Good Morning, Delaware County!
Let's get this right out in the open. I never really fancied myself an athlete. Sure, I played sports as a youth and into my mid-20s, but it was for fun. I got into baseball at a young age and found the game to be something great.
I went probably the first two years of playing without getting a hit. I was the child put into right field, because 'nobody hit it to right field.'
I tried, though. I practiced hitting (thanks Dad for making me swing the bat about 5 million times on the front lawn). I practiced throwing. I had catches. I think, by the end of my youth playing days, I was decent enough a player. I no longer was put into right field. I played all the outfield positions. Some first, some third then went to catcher.
Anyway, it's a long way of saying, to me, baseball was a great time. Most of the time frustrating, but it was a great time. I enjoyed putting on the uniform, walking down to the field, taking infield, having batting practice.
I always tried to get No. 1 when they handed out the uniforms, by the way. That way when I would put my name on the brim of the cap, I could always write 'Vince Carey, No. 1.' Of course, my Mom thought I had a high opinion of myself, but, so what.
Where does this get us? Well, last night, while waiting for the Westbrook Park Phillies to play the Orioles, it became obvious there weren't going to be enough players to field two teams.
So, the coach had a bright idea, how about having the Dads play the kids. Great, get the glove and pretend to be young again.
It certainly was a good time. Seeing two little boys waiting in the outfield for the ball while a little girl cheered from the dugout made a beautiful night perfect.
After a game, which, by the way, featured some pretty good laughs coming mostly from the play of the Dads' team, everybody went home.
That's when the aches started. The legs were heavy. The feet (maybe I shouldn't have played in sandals) didn't much like standing.
Forget youth, get the Ben Gay.
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