In our first game of this bar league season, I popped out twice and got a measly single base hit. My batting ratio was less than my usual stellar. It didn't help that the wind chill factor was compromising my grip and swing. However, I snagged two crazy lobs into the Red Hook air space of right field that begged much running from my dear crippled legs. I was outstanding on the grass sans cleats. A bunch of team cheers and opponent boos kept the blood spiked. Still, my poor sore legs and back started paying for it by the second inning. I hobbled on my bike ride home -- if that's even possible. I felt alive.