After a decent game at third base on Tuesday, I was asked to play right field last night. No problem. I'm a good enough fielder to handle that. Our 3-2 loss wasn't related to any play at third or in right.
I used to always play the outfield. I enjoyed it. A decade ago I still had some speed and my arm was stronger than most opponents. Now it's not quite as strong. My legs are in shape for endurance runs, not short sprints over bumpy outfield grass.
But things change. I made the plays when they came to me. I thought about where I'd throw if the ball went to me, where I'd run if I needed to back up a throw elsewhere. It's what I do; I play softball for fun.
On Sunday, I'm managing the squad's game against the police department. Usually the biggest challenge is getting everyone who wants to play into the game. That will still be the main stumbling point. But I want to win this game. It means something to me this time. It's not a life-changing moment. If we lose, I won't fall into a fit of depression. But I want to win.
I've been a graceful loser for too long. Time to step up.
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