Sunday, October 5, 2008

batting cages

Batting cages were invented as a deterrent to frighten sissies into never trying to play baseball.

I went to the batting cages yesterday with my cousin Annette. I have wanted for some time to vindicate myself over some bad early-life experiences with baseball, so I figured the way to do that was to go to the batting cages a few times and hit a ball a few times, and thereby justify myself and go home saying something along the lines of: well, if I wanted to be good, I could be, but I'm not because I don't practice, because I do so many other important things, and I'm so much smarter or stronger or faster etc. etc. etc.

Sadly, this was not one of those times.

Figuring all batting cages were created equal, I jumped into the first open cage, and poured all my tokens in the machine, and stepped on up to ye olde plate. And watched as a semi-automatic machine gun began to shell me with poorly-disguised baseballs.


The first proton out of the LHC caused me no small amount of surprise, and I jumped back a few feet to stay clear of instantaneous death. Suddenly, my plan wasn't looking so feasible. And that is when my cousin looked over and started laughing.


I had begun my quest in the Orel Hershiser cage, the same cage they use to beat large mammals to death. So, though I recalled pitching speeds rivaling waddling ducks from my little league days, that sort of thing didn't really happen here in the majors. And when I say majors, I mean the death cage. Expecting to hit low flying gnats, I was getting buzzed by F-14s.

Well, I'd like to end this quaint little vignette by giving a story about how I overcame my fear and hit a home run, but that would require that I overcame my fear and hit a home run (either that or I tell a very large non-white lie). Not only did I not overcome my fear, but I am now more in fear of batting cages than ever.

I'd also like to say that I didn't slowly creep out of the cage whilst the balls were flying, and slowly move to slow-pitch softball whilst whistling, trying to act casual, while it was entirely possible a small child would find his/her way into my empty cage and be seriously injured by those demonic baseballs.

I am absolutely certain that batting cages are a dirty plot by my ex-girlfriends to showcase my sissiness to the world, lest I become too adept at hiding it...

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