I am torn over the question of whether yesterday's game against Braintree went well for me, or badly. In my first complete game as a shortstop, I made what were far and away my most accomplished plays so far. That is to say, I fielded two ground balls cleanly, and made accurate throws to first — on the second occasion I even added a little extra zip on the throw to make sure I beat the runner. Very satisfying.
And that is probably how I would have remembered the day, if it hadn't been for the manner of my final at-bat. I struck out looking in the seventh inning, with only one out, men on base and the Raptors needing just a couple of runs to keep the game alive. It capped a day of poor swings at the plate, and as we packed up our gear a few moments later, I could only sit and brood about it. Sadly, my young son was not around to offer his famous pick-me-up “Don't be grumpy, Daddy”!
It's often a matter of timing and dumb luck which decides how you feel about your day, and it's the same for a ball game. That strikeout was the cancelled train on the way home, the deal which falls through at the last minute, the text saying “let's be friends” after a hot date. Let's hope the black clouds fade and let the sunshine in.