Final Slide

When we were kids, we loved to slide. In baseball, we slide into a base to get there quicker if it's a close force play or avoid the tag if it isn't. We slid all the time maybe just to get some infield dirt on our clothes to show that we played hard and we knew how and when to slide. Sliding takes a certain amount of skill. There's the head first slide made famous by Ty Cobb and Pete Rose and the pop up slide where the runner "pops up" on the bag. There's the hook slide a foot-first slide in which the runner with both legs extended throws the body to either side to avoid the fielder covering the base and hooks the base with the inside foot. There's the takeout slide where the runners swerves to the left or right of the base and touches the base with his hand and holds on. This slide is called the take out slide because it's main use is to break up double plays by colliding with the defender as he is making his pivot to throw to first base. If you don't know much about baseball, trying to explain sliding is as John Sebastien once said "like trying to tell a stranger about rock and roll."

When I was trying out for the varsity team in my freshman year at college, the coach introduced sliding bags so we could practice on the gym floor. The sliding bags resembled large pillow cases that would glide across the floor if you hit them right. I had more success hitting the bags than I did hitting the ball during those auditions. I decided I wasn't going to play much if I made the team and I had some guys recruiting me to play on their intramural fast pitch softball team which I did. We lost in the championship game.

The first time I saw Springsteen way back in 75, Dude could do a great slide across the stage. Pretty sure he must have played some baseball.

Like everybody else, baseball finally had its fill of me and I eventually quit playing.

I still went to a lot of Rochester Red Wing ball games as the decades passed. Even though I remained immature, there was no way I could be considered anything but middle aged in my last few seasons at the ball park. I took my kids to the games and one game in particular when the kids could run on the field after the game. I took my daughter down to the field and told to run around the bases which she joyfully did. 

I went over to first base when Mary took off.  She had some speed and was passing the kids that took off with her. I decided what the hell and took off for second base. When I was in Little League and Pony League, I stole second base every time that I got on first base. It took me about four seconds to cover that ground when I was 18. Thirty years had passed somehow since the last time I had attempted a steal. I put my head down and "sprinted" towards second. Fifteen feet from the bag, I went into my slide. I hit the dirt with my slide and immediately STOPPED. I had gained two pounds a year during my absence from the base paths. I didn't slide at all. I don't think I advanced at ALL after I hit the ground. My forward momentum was so pitiful that I hadn't gained enough velocity. My mechanics were all off.

FUGGEDABOUDID.

I picked myself up and headed back across the field to home plate and waited for my girl to finish her journey around the bases. I hoped that no one had noticed. My hip hurt. My wrist was jammed. 

I met Mary at home plate. She wanted to run again. I gave her the green light and she took off once again.

I watched her run. I don't think she has run around a baseball field since that day. I know that I haven't. 

I had slud my last slide.