Knock It to the Weeds

I love Spring, minus the tornado season, of course. When the lights are on at the ballfield after dark and when I’m standing outside and can hear the “ping” of a ball on a bat, so many memories come to mind.

MUCH of my childhood was spent at a baseball park while my dad coached and my brother played. I generally spent my time digging in the dirt, eating nachos (some things never change) and occasionally, cheering for my brother’s team. When they played in Franklin at Jim Warren Park, I didn’t get to do much other than climb on the bleachers and sit with my mom, because the playground was too far away for my mom to be able to watch me.

My brother ALWAYS made the all-star team, which meant not only a regular season full of games, but several extra tournament games. Many of those I remember being played at Jim Warren Park. My brother mainly played shortstop and was a power hitter. After Pete Rose made the head-first slide so popular, my brother was the first kid I knew who added the same slide to his bag of tricks. So, I have to admit that it was always exciting to watch him if I absolutely had no other choice. My brother could hit the ball so hard and he hit several homeruns every year in the tournament games alone.

One year, in particular, there was a gentleman who became an avid fan of my brother’s team, and always cheered louder and more uniquely than most any other fan. I mainly remember the way he would cheer when my power-hitting brother would step up to the plate. His words were always, “KNOCK IT TO THE WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEDS!!!” Since that time, and I was probably 6 years old then, every time I went to a baseball game and my brother would step up to the plate, I would hear in my mind that same man telling my brother in his own fashion, to hit the ball out of the park.

Since my dad coached, my mom kept score and my brother played baseball, it seemed only fitting that I would play softball as soon as I was old enough. I played for a while, but as many know, basketball was my sport of choice. However, my dad taught me how to field, catch, and hit the ball. I played for a few years in the Rec League and our small church in Nolensville even had a team in a coed league for a few years.

A few weeks ago, someone asked me if I wanted to sign up to play coed softball. I quickly agreed and signed my name! I haven’t played in 10+ years, so it sounded fun! I brushed off my glove on Monday and showed up for a practice. I met our coaches and they asked another gal to throw and warm up with me. Then, we took batting practice, ladies first. Since I was the last girl there and had missed practice on Saturday, I batted last.

When it was my turn, I made my way toward the collection of bats leaning against the backstop. The head coach talked me through all the bats giving me a few pointers on how to choose the right bat. After looking for a few minutes, I told the coach, “I like blue, so I think I will go with this one.” So, I took my blue bat and headed to the plate. The coach really didn’t know anything about any experience I might have. With the exception of a few people who know that I am a very loud basketball coach, most others know me as the girls’ mom, a piano teacher and a cute dress and heels kind of girl. Since I verbally chose my bat based on color (I did mindfully take note of the bat weight and swing it a time or two) that my round of batting practice would be interesting to say the least.

The coach had been instructing the other girls on which pitches were good, and those that were not so good. He began to follow suit with me and I did listen intently. I choked up on my bat and stood up to my lefty side of the plate. The pitcher delivered the first pitch and it was almost as if there were a familiar fan cheering in my mind…I sent the ball deep into centerfield over the outfielder’s head…yes, I “KNOCKED IT TO THE WEEDS!” When my round of batting practice was finished, the assistant coach looked at me and said, “You’ve played before, huh?” I humbly replied, “A little.”

I do love to hear the "ping" of the ball off the bat...maybe I'll buy my own bat...I think I will choose pink. Imagine how close the outfielders on other teams will scoot in when they see me walking up to the plate with my girly bat. Oh, and by the way, I'm not afraid to slide head-first, either. :)