Put me in coach… I’m ready to play… today…

“NO, you’ll break a hip.” “Do you have good insurance?” “Those cataracts, you’ve got implants - the hell you thinking?” “They’ll shoot your eye out.” I gotta know right now! Before we go any further.What's it gonna be boy? Yes.. or no? Come on, I can't wait all night

Let me sleep on it. Baby baby let me sleep on it. NO! NO! Ahm, borrowing fortitude, rebellion from that wolf guy “"Let me in, Let me in, little pig or I'll huff and I'll puff and I'll blow your house in!"

I’m playing dammit. Now where’s my glove? Hey Dick, you’re lefthanded, got an extra? So now I have a 1960’s too GD small glove I attempt to catch a softball with.

My turn to bat. Ahm, Victor. That’s a wooden bat. Yeah, so? We don’t use wooden bats any more. Aw come’on, this one is cracked, but I put a screw in it, covered it with electrical tape, it’s as good as new! Sorry Victor, you’ll have to use onea ours.

Oh, put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be centerfield.

Ahm, Victor. Not certain how long ago it was you played, but we ain’t gotta centerfield position in the outfield. There are four positions, and ain’t one of ‘em named centerfield. You bastards are’a rainin’ on ma parade. Ok, then I’ll play rover, that’s kinda centerfield. Ahm, Victor, was there like color TV yet the last time you played?

Found ma cleats in the garage. Just where I‘d put ‘em some eleven years ago.. GD mud-dobber’d been livin’ in ‘em. Got ridda that yuck dried mud stuff. Pounded ‘em on the sidewalk. Good as new.

First practice, we walked from our always park behind right field to the bench. Whew! I’m tired now, we done? Grounders, time for grounders. WHAT? I came here to catch, mebbe play outfield. I have implants youi know? Like Donna Summer, I will survive. And did.

Batting practice. The outfielders all were ready for a break when I came up anyways. So I hits me some measly squeakers, actually a few mighta even been hits. Proudly, I didn’t miss. Cataract doc insisted I get one “up close” lens, and one “distance”. “Now this might goof up your perception in things like, oh, golf.” That first fly ball I was lost. Like bein at 34th and Paseo without GPS trying to get to The Plaza. “IN VIC, IN”… oops. Sorry. Been awhile. (It was the glove’s fault.)

Practice ended, I didn’t totally embarrass myself, now time for a cold beer. Now THAT they ain’t gonna show me up on. Tunes, talk, a few brewskies, it was 1995 allover again. Or ‘85, or ‘75. I’ve played too damn long. Or have I.

Next day at work. Vic… you ok? Yeah, just a little sore. My body ain’t ran for like ten years, and it ran last night. It’s currently bitching back at me. Where’d ya run to? I played softball. HAHA.. HAHA.. You WHAT? I know, I know… screw you all.

First game. Started stretching when the resta ‘em did. Kinda-sorta remembered what to do. Even had a pre game beer (all of ‘em did) to mebbe take the edge off. Eighteen of us. I think I batted like 14th, which was ok, because I’m the oldest sumbitch on the team.

Mostly uneventful. We lost a double header to kids who were born after we graduated from High School (In fact, true story, one kid came to the plate with a "Senior '07 shirt on.. I said, "turn them numbers around, that's when I graduated, hehe")- but, the fact we actually scored some runs, and got three outs on them a few times when they batted made it all worth it. Even better, I went 2 for 4, didn’t make any errors, more importantly, DIDN’T SWING AND MISS (you have to buy beer for team if u do) and even more importantly, I didn’t shoot my eye out, I didn’t pull a hamstring, and I didn’t get the dreaded “fatigued groin.” In retrospect though, ain’t that every man’s desire? Fatigued groin?

Tonight is week number three. I’m still in one piece. I did swing and miss once last week (dammit, I’m buying “the Beast” and they’ll like it or not.) We play the best team in the league tonight. They hit towering home runs, and scorchers thru the infield that have “Emergency Room” written allover ‘em. They even have flat abs, no potbellies. Bastards.

You can’t go back. God love her “maybe you should consider finding a new game, and that while memories are great reminders of where we came from and of those that we love trying to relive them results in missed opportunities to make new ones.”

Mebbe. At present, I’m in dugout heaven. The kid still in me won’t go away. I can’t hit as far, I can’t throw as hard, I can’t see as well - but the heart is every much into as it ever has been. Mebbe moreso.

The bastards remind me all the time “Vic, our goal was ’youth movement’.. .you’ve put our average age in the other direction.” Shuddup and drink your Beast.

Got a beat-up glove, a homemade bat, and brand-new pair of shoes;
You know I think it’s time to give this game a ride.
Just to hit the ball and touch ’em all - a moment in the sun;
(pop) it’s gone and you can tell that one goodbye!

Good idea Mr. John Fogerty, but I’m just happy with my measly little dribblers. High-fiving those lucky enough to score. Talking smack after the game. Sweating. Real sweat. Thanks to softball, the Biggest Loser Contest at work, Wendy’s salads, Price Chopper chicken - I can even look down now and see my toes. I’m liking it.

Oh, put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Put me in, coach - I’m ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be catcher every other inning. (These guys hit too damn hard to stand out infronta ‘em at age fitty-five.)

Call me nuts. Call me “you can’t go back.” Call me “thinka the new/other opportunities you might be missing out on.” Call me in a doctor’s appointment if ‘that’ happens. Just don’t forget to call me when it’s my turn to bat.

Look at me. I can be. Play ball. Love, Victurd.

PS: Today’s horoscope (I ain’t kidding.) “Tonight.. Play until you drop.” No problemo. That’s what I’ve done the first two weeks.