Making It Up As I Go Along #285

MONDAY...
— Work is alright. I’m actually on evenings with my new team. First time working with them since officially joining them. Next week I’ll be separated from them again but that’s fine. Back to regular shift at the start of October.
— Trevor, Jonathan and I get Thai food for supper. Good stuff... I’ll have to do it more often.
— Got lots of plates and stuff. Ruby and Lee gave it to Melissa to bring back to me. Completes my set with the plates and bowls and mugs. I tell ya, I’m almost all grown up now.
— No walk tonight. Too bad, I was geared to go tonight and, when I look out just before leaving, I see rain. Oh well. If it was lots of rain around here, I’d throw on the coat and go anyway. But it’ll likely be fine and dry tomorrow night, so I may as well delay.

TUESDAY...
— Very long day at work. Hours dragged on and on. It did it for everyone too... that was the comment at the end of the night.
— The switch back to regular shift is getting bumped up a week. I was originally going to do it October 1... now it’ll be September 24. It’s time... although I may have a hard time getting back to that sleep pattern.

WEDNESDAY...
— Work is better today speed wise. A fairly straight forward night on the whole... not much out of the ordinary.
— Exercise day... half hour bike ride in the morning and an hour long walk after work. Summer’s over... rather than cute bunny rabbits on the walk... I come across a rat. Good times.

THURSDAY...
— Busy day. Luncheon for our team... we do an Italian place on Elgin Street. Then work at 1:30. Share some birthday wishes with Laura... no cake though (sniff). Supper with Shannon (the girl at work rather than the guy from home)... and work a bit of extra time to build up a little in case I need it for future vacations and the like.
— No walk tonight. I planned to but had trouble switching the music on my MP3 player... and by the time it was all fixed and ready to go, it was too late. I’m going to be at work for 11:30 again tomorrow so I can’t be up all night.

FRIDAY...
— Busy day again. Staff BBQ for charity. Bad music by a band of people who work in other departments. Hang out with Melissa, Megan, Sheila, Laura, and Nick. I break the dunk tank... in a good way. Nail the target, drop the boss into the water, and break the target in the process. It looks good, people are into it, but I think the target was weak before I hit it cause I didn’t put a load into the throw.
— Go to the mess for a drink for Laura’s birthday (which was yesterday). Eight or so people there... all good ones in my books... and some good talking and laughs are had. I only stay an hour before going back to the office to keep working. I stay until 10:00 (even though I could have left by 7:30) in order to build some extra time.
— No walk tonight... it’s raining pretty heavy for much of the night.

SATURDAY...
— Quiet day around the house. Supposed to meet up with Melissa but she’s not feeling well and we put it off until next week. So I watch some movies and get some groceries.
— Hour and a half walk to end the night. It’s cool too... 5 or 6 degrees while on the walk.


The Pitch Heard ‘Round the World

The day starts like many others. Sun and warmth bring cheer to all. Afternoon thundershowers are forecast but they are not to be... the gods of baseball will not allow it.

Music and BBQ start the festivities. Hundreds gather on the grass and under the trees. Those seeking shade find it. Those wanting to bask in the suns stand around talking with cheer on their voices.

A stirring occurs. Crowds are drawn towards the dunk tank. Like a cathedral with the bell ringing atop its spire, it draws them in. Like an afternoon game in Fenway Park, when Fall is around the corner and playoff excitement builds, the people head to the site in a feverishly hypnotic state. It’s in the air... an historical moment is coming.

With hundreds lined around the tank to watch, dozens walk up to take their shots. Unknown staff members are dropped into the water with a mighty splash and rounds of applause.

Many potential throwers wait with tickets in hand. They plan to take their shot when the greatest attraction steps to the plate. Murmurs go through the crowd that the boss will take his turn in the dunk tank. Some even say he’ll do it in full police uniform. Sightings are reported with every passing minute. Hysteria builds as word is he’ll take his place within the tank at 1:00. Watches are checked and throwers squirm with anticipation.

As the clock ticks closer to the big showdown of boss versus employee, swaggering starts. Bold proclamations of pitching abilities run through the crowd.

The moment arrives and the boss does indeed enter the tank... and indeed in full uniform. Excited throwers run for the line, wanting their chance at putting him in his rightful place... beneath the waterline.

