What better way to celebrate my friend's 39th birthday Sunday night than to head to the ballpark.
And what better way to fritter away what turned out to be a 14-2 Indians loss than to head to the speed-pitch machine that's just a soft-toss from our season tickets in Section 113 of Jacobs Field.
Once upon a time, the Juggs Gun was my ally. Blessed with a decent arm that earned me the childhood nickname "Rifle Fife" (after Barney Fife, God rest his silver bullet and soul), I'd regularly hit 69 mph. And once — at the "Taste of Cleveland" festival about eight years ago — I jacked it up to 75. (I was immediately accused of steroid use, although I tested postive only for pierogies.)
The idea to relive our youth — I'm 42 now — was my buddy's. And he hit a personal-best 69 mph a few times while hurling four rounds of three balls. Happy Birthday, Bobby Feller Jr.!
As for me, I lasted one round. My warmup toss registered 58. Entirely confident that I was loose as could be after that one lob — the first time I've touched a baseball or softball in about three years — I let 'er rip on my second throw. Sadly, the digital board registered a 66. My third and final throw wasn't even that good, and I left the park falling back on the fact that I hadn't blown up my rotator cuff.
I can run a marathon two weeks earlier. And lay 3,400 square feet of sod the previous Tuesday. But I apparently should hang up any aspirations of starring in the Disney sequel to "The Rookie."
Then again, C.C. Sabathia didn't fare much better Sunday night.
— Thomas Skernivitz, Managing Editor
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