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“I’m up next, oh no. Maybe I’ll get lucky and get a walk, at least I’ll be on base. I just can’t take the humiliation of striking out again”
These were the thoughts running through my head when I was a wee little lad playing my first year of baseball. You see, we didn’t have t-ball back then. It was straight up hard core pitching. At least it felt hard core to me.
You see, as a child, I had this terrible, dreaded disease that caused life to be more traumatic than it really should have been. The disease was wusi-itis. I just googled wusi to see if there was an actual spelling for wusi. But guess what? There’s nothing showing for how to spell wusi, so wusi it is.
Ok, so enough about me already, what do you think of me, right? Yawn, nobody cares, ok?
So, I’m just going to have fun with it, why not. Besides, only reason I’m doing this is because “they” say the mighty Googleplexatron will dock your web site a few points if you don’t have one, so there.
So where was I? Oh yes, more about me……hey wake up! I’m not done here, how rude.
Anyway, my Pa died when I was two. He was a pilot, and unfortunately had a crash. Flying in really bad weather, Mom said he was in a hurry to get home. But not having a dad around kinda, sorta contributed to my disease.
But thank God for a great Mom that realized sports would toughen me up a bit, and help me to learn perseverance. You see, that first year in baseball, I never touched the bat to the ball. I was always afraid of getting hit and would back away from the plate. And they went ahead and made that rule about no crying in baseball after I played that season, because, yes I cried.
And here’s where the great Mom came in. She wouldn’t let me quit, no matter what. And actually, I was pretty good in the outfield. I loved playing outfield. I was pretty fast, and I loved catching fly balls. It was just the hitting that got me.
After that season was over, a family friend gave me a book about a one armed pitcher that played pro baseball. I remember being inspired and being determined to learn to hit that stupid ball.
There was a guy in our neighborhood that played minor league baseball, and he was flat out good. I went to him and learned as much as I could. Also my best friend was the best athlete I’ve seen. He hit three home runs in one game. He was crazy good, and also relentless with me. Which was great for me. He prodded me on, and I loved it.
So the next season rolls around, and things just felt different. I was nervous, but not afraid of being hit by the ball. I can still remember hitting the ball for the first time in a game. I hit a grounder to the shortstop and I beat the throw and was on base.
It’s kind of funny, I’m almost tearing up right now(there I go again) thinking about the struggle and the elation of overcoming and achieving something that just plain old kicked my rear. No one there that day, knew the “Mt. Vesuvias” type joy that was welling up in my heart as I stood on that base that night. I just kind of bent over a bit and put my hands on my knees and had that moment where you just want to cry tears of joy.
Ok, my point is perseverance pays. And that’s what I’m about. I may not be the smartest, but I can keep plodding along like an old stubborn mule.
I like this quote about perseverance by Calvin Coolidge, “Nothing in this world can take the place of persistence. Talent will not; nothing is more common than unsuccessful people with talent. Genius will not; unrewarded genius is almost a proverb. Education will not; the world is full of educated derelicts. Persistence and determination alone are omnipotent. The slogan “press on” has solved and always will solve the problems of the human race”
Here’s a link to my Google Plus profile if you want to add me to your circles so we can chat.
