Paper Cuts and Baseball

Yesterday I listened to a baseball legend talk about humorous stories of other famous baseball legends with about 30 other baseball fans. A baseball legend I had never heard who was active from right before I was born until a few years after I was born. But just because I hadn’t heard of him before didn’t mean I would pass up the opportunity, even if I didn’t fully take advantage of the situation. More on that later as I have something more pressing to bring up first.

Today, the day after, I got a paper cut. The kind of paper cut that is in one of the worst spots - the little bridge of skin between your first finger and thumb. The little stretch of skin that freaks me out because I worry about accidentally cutting it all the time. I feel like something that vital and precious to my hand should have more substance and not be susceptible to catastrophic injury from a piece of cardboard box I was trying to open as it sat on my front porch being it’s too heavy self holding multiple bags of cat litter. I need to put out treats for the delivery truck drivers because dealing with this box once a month isn’t fun. Now I have an injury that makes typing a little more painful than usual.

Writing can frequently be painful. For my brain. For my heart. For my self-confidence. And now for that little piece of sensitive skin that belongs nowhere near paper, or cardboard for that matter, is making writing physically a little painful too.

But writing for me is also therapeutic. Cathartic in a way that not many other things are. Reading is as well, but on a different level. I’ve never been much of a journal-er, but I love writing stories. So how does this fit into baseball?

Well, we’re season ticket holders to our local AAA baseball team. Partial season tickets because going to 81 games every year is just not feasible, but we’ve done this for a couple years now. For me, it’s guarantee family time twenty some times a year. It’s also a chance to get inspiration for more stories. When the team offered an opportunity to do a meet-and-greet with a baseball legend, that was an immediate yes.

First was watching a live sit-down interview and a chance to ask questions. Did I have questions? Yes. Did I ask any questions? No.

Next was autographs and photos. Did I want an autograph and photo? Heck yes. Did I go stand in line to get one? No. I went and bought a cute shirt and sticker. My brain needed that dopamine hit, and I wasn’t about to argue with it.

Next came getting to watch the game in a suite, with said baseball legend. There was food, air-conditioning, tall tables and stools, and a great view of the field. Plus, another chance to chat with a baseball legend.

I wanted to know what his favorite memories were. Someone who knew what it was like behind the scenes. What it was like for baseball back then, and what he thinks of baseball now post MoneyBall era. I was sharing a suite with someone who knew what it was like to be on that field in the big show, on the mound, and staring down some of baseball’s g.o.a.t. hall-of-fame hitters. 10-year-old me, who wanted to be a pitcher for the New York Yankees but was born with the wrong combinations of chromosomes to be allowed to, would have been talking up a storm to the man.

But I was frozen. Focused on watching a game from a view I’ve never seen before and eating food I didn’t have to pay twice the outside-the-ballpark price for. I couldn’t even approach the man.

I was with my family. None of them cared about talking to a baseball legend. They just liked the food and watching a little baseball.

All I could think about was how I missed an opportunity to delve deeper into something I love. Delve deeper into an understanding that could improve my writing. And I froze. I failed at this opportunity that basically fell in my lap.

So what’s this long-winded story about my lack of courage to talk to a baseball legend have to do with paper cuts?

Nothing. They are just two sucky things that happened back-to-back. I don’t know if I’ll ever get another opportunity to speak candidly to a baseball legend. But I know there will be thousands of more opportunities for paper cuts.

I learned a couple things this weekend. Courage isn’t guaranteed. And that little strip of skin between your first finger and thumb is more resilient than I thought. Little thing didn’t even bleed when it was sliced by an errant piece of cardboard.

Also, cat litter is heavy AF.