Banjo Hitter #4 – The Softballs are Blooming Again

The old captain at third base during a practice this spring

Greetings, friends! It’s been a while since I’ve posted, & before we get back into the usual run of poetry & music, I thought I’d bring you up to date on what’s going on in my world.

First, the Portland spring has come even earlier than usual. Typically the camellias & magnolias start blooming in mid to late February, with the cherries starting to come on in early March. Everything has been pushed up a couple of weeks this year, & it’s been great to enjoy all the blossoms as well as the unusual amount of sunshine & unusually warm temperatures. Yesterday the mercury almost rose to 80 degrees!

That said, it was a challenging winter physically. I suffered a bout of food poisoning during the holidays, & then came down with a nasty chest cold in early February. Since my lungs are already compromised by Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency, it took me a long time to shake that, & indeed, today may be the first day I’ve felt completely back to normal.

But this only relates to the blog’s title by virtue of the fact that my softball team, the Underhanded Compliments, started practicing on February 15th, just a couple of days after I took sick, & I somehow managed to make it to the field every weekend—in fact, on both Saturday & Sunday the last couple of weeks!

Nothing says spring to me like the advent of softball & baseball. Standing on the infield dirt taking ground balls or taking swings on a real diamond as opposed to an indoor batting cage facility—these are as much the signs of spring for me as the cherry blossoms & the trill of the songbirds. While some friends have suggested that I might have been better served on at least a couple of those weekends by curling up on the couch with a book rather than being at the field, it really lifted my spirits to be out there.

The Underhanded Compliments will be starting their second year. For those who haven’t kept up with the softball news, it’s the team I captain (I also participate in an over-50 men’s league in the summer.) On this team, I’m the old man—probably a good 20 years older than the next oldest member of the team, & close to 35 years older than the youngest members. It’s a great group of folks, & I really feel it’s a privilege to be able to administer, manage & coach the team. & I also feel fortunate that I can still make positive contributions on the field—last year I did chip in with a .500 batting average over three seasons (spring, summer & fall.)

But mostly…well, you tell them about it, Jimmy:

Photos of the Month – August 2014 (Guys & Gals of Summer Edition)

A shot from the bleachers at Erv Lind field as the Giants & A's square off in a BoomerPDX game

Something a bit different with photos of the month this time around. First, not all of the photos were taken by me; second, not all of the photos were taken this past month; & third, even those that were taken by me don’t fit the usual criterion of being the “best” photos I took in the month. But they do illustrate very much what my August has been about—& indeed, my spring & summer in general.

The 2013 D'Backs team photo - however the 2014 team had the same players

As you’re aware if you know me at all or follow the blog closely, I started playing softball again last year after an 11 or 12-year layoff & despite dealing with a respiratory condition with the 50-cent name of Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency. Last year I played in an over-50 men’s league in the summer, & then joined a regular adult co-ed league in the fall. Needless to say I was the oldest player on that latter team! This spring I entered another adult co-ed league, & that team—which had some players from the fall team—has coalesced into a wonderful group that has continued to play not only in spring, but also summer weeknights & will continue into the fall. In fact, we finished an undefeated summer season by securing the league championship.

The Underhanded Compliments on opening evening of the Summer League (14 of 15 players)

Underhanded Compliments, League Champs 2014 - such a hot evening! I was as tired as I look!

I also came back to the same team in the over-50 league, & while we went somewhat to the opposite extreme (2 wins, 10 losses), it still was fun. Despite my physical issues, I played every inning of the 11 games I was able to make at third base, & acquitted myself respectably in the field. We played our last game this past Sunday (a 12 to 4 loss).

A Giants hitter squares off against the A's pitcher. We had some roster issues this summer, so the Giants had to supply a catcher in this game to give the A's a full squad.

Seconds before a home run - this A's hitter took this pitch well over the left field fence!

Of course there are serious logistical problems with taking photos while one is actually playing, so the photos from the over-50 league are from the first game of the weekly doubleheader—there are only four teams in the BoomerPDX league. We get to play in a small stadium—Erv Lind field (part of Normandale Park), which is also where the Portland State Women’s fast pitch team plays.

The Entrance to Erv Lind Stadium

Otherwise, there are various team photos to “flesh things out,” as it were, as well as a photo of Irving Park, where the co-ed team plays.

