This past weekend I had the privilege of reuniting, on the field of dreams, with one of my oldest friends on planet earth. Back in the day, he and I were the greatest double play combination that ever graced the fields of the Dapper Dan Little League. Now, some 40 years later, there we were back on the field to play once again.
As we took the field, I couldn't help but notice that the field seemed much smaller now. As we stood in the infield to field some grounders, we reminisced about some of our teammates and some of the highlights from our glory days. And then the game began...
Forty years ago, I had the range, at shortstop, of Mark Belanger, however, on this night, I seemed to only be able to muster the range of a hippopotamus, so I opted to play first base. My buddy, Tim, decided to play center field, I think secretly hoping that nobody had the strength or skill to hit the ball that far. As the game progressed, it was easy to see that baseball is still a young man's game, and that while I had the eye and the strength to still hit the ball to the deepest part of the park, my legs no longer possessed the strength or the will to run above a slow limp.
Between innings, we guzzled water and I secretly downed Advil like it was a performance enhancing drug. Toward the later innings I prayed that once I got on base that the guy batting behind me would hit the ball over the fence, so that I didn't have to exert too much energy to run around the bases. In the last inning, my buddy, Tim, made a catch that can only be explained by the fact that he must have channeled the spirit of Roberto Clemente. One of the behemoths on the other team hit a pitch to the left-center field corner of the park and Tim made this Clemente style over-the-shoulder catch that would have brought the Dapper Dan White Sox fans to their feet back in the day. As we came off the field, we embraced one another one last time and then, in unison said, "Boy, are we gonna be sore tomorrow." And we were...
Be well.
Bill
