Welcome to Ham Sports latest blog series Sunday Scaries. If you don’t know what Sunday Scaries are you’re an alien and should get off my blog (just kidding please stay, I’ll take any pageviews I can get. Sunday Scaries will be a weekly blog about the worst fuck ups, mistakes, regrets, etc. in this week in sports or even otherwise. Basically it will be telling the story of someone else’s shitty life/ experience to help ease your pain and make your life seem better as Monday Morning looms. If you guys have any specific experiences or nightmares of your own to share send them to email@example.com
It didn’t feel right to pick on anyone else for the first act of Sunday Scaries so I figured I would share a nightmare sports experience of my own. Also if you have no idea what the mumbo jumbo in the previous paragraph is about, I hope sharing my experience can help guide you.
I wana say it was 2008 or 2009, I was a junior or something in high school, and I was starting on the bump in a rec league baseball game against Frankfort. In case you don’t know what rec league means it means a team where all of your best friends get to be on the same team as long as you have a saint of a dad who is willing to supervise and deal with your bullshit (Shoutout Mr. Marino). Also, in case you aren’t familiar with the south suburbs of Chicago, Frankfort sucks. Frankfort kids = Lincoln Way East kids = dbags. No joke we once played a Franfort team that had two kids who cut the sleeves off their jerseys. The worst.
Anywho, I was the starting pitcher and my cousin was catching for me. I didn’t pitch for my high school team, but I did pitch quite a bit in rec league. And some might say I had a bit of a…
Especially when pitching my emotions got away from me a bit, big whoop.
So the first batter didn’t go so well, walked him on four straight pitches. Not good for ya boys composure. Second batter went a little better, just kidding walked him on four straight pitches too. At this point I am kicking dirt around and have the body language of a 5 year old kid getting dragged to church. Third batter…you guessed it. The game had been going on for approximately 6 minutes and I had managed to throw 12 pitches, 12 balls, and no outs. At this point I am trying not to have a hissy fit. I can feel my dad’s eyes on me. I just knew he was gritting his teeth trying not to yell “Quit being a baby, or you’re walking home!”. I can also hear my best of friends around the infield beginning to snicker like school girls. My cousin/catcher came out for a mound visit. He knew I was pissed so he was trying really hard not to smile, but I know that cocksucker he wanted to laugh all the way to bank at my horrendous 6 minutes in hell. I took some deep breathes, stepped on the mound, fired a fastball right down the middle. Finally, a pitch over the plate. The only problem was…that ball is still orbiting the earth to this day. The cleanup hitter took me so deep, the ping off the bat almost broke my eardrum. But it was not that sound that wakes me up in the middle of the night. It’s the sound of my teammates, my best buds, BURSTING out in laughter as I stand in the center of it all on the verge of a psychotic break. I had throw 13 pitches. 12 balls, 1 grand salami. We were down 4-0 eight minutes into the game, still no outs. And that cocksucker, the guy who’s supposed to be my catcher/cousin/bestfriend is yuckin it up like you wouldn’t believe. At that point I could not help but laugh myself. I walked off the mound (not by choice, Mr. Marino yanked my ass and rightfully so) maniacally laughing. So I guess the morale of this Sunday Scary is it gets better? A little? I don’t fucking know, but what I do know is to this day, at least once a year my cousin will text or just turn to me and say
“Hey remember when you walked the bases loaded, gave up a grand slam on 13 pitches to start the game and almost cried?”
“Yes Mike. Yes I do.”
Featured Image: Just a couple of young studs with sick flow and braces.