Tough go last night for yours truly on the softball diamond. A part of me said to myself “Hey 610, you don’t go around praising yourself all the time when you rake as the 4-hitter on all your teams – so just let a sub-par performance go.” That part of me had a good point. Usually, I mash. Opposing teams are either submitting my bat for testing or having me piss in a cup because I clear fences on accident. Outfielders are playing in the parking lot whenever there’s no fence while pitchers who try to walk me catch liners off the yam bag. And we haven’t even touched upon my lefty prowess on the mound. Instead, I choose to be humble. That’s me just doing my job for the bajillion teams willing to pay my team fee just to get my name on the roster. No biggie. Last night though was a valuable reminder that nobody’s perfect. Sure, I’ve batted a thousand over the course of a few seasons, but no one can maintain 1.000 forever. Sometimes a bullet off the bat finds a home in an unsuspecting glove. Other times, you face a 50 year-old dude who’s got to be the best underhand pitcher ever to grace God’s green earth. I don’t know how this guy isn’t famous. He might be now though. I mean some of the junk coming off his fingers was straight-up nasty. I had a solid 4-5 seconds to adjust to the big, bright yellow ball arcing downward toward my hitting zone (which on FOX would be bright red all over) for the first pitch but I couldn’t pull the trigger. I’ll be the first to admit I was shook. So, naturally, it was time to lose pitch #2 over the 284′ left field marker. Little did I know Phil Niekro was toeing the rubber treating this filthy 10 MPH followup like a string puppet, because as soon as I uncoiled my Swing of Doom that ball just jumped over the barrel and I was dunzo. The swinging K. I could blame it on the flying pig that crossed my line of vision as I stepped in, but I won’t. Just as the sun shines on a dog’s ass some days, everyone at the field witnessed a lunar eclipse. I spent the rest of the game smoking seeds through the shortstop & putting my speed on display, but I just wanted to share my story for others reading who may be facing a tough time. Maybe that tumor came back malignant. Perhaps you miscarried. Or maybe you struck out too. Whatever the case may be, just know you’re not the only one. We all have crosses to bear.