Balls: Two, not four.
As you can imagine, I have no end of second base coaches who like to weigh in on my travails. Like I have cornered the market on failure. I’m failing as hard as I can, but I don’t have it cornered by any means.
These are the guys who, somehow, got to second base and like to stay there. They either whacked a double or they got driven there by another batter. Either way, they’re pat.
Second base is good enough.Trying to steal third, or home, is out of the question. Right here is fine, thank you very much. It’s not third, it’s not home, it’s… just…second.
My problem is, and always has been, if I get to second, I’m already thinking about third or even home. Always. That takes nerve or stupidity. Both of which, I have in abundance.
I’m already looking at third as I’m running my ass off for second. That’s the way I play.
So it goes without saying, I am ripe for a lecture from all the second base denizens in my sphere of influence. They’re not happy and they’re not miserable, they’re just…on second.
They tsk, tsk, me into a stupor with their helpful anecdotes on how they dig their cleats into that two-bagger of mediocrity. It’’s a nice view, they say.
I got thrown out trying to run all the bases on a bunt. I trust my legs. I trust my odds. But for all intents and purposes, the sides retired on me. Too bad. So I’ll hit the showers for now.
You can stay on second where it’s safe if you like, but I can tell you, if I ever get to bat again, I won’t change my strategy. I’ll still be tilting my bat at that Citgo sign.
I’m betting on a home run based on balls… mine.