I am going to give you all, beloved readers, a slice of the life of a starving writer. I was lying in bed last night thinking of all the ways I had failed in life - failed at relationships, jobs, writing, you name it. I was racking my brain for a single thing in my life I had ever done well. Do you know what came to mind? A catch. A really sweet catch.
So, here I am - a twenty-something struggling to make ends meet in a world that does not celebrate history/English lit. liberal arts graduates. And the one moment of personal glory I can claim without hesitation is an epic catch I made on the softball field over a decade ago. As I write this, I am remembering a dozen or so other examples of great plays I made on that field. Like that sweet grounder I hit into left field, right past the short stop. Or that time I got a huge strawberry sliding into third. Or the time I lobbed it from third to first, making an amazing double play.
Baseball teaches youngsters a plethera of lessons. Baseball teaches kids how to work together as a team. It teaches how hard work leads to success. Success in baseball is always based on merit, and the rewards are immediate. A good play gets cheers from teamates, the coaches, your parents, everyone in the stands. Baseball crosses socio-economic class boundaries - kids playing stickball on the backstreets of the inner city get just as much thrill out of a home run as any major-league hitter.