We’ve all experienced those moments where you feel like your life suddenly flashes before your eyes.
For some, it’s a dream. For others, it’s while driving the car, and you nearly avoid an accident.
And for some, it happens while coaching a kids’ softball team.
I fall in the latter category.
This summer, I decided to take on the challenge of coaching a U9 Mixed Mites (three-pitch) softball team. And by taking on, I mean nobody offered to coach on registration night, and our local minor ball association started calling parents.
I was the first phone call, as it just happens that my aunt and cousin run our local minor ball association.
“We won’t have a team if you don’t coach,” they told me.
When family asks you do to something, you do it.
It turns out we have a pretty decent team. We’re doing very well on the field, posting a 7-3 record as I write this.
In our league, the coach pitches to their hitters. Based on our success thus far, my years of subpar pitching when I played softball are finally paying off, as our players rarely strike out.
Hitters rarely struck out against me 25 years ago when I pitched, but I digress.
One night a few weeks ago, we were hosting a team from a nearby town when one of our best hitters, Isaac, stepped up to the plate as the last batter in the third inning.
Isaac fouled off the first pitch into our dugout, followed by a hard-hit foul ball down the right-field line.
The third pitch went in, which Isaac also fouled off.
In our league, the hitter gets another pitch if they hit a foul ball on the third pitch.
So here we were, the bottom of the third inning with the bases loaded, down to the final pitch.
Doing my best to pitch like 12-year-old Mike on the mound, I tossed in the pitch.
It was headed straight over the heart of the plate, right in Isaac’s wheelhouse.
He knew it. I knew it. Everyone on our bench knew it.
He swung, and it connected.
The next few seconds felt like they passed by in slow motion.
Once he connected, the 11-inch yellow mush ball came straight back to the pitcher’s mound, where I stood 30 feet away.
This hit was not a high fly ball – it was a line drive hammered back at the mound roughly six feet off the ground.
I am 6’4” tall.
As the ball came towards me, right at eye level, all I could think of was how to avoid getting hit. In a split second, I determined falling flat on my back was the way to go.
I hit the ground, the ball travelled into centre field, and Isaac ran like the wind around the bases to score four runs to end the inning.
It took me what felt like an eternity to stand up after that – in reality, it was about 30 seconds. The opposing team’s coach came over to help me get up, complimenting me on avoiding the ball.
“I thought I was a goner,” I told him. “My life flashed before my eyes.”
After I dusted myself off, I made my way over to the bench to congratulate Isaac on his big hit. The players were excited. Not only had they scored four runs, but I was filthy. There was dust in places dust should never find on the human body.
As our team headed back onto the field, the umpire walked over to talk to me.
“Man, I wish I had my phone out for that one,” he said with a big grin. “The look on your face when that ball started coming back at you… your eyes were so far out of your head!”
I didn’t need to see the video to know they were.
Thankfully, the rest of the game was uneventful. We went on to win the game, the kids had a good laugh at the expense of their coach, and nobody got seriously hurt.
And it made the post-game ice cream taste that much better.
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Mike Wilson is the editor of Midwestern Newspapers. He writes a weekly column covering everything from politics to the exploits of his children. Comments and feedback are welcome at mwilson@midwesternnewspapers.com.
