ghosts & admissons

I’m kind of surprised at myself, I’m nostalgic, I’m stoic, I had it all.

There I stood on the pitchers mound in Sedley Saskatchewan, my team all staring at me. We were down 4-0 in the first inning, and it all came back to me. The sun setting behind my team mates, my nostrils dried out from the dusty and un-kept diamond. Me grinding the ball into my thigh, looking lazily at the back catcher trying to disguise my nerves and feign composure. I’ve been here a million times before, I was always the best on a shitty team and would be expected to endure the humiliation of throwing pitch after pitch knowing that it wont matter in the end.

The red’s and oranges had my number. They cranked one after the other out of the park. My team had heard that I pitched for over ten years and obviously had unrealistic expectations.

On a brighter note I was able to drum for a bit for the first time in ages. My legs actually wobbled as I stepped down from the kit. A million unique and fun drum lines ran through my head simultaneously with regret for not playing them. People clapped, and I stared at them dumbly, unable to hear them over my ringing ears and the sound of my own hear slapping loudly against my ribs. I nervously eyed people trying to read them, to see their reaction. It was hard to tell, astigmatism and campfires are a poor mix.

Then I spent the rest of the night with celebratory fisting and breaking beer bottles over my head.

posted by El Chupacabra @ 4:17 PM