Time slips away and leaves you with nothing mister

One of my colleagues says that what he loves about baseball is that, at any game, you're likely to see something you've never seen before. Community softball last night contributed three of these for me:

1) I'd never been involved in the fielding end of a rundown before.

2) I'd never screwed up the fielding end of a rundown before.

3) I'd never seriously injured myself just swinging the bat before.

I've pulled muscles legging out a hit, of course, and hit the dirt hard going for a grounder. I caught a fly ball with my face once in 7th grade. Two years ago, I ran full-tilt over a 4-foot high chain link fence, trying to rob the batter of a homer. (Missed the catch, earned a beautiful diagonal bruise across my torso.)

But this time, I was just up to bat, well warmed up in the middle of the game, when something clamped a vise on my shoulder and tried to rip my tricep up to heaven.

People at sandlot pickup games have been trying for years to get me to slow down my naturally vicious swing. I guess I finally got the message. My body just said "Guess what? I'm 35 and I don't do that anymore."

My dad comes home from emergency hospitalization tomorrow, and when it comes to health, I probably should count my blessings. My wife would like me to count anything at all, if it'll stop my whining about being The Oldest Man That Ever There Was.

Still, it's a bit of shocker to have your body tell you that "normal" is pushing too hard.

Wonder if I'll be able to play next week?