If you’re wondering about the crowning moment of my athletic career, the first thing I’ll say is there really hasn’t been such a career.

But still, I’ve had highlights on the playing field.  One especially.

It was the summer of ’86 and we staff members of Fiddlers restaurant in Lethbridge, Alberta, Canada were having a picnic.  After too much food and drink, we decided to have a softball game.  I don’t know what Europeans know about North American sports, so here’s some info:

Softball is like baseball, except played with a bigger and softer ball.  In baseball, you stand at home plate, hit the ball and hopefully run to first base (to the right), then second, then third, then back home … the route looks like a diamond.

My turn up to bat.  With a semi-mighty swing, I launched the ball to the outfield (that is, far from home plate).

I didn’t think – I just did.  I ran to third base!  To the left.  Then I roared past second … and slid into first.  Safe!

I looked up at my teammates and my opponents.  Mouths were agape, heads were shaking, voices were raised.  Apparently I was an idiot.

***

I’m enjoying the World Cup of football on TV.  For the uninitiated, in football (or soccer) you’re not allowed to use your hands, or even let the ball touch your arms.

In the spirit of zooming to third base, I’m fantasizing about a player grabbing the ball and running full tilt down the field.  Then throwing the ball past the goaltender into the upper right corner of the net.  Goal!

No doubt the same open mouths

***

And so I dream