A mere 54 weeks ago, I wrote in this space about having a moment where you feel like your life is flashing before your eyes.
It is time to regale you all with a case of déja vu, the latest installment of Mike Wilson vs. baseball.
Once again, this season I am coaching a U9 softball team. Unlike last year, when I coached the team because minor ball called and begged me to do it, I volunteered this year.
We had a great season in 2022, and with many of those same players returning, the idea of “running it back” and trying to improve on our bronze medal finish was one I was open to.
Fast forward to July 30, 2023 and our team was 10-1 heading into a Sunday evening matchup.
For the first 11 games of the season, one of our other coaches pitched to the kids. This came out of necessity, as I was battling a case of gout and was unable to stand on my feet (or move very quickly) for the first month of the season.
Sunday night, our pitcher – a lefty – came to me and said, “I’m calling the bullpen for the right hander.”
I must have looked puzzled.
He explained to me that he may not be able to pitch a game or two in the year-end tournament due to another commitment, and that I should see some game action so the kids (and I) get used to a different pitcher.
“That seems very logical,” I replied, sounding very much like a Vulcan.
So I grabbed my glove and headed to the pitcher’s mound for the first inning.
Based on the first couple of innings, things were like they were a year ago. The hitters hit everything. We scored 12 or 13 runs in the first two innings.
It was just like it was 25 years ago when I pitched, but I digress…
When the third inning rolled around, my son Duncan was the last batter of the inning.
Time for a small parent brag here: Duncan has become a fairly good ball player, and can hit that 11-inch mush ball pretty damn far.
With a couple of runners in scoring position, Duncan stepped into the batter’s box and signaled where he wanted the pitch – low and slightly inside.
Again, doing my best impression of 12-year-old Mike pitching, I sent the pitch into the plate 30 feet away.
I couldn’t have missed the spot if I tried.
The ball was sailing straight for Duncan’s wheelhouse.
He knew it.
Our bench knew it.
I knew it.
He swung for the ball, and the next thing I knew I was on my butt in the dirt.
How did I get there?
Well, dedicated reader, you may recall the previous version of this story from July 2022, where young Isaac hit a line drive six feet in the air straight back at me on the pitcher’s mound. That story went something like this:
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.
That’s not how this version of the story goes.
Duncan hit that ball hard – perhaps the hardest he has hit one all year – straight back at the mound, six feet in the air toward my 6’4” body.
Call it being rusty, call it being a year older… but my soon-to-be 38-year-old body did not get out of the way.
It was a direct hit.
The ball hit me, and I went down.
The crowd gasped. Duncan’s jaw dropped. The pitcher’s helper from the other team looked at me, eyes wide.
And like one of those inflatable punching bags I had as a kid – you know, the one with the sand bottom that bounced back up after you hit it – I rolled over and ended up in a sitting position.
The opposing coach came and asked if I was OK. I lifted my right hand, said I was good, and got to my feet.
That right hand got in front of my face in the nick of time, blocking the ball from smashing my face.
The play was ruled a dead ball, meaning Duncan still had three pitches.
Unlike Isaac a year ago, who hit a home run to end the inning, Duncan would not have that same fate.
On his third pitch, he popped out to first base.
This story does have a happy ending for our team. We won the game, improving our season record to 11-1 with two games remaining.
And like last season, the kids got a great laugh out of the whole thing. Except for Duncan, who is bitter that I “stole” a home run from him.
He’ll get over it… eventually.
***
Mike Wilson is the editor of the Wingham Advance Times. He writes a weekly column covering everything from politics to the exploits of his children. Comments and feedback are welcome at mwilson@midwesternnewspapers.com.
