Hey, Coach! (Part 2 of 2)

Continued from an earlier blog.

I had blacked out after the collision at home plate. I woke up in my stepfather's car, sprawled across the back seat on my back. I was nauseous from the pain, and being unusual for me, the motion of the vehicle. It took all of my willpower not to vomit. I noticed my throbbing wrist was wrapped in gauze holding an ice pack in the back, splints on each side, A sling was tied at my shoulder holding my arm up so I couldn't bend my elbow.

My stepfather related the news about what happened after I lost consciousness.  The good news, the catcher dropped the ball, and apparently I somehow touched the plate with my injured hand. The bad news was the doctor who looked at my wrist the first time believed I tore some ligaments. This could be mean possible surgery for me.

I walked unaided into the ER of the hospital.  My stepfather and I sat at the registration desk. My mind was racing with thoughts that were for the most part were unpleasant. How bad was it? Will I play baseball again?  And if I could, how good will I be at it?  It is possible I may lose functionality in my hand where I can't grip anything properly?

My mom arrived. She was calm and collected as always. She sat next to me in the common area. She told me everything was going to be alright, and as always, I believed her. She brought me books to read instead of the magazines spewed everywhere, some so old they predated my birth.

Later, which seemed like eternity,  I was called into the ER. I had had an x-ray of the injured area. As I sat in my little cubicle, I saw a couple of doctors talking over the negative of my wrist through the opening of the curtain that was not completely closed. I was not feeling the pain as intensely as before. It was more of a dull ache, the wonderful medication the nurse gave me helped immensely.

Still I waited longer. My anxiety grew in intensity, despite the drugs in my system. I wanted to leave, and I was ready to run out the hospital to escape the incredible foreboding this place was instilling upon me. I got up from the bed I was sitting on, walked over to the curtain, and as I reached for it with my good hand, it suddenly burst open.

I jumped a bit, being startled from the ER doctor coming in with my parents.  Doc gently told me to sit back onto the bed. I did so, now knowing his professional judgement was now forthcoming.

The good news, nothing was broken. However, I had a third degree sprain.  The healing process and rehabilitation time for this type of injury could be up to three months.

My heart sank. My baseball season was over.

Over the next several days, a deep depression fell over me. I didn't really do much of anything. School, meals, and bed. That was it. I turned over the paper route I had over to my friend because I couldn't ride my bike, something I essentially needed to be able to do the route properly.

On the positive side, I wasn't the only person in my family that played baseball that spring. My little sister was playing with a Minor Little League which was only a 5 minute walk from our house.  Her and I would work on drills together in the back yard when neither of us had practice or a game.  Most of the time, we had conflicting schedules, so I was unable to get to see her play in an actual game.

My missing her games was about change, albeit, reluctantly.

It was 8 days after my injury.  It was on a Thursday,  I remember that because I was watching the sitcom "Cheers". (Ironically, I have a story about an experience from that show I will post another time.) My mom knocks on my bedroom door,  and after a moment enters.

We discussed how my wrist felt. We also talked about my mental well being. She spoke about baseball, which she knew little about except the fact I ate, slept, and breathed it. This segued into a problem she needed my help to solve.

The problem was my sister had a game Friday afternoon and my mom had to work later than her normal shift.  So, my stepdad, who would be home in time, could take her. That would leave me to watch my little brothers because they can't stay still during the game. (Most of  the parents of the players attended their kids game back then.).

So, I had this conundrum before me.  Do I take my sister to the her game and watch other kids play baseball, something I loved with a passion but I could no longer participate.  Or, do I stay home, babysit my brothers,  who like to annoy me, and risk doing something I would regret because of my present state of mind?

I decided on the former after much anguish.

Hey, Coach! (Part 1 of 2)

I would definitely be considered a geek from the activities and hobbies I had since childhood.

However, I also had a long time love affair with athletics, and I was a decent practitioner. I had played just about all of them, but one in particular became my main squeeze and remains so to this day, as both a former player and now coach.

Baseball, America's pastime.

A Year In Preview

Happy New Year to you all. 

2012 is going to a historical year. There will be some events that will happen that will surprise, even shock some people.


I figure, just for fun, that I play prognosticator. Here are few things I think will happen in the next 12 months or so.

A Boy's Best Friend (Part 2)

For of those who missed the first part, here is the link below

A Boy's Best Friend (Part 1) 

His orange-yellow eyes were glued to me, with an expression that my inexperience could not understand. If was though he knew I look out that window and see if he was still there.

He begins to bark and spin in circles. His tail was wagging and his tongue was hanging out in a manner that indicated he might be thirsty from chasing me. My ambiguity made me anxious. I wanted to bring him water, but yet, I was to afraid he might attack me.

It Takes A Village (Part 4)

He was the neighborhood bully by the name of  Paul Ellison.  He was twelve at that time and already he was as big as the average adult male. He used this size advantage quite effectively, picking on younger and smaller kids. He bordered on cruelty, but it seemed to me he particularly liked to make my life miserable.

I had no time to turn around and go back the way I came. If he saw me running, he would chase me down with sinister pleasure. So I tried my best not to look as scared as I felt. I was about 10 feet away from him when he started in on me. He was smiling, always a bad sign with him.

A Seed Of A Story

I have a writer friend of mine who is shopping his first speculative screenplay, or spec, to some movie studios for the past few months. It took him a couple of years to get it done, being very new at the genre, and he always asking me for tips on the writing process.

I think this process is different for every writer. How I do things may not work for another writer, and their approach may not work for me.

When I approach any writing project, the obvious first choice that I make is what I am going to write about.  This is called a premise. I take that premise and flesh it out in a written form,  I can do that in five words or less.

I Don't Feel Like Writing

I am a slacker. I have to admit that. I have posted diligently to my blog for about three weeks now, and going over it, I have noticed some things are not consistent. 

Like a few times I posted some continuing stories. As of now, I have three open ones. My original intent was to publish these kind of stories on a weekly basis, say every Monday, and continue each Monday thereafter. I was then to take each other day of the week and use them for a specific theme. I haven't really done what I have planned.

It Takes A Village (Part 3)

I explained to him everything that happened, though I left Johnny's and Shane's name out of the story. I might of been thoughtless and destructive at times, but I wasn't a snitch.

Officer Sullivan's sudden glare now unnerved me. I decided that maybe, this was not a good idea on my part.

As I turned to leave, I felt a strong hand grip my shoulder and bring back around. Officer Sullivan crouched down so his face was even with mine.


"And where do you think your going?" He asked. And from his tone, I knew it was going to be an even worse day than it was already.