Striking Out

It is OK to strike out.

Once in a while.

In a sport where the players earn millions of dollars (what sport doesn’t pay you millions anymore?) for hitting a ball, you can earn the highest level of fame and accolades if you are successful thirty-five percent of the time.


I was successful thirty-three percent in my Little League career. In another league, I might have been considered a hitting star, but we had a couple powerhouse teams with TEAM batting averages over .500!

Tomorrow, I will recount my game I pitched against them.

I was never in danger of crashing down the gates to become a major League ballplayer.

But I dreamed of it.

In football, my balls were bigger than my brawn allowed, so I was injured all the way up to the point where I gave in and said “uncle” which is NEVER!

But I tried.

Before I lost my left leg to the circulatory issues I have, I mistreated it pretty badly, to say the least.

I broke my left ankle twice. Broke my femur once, and my tibia twice.

I ruptured my Achilles tendon twice.

I suffered a crushed kneecap.

I broke my broken left ankle when I got drunk and fell off of my front porch.

How charming.

Me on my back, in a full body cast from neck to ankle, squirming and struggling like an overturned turtle. It took a couple minutes to rock myself over, allowing me to grab the porch step and pull myself up.

I am sure Mom would have been proud to see her son laying there, drunk, drugged, and laughing in the dark.

Thank God no one walked by.

Striking out can also refer to success on another playing field in the Big Game of romance.

My average was somewhat higher in this regard.

Not to say that I didn’t have my fair share of K’s.

I was turned down several times, but my secret was simple. I would ask the prettiest girl in the room (I never cared if they already had a date) and work my way down.

If she said yes, it would be a great night.

If not, like a fat bee looking to pollenate, I would float on over to another flower.

I have always loved women.

All women.

It’s not color, height, or any of the other physical qualities that women possess that draws me.

It is the femininity.

The approachability, the softness.

They bring out the physical reactions, but I am good being around women and I am on the books as a big proponent of women, so why am I procrastinating so much on my novel?

You will love it.

I have teased with a couple preview pieces, but ENOUGH is ENOUGH!

I will continue the novel (I have at least started it) starting TODAY. After I play my 2pm show which of course I asked Robin Meade to show up at, I will do it.

To prove my determination, I will post my progress on it in the next three blogs.

Don’t be like me.

Do what you say you are going to do.

Or don’t say it.

Stay well.

Published by maddogg09

I am an unmotivated genius with an extreme love for anything that moves the emotional needles of our lives.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in: Logo

You are commenting using your account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )

Connecting to %s

%d bloggers like this: