Batter Up

This morning I find myself reaching for the Acetaminophen and the NSAID. Tylenol and Advil, for the pharmaceutically challenged. My local supermarket sells a generic bottle that includes both for "Dual Action Pain Relief."

That's what it says on the bottle and that's what my body craves.

You see last Sunday, we found ourselves on a hike the Arroyo Seco, just south of Pasadena's stately Rose Bowl. The trail was remarkably well kept (Of course, Pasadena, right?). And unlike similar trails through all of Southern California, there were no signs of homeless encampments. 

I'm sorry, unhoused temporary living quarters. Hate to get curmudgeonly about that, maybe it's the lower thoracic region talking. 

At the south end of the Arroyo there are a bunch of little league fields, a skateboard park, horse stables and a batting cage. My eyes lit up when I saw the batting cages, as indicated by the picture above.

It didn't take much prodding to get me in there. I forked over my twenty bucks and requested the cage with softballs (they're easier to hit) and the 45 mph pitching machine. I asked for a longer bat, seeming to recall my youth and the success I had enjoyed with a 34 or 36 -- that's bat lingo.

Being barrel chested and carrying extra "heft" doesn't come in handy for many sports but when executed correctly and solid connection is achieved, it can send a softball over many outfield fences.

Sadly, the only bats they had in their barrel were of the metal kind. I'm an old school guy in many ways and preferred to re-enter the batter's box with a trusty wood Al Kaline Louisville Slugger. But as in real baseball, you gotta take the pitches you're given.

Maybe you're wondering how I did. 

I know I was wondering how this 66 year old man would do after a 40 year absence from the baseball arena. Unlike my friend George Tannenbaum who headed south of the border to play minor league ball for the Zappatillos, I only played in the Advertising Softball League at the very beginning of my ad career. 

And to be honest, I was much more interested in the post game recreational activities than the actual games.

After a few initial whiffs, I started coming around. The batting cage proprietor gave me some helpful hints. 

"15 minutes is a long time. You don't have to swing at every ball. Take a break. And get used to the seeing the ball by practicing a bunt. Make contact. And don't try to hit a home run every time."

It worked. And I started hitting. 

"You did pretty good for an old guy."

Thanks, I thought. 

Maybe.

It is only now that my hands have stopped tingling from the vibrating metal bat, I hate those things. I wonder what batting cage guy has any tips to restore my back and my ability to get out of a chair.

Oy.