Dirty Diamonds

*This week I'm participating in the Writer's Workshop at Mama Kat.

If you really knew me, you would know that...

I am a huge baseball fan!

When I was about ten or eleven, I remember being at a friend's house in the early spring.  We were playing out in the backyard when her dad came out and asked her if she wanted to play catch.  I just shrugged my shoulders and watched for awhile.  In a little bit, he asked if I wanted to try.  Sure I did, but I had no idea what I was doing.  I was nervous, fascinated, ... and scared of the ball.  But it took one afternoon of catch and a little encouragement from the both of them, and I was ready to sign my life over to this game.

I was nervous to sign up for Little League.  Here I was: a green preteen in a community that revolved around that baseball diamond.  Yet, just a taste and I was hooked.  I loved everything about it.  The crack of a softball hitting the mitt's sweet spot, the smell of spring warming the outfield, and action of my favorite spot: short stop. 

Afternoon's were spend on that field, as I held my breath for spot assignments.  Grounders, pop flies, double plays... I dedicated myself to it all.  I'd hold my position and watch the Batter's stance.  Looking for clues, ... a foot placement... a practice swing... a dropped shoulder... My mind would race, calculating  where the ball was likely to fly.

I played through Jr. High and High School, eventually giving it up as I went off to college.  And as every spring would turn, I'd still note the way the sun would hit this girl's best friend: that dirty diamond.

Year's later, my husband and I found ourselves playing on a recreational league with our church.  I  was rusty, and still nervous at bat.  My knees shook and I wondered if I'd ever be able to fall back into that old familiar pattern.  But it wasn't long.  The pounding heart... the love for a dear game... the smell of sweat, leather, and dirt... 

Last week, I was in the backyard, doing some batting practice with my five year old.  Ping... ping... ping as the bat hits the ball... happy sounds from my childhood.  Some of my best memories.

Yeah, to say I love baseball would be an understatement.  Not the "Sitting on the couch, watching a Sunday game" kind of love (although I got pretty excited for the Giants last year), but rather the "Give me spring" kind of love that calls for a game of catch.  So to my fellow lovers of the sport, I say, "Happy April.  Don't forget to slide into home."