I’ve played softball since forever. When I was probably 7 or 8, all my friends on my block played Tball. I was horribly jealous. Finally one summer my mom signed me up. I was thrilled! I remember I made a sign out of a piece of paper and wrote the name of my new team and proudly displayed it in the front window of my house. I was a T-Rose. Me. Now everyone could see. My friends on the block were on the T-iaras and the T-Spoons. Cute, huh? I spent one or two years playing Tball until I finally moved up into the Junior league.

In the Junior League, I was a Dove. Our colors were maroon and gold, how that was dove-ish, I don’t know. And for some reason, all the junior league was named after birds. Anyway, I was shuffled around from short stop and second base, occasionally third base because I had a good arm. Then one day my coach decided to try people out for pitcher. I had found my calling and I was good. I was really good. The coach’s daughter was also a pitcher. We were a good team but if for some reason I pitched a game and we lost, it was always my fault. He would berate me, make me cry, tell everyone we lost the game because of me. Yeah, it was pretty awful. My mother and him got into it a few times because he was such an asshole. He pushed me and pushed me and even when I cried, it just made me stronger. I was only in grade school, but he had me work out with the local high school’s team. As a result, I became fiercely competitive.

Finally growing out of the park district, I stopped for awhile. I always picked up my glove to throw the ball around but it wasn’t the same.  Even though it had been a few years, freshman year I decided I was going to try out for the high school team. I impressed varsity, who wanted me, but they already had 3 pitchers so it wasn’t likely I’d get any play time and the JV coach fought for me to be on his team. Whatever, as long as I got to play at all, I was happy.

The thing about public schools, well mine at least, was they took more of a lackadaisical approach to the game. It was just for fun for everyone. Not for me though. It was fun but I wanted to win. I needed that W. I started seeing a pitching coach three times a week outside of school, along with regular practice. I worked up speed, accuracy and had mastered quite a few different pitches. I trained my catchers. I ran the team more than the coach did. I never listened to him when he tried to tell me what to do. He didn’t know anything. I was this team. This was my team, they listened to me before him. No one could talk to me when I was on the mound because I was so zoned in on what I was doing. I was stubborn, bossy and hot headed. No one ever questioned me or tried to set me in my place either. I took competitive to a new level.

I remember one day we played the local Catholic school. Who was on the team? Asshole coach and his daughter. I swear if looks could kill, we both would have been dead and buried - one at the mound and one at the plate. It went on like this all game. We tried to one up each other every time the other was at bat. I paced the dugout. No one understood why this game meant so much to me. They were there to just have fun and I wanted to pull my hair out. I did my best, but one person can’t hold up a team on their own. We ended up losing, but not without a fight - at least on my part. It was one of the best games I ever played.

Junior year, I hurt the tendons in my shoulder really bad. I haven’t been the same since then, even with physical therapy. Needless to say, this brought my softball game to a screeching halt. Stopped scholarships. Stopped travel teams. Stopped it all. If only I hadn’t pushed myself so hard…

Every year, once spring rolls around I pull out my glove. It doesn’t get as much use anymore. There is a boys’ ball field a few blocks down from me and I always hear the clink of the ball on the bat from my window.

It takes me back, back to when I was on top. Back to the only time I really felt like I was good at something. Really good.