Irving Park - the scene of spring, summer & fall softball adventures

I can’t stress often enough how grateful I am to still be playing softball on the eve of my 58th birthday. It’s not that I was ever an outstanding player—average in my prime, I certainly have lost speed, stamina, reflexes & so forth over time. But I think I somewhat compensate for these deficiencies by just being more relaxed about everything (as I’ve mentioned before in other softball-related posts.) & gratitude does help keep things in perspective!

I happily serve as team captain for my co-ed team, & on the night of our championship, they gave me this baseball shirt. I was so touched by this gesture!

Hope you enjoy this little album.

Who'd a thunk it?

Banjo Hitter #2 – The Boys of Summer

Sunday July 20th, Erv Lind Field, Portland: One thing I’m particular about—I have to get there early. Our game—the second of the usual Boomer PDX League Sunday doubleheader—doesn’t start until 1:45, but I’m already taking a seat in the stands by the first pitch of game one. & there’s already a rhubarb about line-ups before the first pitch is thrown, but then order is restored & the first pitch makes its way toward home, only to be greeted squarely by a bat & lined into left field. I remember one of the umpires remarking last season about how the players were all over 50, but they argued as much as little leaguers. The boys of summer.

It’s crucial to relax in the surroundings—to get into that timeless feel that playing either baseball or softball can impart. Not so much as a spectator, though even then time is altered. But once the first game ends & ours is underway, time really becomes altered. It’s not even a question of minutes or the time of day—it’s easy to lose track of innings or the exact score—the focus is on how many outs & where the base runners are & where are we in the batting order.

A cool day for July—overcast, a bit muggy. We take the field first, give up three runs, take our turn at bat & fail to answer. Back to our positions, & they are back to hitting the ball hard to the outfield. Those long innings in the field, a combination of miscues & base hits, bring time back into the game. The sun comes out—then back behind a cloud. Focus. Am I too close to the line? I need to go to second if the ball is hit to me…

Of course, viewed objectively we are a ragtag lot. Some of us were good players when younger, though I can’t count myself among those. There are men who played college baseball some 35 or more years ago, & you can tell the athletes, even at this age. There’s an 80-year-old man on the opposing team who was a college ballplayer once. His first at bat he lines a base hit to left; his final at bat he lines a ball right at me, but low, & I have to drop to my knees to make the catch on the fly.

A friend tells me that her father, a Scotsman who immigrated to Canada’s maritime provinces, believes baseball is a children’s game—football (in the world sense, not the U.S. sense) is the only real sport. I wonder what he would make of slow-pitch softball, baseball’s congenial & easygoing sibling, especially when played by such grandfatherly or at the very least, avuncular types as present company.

In truth, it’s not a good game for my team—the final score is 19 to 6, & that included 3 runs we scored in the final inning. We fell behind early, a combination of our opponents’ solid hitting (including back-to-back homers over the left field fence in the middle innings, some misplays in the field & our own weak, over-anxious hitting. In terms of personal performance, I’m satisfied: two singles & a walk in four plate appearances. But I can see the pitch in that fourth time up coming in, probably a bit outside, the thoughts of hitting to right field & at the last micro-second realizing I was swinging under it. A weak pop fly to first base.

It’s taken me 50 years, but at last I feel comfortable with myself playing, at least more often than not. I play third base in this league, & enjoy it. The first ball hit to me—to my left, the glove side, & well struck, hugging the ground. I pick it & throw to second for the force. The second ball very like the first until at the last second it hits something on its track toward my glove & shoots upward, glancing off my left shoulder & somehow landing on my right. By the time I get a handle on the ball, there’s no play.

For years, sports were a locus of frustration for me. I was never especially athletic—much to my chagrin. More specifically in baseball & softball, a weakly hit ball, an error in the field became a stinging & bitter distillation of failure—of all failures, real & perceived. Failure was a companion I always had beside me, ready to assert itself—ready to remind me. But coming back to the game I loved in my late 50s, something seems to have happened. What is it?

The boys of summer. How much have any of us really changed in the 50 or 60 or 70 years since we first took up playing ball? How many times have we failed in the interim? At work, in relationships, undergoing all manner of disappointment & cognitive dissonance. What I seem to remember more often now: we all fail; we all take it to heart—& we are the boys of summer only in our imaginations, not in our bodies. We exist with memory & expectation & the realities of slower reflexes & bifocals.

