[Pelican]

I couldn’t resist telling one retired ballplayer story. So indulge me. When I was around forty, some friends persuaded me to abandon beer league softball (a poor match for my lack of power and defensive skills) in favor of “modified-pitch” baseball. In our league a teammate would pitch to you. You had three pitches to hit a fair ball. So, no strikeouts or walks, lots of action. We played seven-inning doubleheaders in about ninety minutes. I had never played hardball with metal bats. Totally cool hitting, lots more distance, but totally uncool in the outfield. Anyway, the County ran the league, and the coordinator was - wait for it - former major leaguer Dave May. He would sit behind the plate in the metal bleachers and watch the gams, and provide hilarious commentary. And you know we all played a bit harder, knowing a former major leaguer was watching. As if he cared about us performing! One of my first games, I came in on a sinking line drive to CF, forgetting that off the metal bat it would not sink as fast. I somehow ended up making a basket catch off my chest. Dave was genuinely concerned that I had hurt myself. He made a remark about hitting .400 if he had used metal bats.