I spent my first year of little league in the outfield wasteland of right field. I think every novice player starts there. It’s where you pay your dues, where the coach decides if you have ADHD (I don’t think they had invented it back then), and where you learn to daydream. About twice a game I would get a ball hit my way – usually a grounder. I was dependable, showed up for practice, paid attention, and always struck out when it was my turn at bat.
The next year, I didn’t have to play right field anymore. Continue reading


