Reflecting on my first weekend of softball as a senior.
It’s that time of year again: the light dusting of snow slowly dripping off new buds of grass; cleats resurfacing, their metal spikes caked with last spring’s mud; ibuprofen and sport-proof sunblock tucked into travel bags; the smell of fresh leather batting gloves—softball season.
The season begins suddenly, January cold and long rolls into February and even with snow still covering the field there’s the promise of games to come. For my team, our season started the second weekend of February, up in a Minnesota indoor dome. Half the people I told about our games bugged their eyes at me and gestured to the cloudless, twenty-five degree sky, “You’re playing in this?” There’s something to be said about the dirt in-between fingertips and chasing a fly ball in the sun. Playing indoors just isn’t the same. But our Midwest weather never fails to keep us in winter until late April…
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