the bench (shit, I can’t remember the remarkable 80’s player referenced), our shortstop coming a double short of the cycle (he only had three at-bats), our first basemen’s perfect bunt down the third baseline that hit the base, the left fielder’s still breathing heavily an inning after he scored on a double from first; and even though the comeback came up short (they cut a 5-0 1st inning deficit to a 7-5 loss), by the end of the game I was reminded just how enjoyable the nothingness of a game can be.

And at that moment, my day could have been complete.