Been there too . . .
.
high school days. rain forced infield practice into gynasium. Beautiful golden-tone wood floor. I played third base. Final scorching grounder hit to me and I lose sight of the yellowed ball in that mass of golden wood. BAMM. Right above the left eye. Two perfect set of baseball stitched seams neatly imprinted above my eye. Teammate concern quickly changed to rip-roaring laughter. God, I loved those guys, and miss those days.
Thanks for the brief opportunity to drift back 30+ years ago.
Last edited by HexsHeroes; 06-01-2011 at 08:44 PM.
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