It was not my doing, I can tell you. The rain fell steadily from the bottom of the first 'til the top of the seventh, which means we played with a slippery pumpkin-ball. I can throw the ball because I can hold it; when that becomes questionable, I turn into a wimpy softball-tosser, hoping that the ball doesn't plop out of my hand 3 feet from my outstretched hand. As it was, the throwing wasn't the issue of the evening--the catching was.

Yes, in a moment of classic MM behavior, I had the chance to snag a ball out of the air and instead, like Larry or Curly (or even Moe) I bobbled the fly until it hit the ground in a stunning display of 'how not to catch the ball'. What's the number one rule in catching?

TRAP THE DAMN BALL.

Of course, my synapses weren't firing fast enough to tell my hands what to do, so I just watched the ball hop out of the mitt, whirled to catch it again, bobbled it AGAIN, and then saw it drop to the ground. I grabbed it and stopped the guy from taking second, but I was so angry with myself. My teammates were worried about my back, but I was concerned with my tattered dignity. I mean, who the hell forgets to trap the ball?

Obviously I did.

*sigh*

But we won, and I got myself a shiny new stat: RBI. This means two things:
I hit the ball
I wasn't the third out.

These are milestones for me after last season. I tentatively declare I am back.

Tentatively.

~~~~~

Doofus asked me to trim up his haircut from Sunday, so he handed me the clippers and told me to just make it straight. Well, after getting over the initial weirdness of it all, it was fun. Sorta. But what's addictive is the idea of 'evening' it out, since obviously-straight things require much more attention than curly or thick hair. First the one side, then the other, then back to the first side...you can see where this is going. I had to reign myself in before I evened the back of his neck up to his earlobes.