Baseball is not the only sport played in the fall. There is field hockey.
The nip in the air always brings me back to the hockey field. The crack of the neatly hit ball and all that. The girls in their green shorts. Shinguards.
Also the misery of never making the team. I played for years, but only intramural. My mother (who played varsity field hockey in high school) always told me that in a few years it wouldn’t matter. She was right, but at the time, oh my. Tragic.
I enjoyed my dual personality’s success on the hockey field vicariously. She played for four years. Superstar.
My two girls both played J.V.
But back to me. Wah Wah. I just had no skills. Zip. Better players than I did not make the cut. At the time I just wanted to be on the team. One of the girls in a green and gold pinney. I longed to be in the team picture.
The truth is, I am not a team player.
No, I could always relate to old Jane Eyre:
“…The more solitary, the more friendless, the more unsustained I am, the more I will respect myself.”
I am an observer. And that’s okay. It’s all about self-awareness, right?
In the words of the great Lou Holtz: “Life is ten percent what happens to you and ninety percent how you respond to it.” So I never made the field hockey team.
I got over it.
But when I feel that nip in the fall air…