I just really miss softball...

Ever since I was 4 and my brother and dad made an attempt to teach me how to throw a ball, I have been hooked on the game of softball. When I was nearly to the end of my fourth year of life, my parents signed me up to the wonderful game of softball. I remember in coach pitch, I could never figure out the timing, so I would have to have the coach step closer so I would actually have a chance of hitting the ball. Hitting was never my strong suit....But, something else was. The pitcher's circle was my haven.

Even when coach pitch was the world of my young life, I played my defensive position as "pitcher's circle." My only job was to field the ball if it came up the middle and try to avoid winging the ball as hard as I could into the head of my coach if he did not get out of the way. I mostly avoided that.

I played on my school's All-Star team, which was my introduction to travel ball before I even knew what travel ball was. We traveled to Mt. Vernon, Ohio... that was the most distance I had gone for the game then, and I thought that drive was FOREVER; little did I know.

After growing out of the basics of the sport, I moved up to the level where we pitched to ourselves. I decided I would be a third basemen — different, I know. I loved playing the corner for some reason. I had very little patience and hardly any attention span, so playing in the hot corner worked for me...plus, I had a strong throw. My hitting was better than before, but not homer level. I had a coach, Rodger. He nicknamed me "Auto," standing for "Automatic" because I would respect and listen and do whatever he told me because he was my coach and I was his player. I never understood the meaning behind it until I was a little older. I thought he was calling me "Otto;" it didn't make sense.

I got curious in those two years of 8u; I picked up a ball and stepped into the pitcher's circle again. I don't know what grabbed my curiosity for pitching? Maybe it was because my brother was a Little League pitcher and I wanted to be like him? Maybe it was because it was something new? I can't really recall. Either way, that was the best decision I could've impulsively made because it brought me so much more in life than I ever imagined.

As I became stronger over the age of 10, I was getting better on the field and needed better competition. My parents took me to a different league to face new competitors and continue to grow as a pitcher; that was 12u. At the age of 12, my dad's basic lessons in the backyard weren't cutting it anymore and he began taking me to a pitching coach, Ron Marstiller.

Ron was and still is the only man I give full credit to for my softball successes. When I first started with him, I flew through the basics and pounded into my head the importance of mechanics — something I pound into my pitchers' heads now as I am a pitching coach, just like Ron. Ron became my mentor, my confidant, my friend and my idea of the game of softball. I stuck with him all the way through my career, until I went to college. He taught me everything about softball and he taught me that softball was more than just a game; he taught me a love on a personal level for the dirt, cleats and shoulder-width rubber I stood on everyday.

Throughout the following years, through middle school and high school softball, I dealt with the school politics and dreaded that it was pushing me away from the dusty ol' diamond, but I knew the goal of playing college softball was my ultimate want. My dad, despite my relentless stubborn attitude, mde me pitch every other day in the back yard with him. He made a mound for me out of a 2x4 piece of wood. I would go to school, go to a workout or practice (depending on the day), then come home and stand on that piece of rotting wood. As long as we still had light in the sky, we were pitching behind our big, red barn. There are a few dents in that barn from rise balls that had a mind of their own, and that fence is in bad shape from some curveballs that decided to "go with the wind." I can't even begin to think about the damage my dad has to his shins from my days of learning a drop ball. And, I apologize to my dogs for beaming them a few times with a screw.

When I was 15, I joined my first travel ball team. Although my mom was not the athletic type, she still put her time into the sport. My dad was my second pitching coach, repeating Ron everyday, and my mom was my partner throughout the summers. My mom tried to be a catcher for me once, but getting hit in three different places on the body from one fastball kinda turned her away from that option.

On this travel team, I was constantly in competition with another pitcher. When I was not pitching on the mound, I was learning about the strategy of softball from my coach. His wisdom pushed me a level ahead of my competition later on in the sport. A few summers with that team, I played a summer for fun with a lower-level team, but still met a new coach to teach me more (and taught me some hitting techniques that brought more hits, amazingly). After one summer with that team, I traveled further for another and met another coach who brought more knowledge to my mind, along with a team that I loved to be a part of.

Throughout my transitioning of teams, my mom and I were still partners in travel and worked to get myself recruited. Throughout the years, it finally happened. During the recruiting trips to camps, clinics and tournaments, I hardly remember the workouts, but I do remember the experiences I had with my mom.

I fulfilled my dream of playing college ball. I went through four years at a Division II school and played top-notch athletes. Yes, the game was a love, but I remember most my teammate sisters. I remember my last-ever college game. I had the most homers hit off of me that night than I had off of me my whole college career, but I didn't care. I got line drived in the shin that night, but I didn't care. I got yelled at by my coach that night, but I didn't care. I threw my last pitch, a screw ball low and inside, I cared. It was hit to my shortstop and was an easy out. I took off my rotted navy blue cleats one last time, I cared. I hung them on the fence and walked away...I cared.

I went pro in Europe. I learned more about the game from another coach who I still appreciate. I was hurting everywhere from being a pitcher for so many years. I had a dislocated shoulder, a tilted pelvic bone and two sprained ankles, but I still played because I needed to finish this sport. I wasn't done with this sport after my last college game, I just needed one more summer and I got that. I remember my last ever pitch in a softball game...another screwball. I was brought into the game to get the last out. I threw three pitches: drop curve, curve, screw. The screw was a looking strike and that was it. My pitching days were done.

I am officially a washed-up non-athletic person now and I can't help but think back to all of my teams, look at all of the pictures and miss the dirt. I see photos of memories that I will cherish forever. I see photos that show the love I had and still have for my teammates. I see the hugs, tears and joy I shared with friends that became family. I miss the cleats coated with mud. I miss the ponytail whipping me in the eye. I miss the adrenaline of line drives speeding at your face. I miss those cleats the most though? Those spikes. Just the idea of lacing up my cleats for another season is one thing I wish I actually took the time to appreciate.

I am a coach now because I found that I NEEDED, not wanted, but HAD to always be on that dirt. It is something that is a part of me and always will be. My parents joke around all the time and say I have no "street smarts" because I spent too much time on the dirt, in a circle, but is that really a bad thing?