The summertime roller coaster of unathletic emotions…
The mind twitching resentment of having to play when you could be drawing or reading a book…
The embarrassment driven apathy of spending the whole season on the bench…
The insecure confusion when someone tells you “a lot of chubby guys play baseball”…
The crippling fear during the final game when, because of some stupid rule, you have to leave the bench, grab a bat and actually play…
The breathless, slow motion anticipation as you stand on the plate, and watch a ball come towards you as you do your best to grasp a bat with your sweaty hands…
The unparalleled thrill of hearing a distinctive crack as you, miraculously, actually hit the ball…
The moment crushing disappointment of hearing a dull thud and the red faced umpire shouting “FOUL BALL!!”…
The soulful relief when you realize that means you don’t have to actually run…
The joyful ecstasy of being told that, even though your team lost by an embarrassing margin, you STILL get to go to Dairy Queen!!
carbonated joy 