Sunday column: Red dirt and pop flies

Although it's nearly a week late, this column may be well worth the wait when paired with these photos:

1992 Baton Rouge team, the "Lions" (I'm standing second from left). Apparently, we got trophies! Probably just for participating ... I was never on a team that consistently won games, much less trophies.

While I remember nothing about the "Lions," the "Wreckers" I remember well. There I am again, standing second from the left. And let's not even talk about the white biking shorts trimmed in lace that I'm wearing. Ouch. Miss Tootie (yep, that was her name) was the coach who pelted us with pop flies during practice. She's standing on the right. I played with this team for a couple of years; this picture was taken in 1993.

And now for the column ...

There’s just something about the red dirt of a softball field.
I’ve always had a strange feeling of love for that dirt, and I can only figure it stems from years spent having fun on the field.
I was never a softball superstar — I’ll be the first to admit that. But, I was a decent outfielder, and I always enjoyed playing.
Softball was a way of life for me during the spring and summer all the way through high school. I played on the city league and later for the high school team, and it was something that gave me a sense of pride and belonging.
The sport had a way of unifying the cliques that invariably form beginning in oh, probably second grade. Even though I was a “nerd,” I played softball, so I had something in common with girls in other groups, like the “athletes” and the “popular” crowd.
Let’s be honest, that’s really something when you’re a teenager.
Most importantly, I always had fun playing softball. I was fortunate to have coaches whose main motivation was teaching the sport and making sure the team was having fun. There were no cut-throat coaches spewing threats or irrational parents screaming from the bleachers in my softball experience, thank goodness.
For us, it was all about developing skills, playing smart and catching fly balls. That was the key — catching those pop flies. And boy did we practice that. Even though it’s been about 10 years since I played in a softball game, I feel sure that if a pop fly was headed my way, I could catch it without flinching.
I know there are a lot of girls out there who are much more serious softball players than I ever was, and good for them. I could never be bothered with all the technical aspects of specific types of bats and cleats. I just liked to get out there and play. That’s probably why my career wasn’t terribly long-lived.
That’s OK, though, because softball for me was exactly what I needed it to be. It was a physical outlet, a change of environment and a good opportunity for exercise.
I got back out in that red dirt recently to play a little ball, and by the time I walked off the field I was on a softball high. The years I played on softball teams built up positive associations with the sport and all its trappings that have been lying dormant for some time.
Maybe I’ll give in, break out the old glove and rediscover the game this fall. If I do, I’ll tell you one thing for sure — hit a pop fly in my direction and you’ll be out.

Look! Nick played ball, too: seven years of Dixie Youth.