There's a reason why writers write and baseballplayers play baseball.It's called my batting swing.
The Virginia Baseball Media Day Tuesday made me glad that I learned how to type at a very young age. I realized in kindergarten that I loved the game of baseball; I found out in fourth grade that I wasn't any good at it.
It dawned on me shortly thereafter that I'd better become a sports writer when I grew up, or else I'd be out of the game for good before I could spell p-u-b-e-r-t-y.
The pen is mightier than the sword -- fine. There's a reason the pen isn't mightier than a 31-ounce Rawlings bat: Writers can't hit the curveball.
But they can easily hit a 50 mph fastball thrown right down the middle ... right?
There I was Tuesday, playing long toss in the outfield grass of my home away from home, Davenport Field. I had my glove on tight, my Astros hat on even tighter and my throwback Ryan Zimmerman Virginia jersey hanging loose. The sounds and smells of baseball in the afternoon air, the sun shining ... it wasn't heaven, and it sure wasn't Iowa. But it was somewhere right in between.
Minutes later, I was confronted with the stark realization that my Zim jersey wasn't going to do any hitting for me.
"Somewhere right in between" began to feel more like Baseball purgatory than Heaven on Earth
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