Back to the Bench
One sport I wasn't very good in growing up was baseball, specifically hitting the ball--which is a significant part of baseball. Since I had and have little depth perception in my vision, I swung late or early. Once in a while, by accident, the bat would hit the ball. I was as shocked as anyone. During try-outs in 6th grade, I must have had a uncharacteristically great day hitting as well as in the outfield (I had a good arm). Thus, I was one of two 6th graders drafted to play for the "Major" League Cubs. What I gained in status among my peers for this elevated position, was soon offset by a terribly depressing season. With the pitching better, I hardly got any bat on the ball. Then, I was relegated to the bench. One of my last official at-bats in Pee-Wee baseball was batting against one of the best pitchers in the league Tony Brady when it was almost dark outside. Which made the prospects of my bat finding the ball even more improbable. I have rarely felt so muc