But enough about failure & aging. Because even softball can be timeless on the field. Kenneth Patchen has a picture poem that states, “All at once is what eternity is.” The boyhood of summer isn’t about re-capturing a mythical moment in the past—it’s not about time travel—because, at least for me, that never happened. It’s all about now—the gratitude & exuberance of being in this moment, on this softball diamond, win or lose, succeed or fail. Perhaps I really do belong in this eternity.

Banjo Hitter (AKA my life in baseball & softball) #1

Banjo Hitter:  A batter who lacks power. A banjo hitter usually hits bloop singles, often just past the infield dirt, and would have a low slugging percentage. The name is said to come from the twanging sound of the bat at contact, like that of a banjo. See also Punch and Judy hitter. [Wikipedia]

How does a 57-year-old man (whose athletic abilities were even in his prime modest in the extreme) still find himself playing three seasons of softball a year, including some with players young enough to be his children? A question I ask myself from time-to-time—not with any intention of giving up this pursuit, mind you. & because I ask myself this question in private, I’m going to ask it & attempt to answer it here in the relatively public space of a blog. But it’s a long answer & will, like a baseball or softball season, amble along throughout the summer.

One important fact is I really shouldn’t be playing softball at all. It’s not that softball is transgressive or that my doctor disapproves (in fact he approves wholeheartedly, as I’ll explain). In 2001, I was diagnosed with COPD & following my first pulmonary function test, I was credited with a whopping 35% lung capacity. In 2002, the diagnosis became more precise: I have a condition known as Alpha-1 antitrypsin deficiency.

At the time I was diagnosed, I was in fact playing softball. In fact, it was a softball practice that led to my going to the doctor. I was living in Idaho, at a relatively high elevation (3,000 feet, though the league games were played at a mile high); it was May & a cool breezy Sunday evening. I kept losing my breath during batting practice & realized there was something very wrong. Although I’d quit smoking five years prior in 1996 on my 40th birthday, I’d contracted a serious flu the previous winter & knew I was having problems bouncing back.

I played softball that year & the next, & then stopped. It was a big mistake in retrospect, but I decided it was more than I could handle. Of course at the time I believed I needed to play every inning, make every play & run out every ground ball full bore—an all or nothing approach. Over the next several years my activity level decreased significantly, & as it decreased, my ability to do things decreased as well.

Fast forward to 2012. I’d moved to Portland, Oregon the previous summer, following major life changes. Since moving I started walking. Modest amounts at first, but it gradually began to build up, & by spring of 2012 I began the 10,000-step program. &—as I wrote elsewhere—began to think about playing softball again. It wasn’t until last year that I took the plunge, however, first in a league for men over 50, & then in a Fall league for adults of any age. 

 
Softball (& baseball) have been passions since my childhood. I’ll write more about all that in future installments. What I want to communicate today is that despite disability it is possible to continue living! Do I get frustrated at times playing because of my diminished capacity? Of course. There are only a few positions I can play in the field—third base, first base & catcher—because those positions require very little running. While I can still run to first base (or occasionally—being in fact a “banjo hitter”—second) after batting, I need a pinch runner upon arrival on the base; simply due to age, my reflexes are not what they once were, & this gets exacerbated by some inevitable fatigue—nonetheless, I try always to put the positive part of the experience in the forefront.

Over the past three years, my pulmonary function has improved each year as measured by tests—this has my pulmonologist jazzed to no end. At this point I’m walking five miles a day daily (my goal is to miss no more than once a month), & I take tai chi classes twice a week. This spring I’ve played in an all adult ages league, & will play in two leagues this summer—continuing with my current team on weeknights & also playing Sundays in the over 50 league.

I say this not to be self-congratulatory—after all, I am also the same person who let things go for 10 years!—but because it is one answer to the question with which I opened the post, & also in hopes that it will help someone else along the way. Remember, it doesn’t have to be softball—it can be any activity that gives meaning & vitality to your life.

Until next time!


Pix:
Yours Truly batting in the over-50 summer league [Boomer PDX] in 2013
Ditto in the Council, Idaho July 4, 2002 tournament—my last game before my long layoff
Last Fall’s team “The Chain” after winning the league championship!
A partial team photo of “The Underhanded Compliments” my spring & summer weeknight team in 2014