In the second game I was way out in center field when a fly ball came my way. We were playing a B division team, (so the hits were flying) and this ball was soaring towards me like a rocket with flames coming off it. The ball was headed straight towards my glove..... I hardly had to move..... all I had to do was reach out......
I should have let instincts rule, but, alas, I thought too much & in the last millisecond I froze in fear......
The ball completely missed my glove and whacked me dead on in the most tender, sweetest, vulnerable, fleshy area of my right inner thigh. Yoooow-za! Triumph to tragedy!
Somehow still standing and breathing, I lopped the ball infield towards the direction of my teammate.
After the inning was over everyone was concerned for me, and offered ice and condolences etc.. But as soon as my teammates realized I wasn't dying, I became the butt of many a joke for the rest of the tourney. At one point someone suggested raffling off tickets, & the winner "could get to see Musket's wound." Ha. Ha. There were no takers.
Well, anyway, I didn't mind. We had a great day playing softball. Cheers, ladies!
((By the way, I later redeemed myself by catching two fly balls off some big hitters in another game. ))
Annotated notes: On the beloved softball team, the baron is called musket.
Below is a graphic shot of the egregious, festering wound..... It may not be CSI quality, but it's proof in the pudding...
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