Great athletes bend to the pressure. Balls are tossed wildly and the boss remains dry. One of the people who proclaimed themselves to be a good pitcher walks to the mound and drops the boss on the second pitch. A few pitches later, excitement builds as the top half of the target’s circle is chopped off with the force of the throw. Nervousness grows as worry of the premature end of the competition builds. But it’s decided the target still works without this piece, and the throwing continues.

A friend leans over asking if I’ll join in the competition. Shy of the crowd and concern with my shoulder bring a shake of my head. Since I ended my playing days (some six years ago) my shoulder has never really rebounded. It pains me to put my right hand on back of my head and I still can’t often sleep on my right side. Loose crackling often accompanies any rotation of the joint. I joke that I’d need twenty minutes to warm up before I could legitimately throw a ball.

Still, others continue in the throwing process. Some loop balls in, missing by a fraction of an inch. Others drop the boss into the water with cheers of the crowd. And a friend goes up, misses on all three attempts, and comes back with a smile saying “well at least I gave it a shot.”

Those words spur me on. Would I regret standing back and thinking of what could have been? Can my shoulder take the effort without warm up? It’s time to step up to the plate... or... in this case... the mound.

I walk to the back of the line.

Nervously, I await my time. Not nerves of the throw to come but of the idea of being on display. What if I throw three balls into the dirt? What if I loop one beyond the backstop and into the bushes? I’ve spoken of my times playing ball but none of these people have ever seen those days... my image could be tarnished forever and all my co-workers will think I have no athleticism what-so-ever.

But it’s too late, I’m here and soon to throw. I feel the eyes watching me even before my turn arrives.

I stride up to the mound. “Come on Charlie” comes from the background. A familiar voice linking me to the cartoon character some lovingly tag me. In fact, it’s not until I write this story that I think of the irony of how Charlie Brown was in fact the pitcher on his little league team. And here I am, an infielder, taking the mound... I in fact am Charlie Brown.

But these thoughts don’t enter my mind. I take the three balls my money buys, Palm two of them in my left hand, and hold the third in my right. The boss calls out... “Be nice Chris.” I block his words out.

In my hand, the ball feels right. It’s like a missed friend. The nerves calm, the crowd disappears, and I go into an easy motion and release.

A few inches right of the target. Not an embarrassing first try.

I take the second ball into my hand and peer into my target. A flip on my fingers tosses the ball a few inches into the air and it drops back into my waiting hand with ease. It’s a move done without thought. Many ball players do it. To think of it, I suppose it’s done to simply get a feel for the ball and to relax the hand and arm. Tightness is the enemy of a pitcher, even as an infielder, I know that.

As the ball lands back within my grasp, I begin my windup. It’s all in slow motion within my mind’s eye. The slight tuck of the left hand, ball still grasped within it. The backward motion of the right arm. A pause as it reaches the right hip and the slight turn of the wrist. Then the release... having the weight shift from one leg to the other... bringing the arm around... clearing the left side first and then bringing around the right... shoulder... elbow... wrist... fingers. Feeling the ball as it escapes and heads towards target... and even the follow through as the right arm chases the left.

The ball hurtles towards the target and, as it goes, all is quiet... slow... at peace.

Life comes back to the moment on contact, a crashing crack of ball hitting target... dead centre. The target smashing from it’s foundation... the boss’s perch becoming unhinged... the boss dropping into the water as a white blur... the splash of the water spewing out onto the grass.

The white piece of target flutters into the air... the metal trigger pokes out at a new angle... and the boss picks the ball out of the water of his tank, and tosses it back at me with disgust.

Cheers go up from the crowd... laughter and applause mix into the warm sun of the day... and organizers of the event step up to the mangled piece of machinery for inspection.

With that throw, the day ends. The tank can go no further. Further applause... then some teasing as I sheepishly walk back out of the spotlight. “Way to go!” “You broke it!” “Now we have to go back to work!”

One of the pitchers gives me a high five. I see some smiles and approving smiles from others. And I walk back, out of the spotlight, reputation as an athlete in tact.

I stride away from the field of battle with admiration adorned upon me by friends and well wishers. In a short time I’ll receive an e-mail of congratulations and pride from those friends that prodded me into the event... but as I walk away, trying to maintain the perception of indifference. I hear another voice... this coming from within... the voice is that of... my shoulder.

“What the hell was that??? Are you trying to kill me???” A tingling from bicep to neck warns me to never do that again. And I walk on quietly, nodding thanks to others as I pass.