Whiiiifffff - my youth is gone

As a teenager, I was addicted to wiffle ball. I would play all day until it was too dark to see the ball and even then it was hard to drag me away. So when a friend asked me to play in a wiffle ball tournament last weekend, I was all in.

Then the day to play arrived and I realized that it had been over 20 years since I had actually played a true game of wiffle ball. Sure, I had thrown the ball around with co-workers here and there but this was serious business. It was a tournament.

As a teenager, I was a legend. I'm sure there are still stories floating around some backyards about my wicked, now-you-see-it, now-you-don't curve ball. I'm sure my home run records will never be matched, at least in my own mind.

But those days are long gone. My cannon arm has been replaced by an arm that gets sore if I brush my teeth too long. And I have trouble hitting a stationary golf ball on a tee from time to time so hitting a curving ball with a skinny plastic bat seemed nearly impossible.

Still, I along with the other two members of the team, were there for a good cause as the money went to charity. That's what I kept telling myself as I watched the game before ours with pitchers slinging 90 mph pitches at one another.

Teams were taking it seriously, very seriously. I saw one person dive and catch a ball. I quickly turned to a teammate and gave him some reassurance of my dedication to the team.

"If I dive for a ball like that, it means I tripped. And I'm probably hurt and will need medical help."

With that, it was time for the Breaking Bads to take the field. Yes, we named our team after one of the best television shows of all time but also because I figured we might break and we would probably be bad.

I started out pitching for the Bads and I decided that instead of throwing the ball as hard as I could like I did as a teenager, I would take a lot off and be able to move the next day. That little bit of strategy paid off on the first pitch as the batter swung and missed at my slow fast ball.

Next, I decided to get creative and throw my now-you-see-it, now-you-don't curve ball. Let's just say he saw it and I didn't, because it has yet to land. I don't remember that ever happening to me as a teenager but then again my memory isn't what it used to be.

Finally after a few more home runs we were up to bat. Here I was worried that I would strike out every time but fortunately I put plastic on the ball with the exception of a couple strikeouts that featured balls over my head dropping into the strike zone.

But the Bads lost and fell into the loser's bracket. But we weren't done. We still had some fight left in us and it showed the next game.

For a brief moment, the Bads were like teenagers again as we were hitting long home runs and hitting the ball with a ferocity that can't be explained by just mere words. Some critics or physics professors might say a strong wind behind us may have had something to do with it, but I choose not to listen to them.

The Bads were triumphant, and continued on, ready for our next challenge, although it was starting to get a little warm and after two games I was a little tired and was starting to sweat.

Still we pressed on and faced a team that featured a left-handed pitcher with a blazing fastball that you couldn't see, only hear cutting through the wind. Whiiiiiiiffffffff.

Out to redeem myself, I was back on the mound after getting shelled in the first game. My now-you-see-it, now-you-don't curve ball was in teenager-form as I held the other team hitless for a short time. Then one of their players saw it and it went a long way.

Still we were in the game until the last inning where a questionable rule that was changed without our knowledge gave the opposition a baserunner. As a teenager, I would have thrown a fit, thrown a hat, thrown dirt and thrown out expletives but as a mature adult, I just beaned the next batter, knowing that with a loss I was that much closer to being home on my couch watching college football.

The inning continued to go against us as another one of my curve balls was hit into the atmosphere and the other team was given a couple extra runs for some reason. Instead of getting angry, I just beaned the next hitter and moved on.

Finally we lost the game and a deep sigh of relief was had by all the Breaking Bads. We had fun and took part in a good cause all while not injuring ourselves. And I learned a very important thing. The teenager that would play wiffle ball into darkness was long gone, replaced by an adult that could play to lunchtime and then needed a nap. And it was a good nap too.