Despite unseasonably chilly weather, I finally got to play in a softball game this season. Back in the modified league in Springfield, we won. I don't even know what the final score was; I was ready to play another few innings. The end came too quickly. I played right center, went 1-3 and scored a run. It felt good to run around, jog out to the outfield at each half inning, jog back in after our pitcher devoured the opposition. The one ball that came my way landed safely in my glove. One run, one hit, no errors.
I've had a sense lately that my days of playing are coming to an end. I'm physically able, and I still enjoy it. My competition level isn't where it used to be, but I think it's a deeper matter than that. I have other priorities. When I was 12 I never would have said something like that -- not when it came to baseball. I'm not 12 anymore. If I'd had the ability to play in the major leagues like I dreamed when I was young, I'd probably be starting to think about my career after playing. I'd be interested in managing a team; I was a catcher, it's what catchers do. I'd start in the minors, claw up the standings to win a championship, and prepare myself for the shot in the show.
Fantasies are fun, but my reality isn't baseball. My dreams now are focused on this novel of mine and the ones I have in my head waiting to be written. But for now, my reality includes a full-time job and playing softball when my schedule allows. I'll enjoy this while I can.
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