Little Austin Strikeout

I was never a very good hitter, but I loved playing baseball.  Striking out all the time might have been horrific for my batting average, but it prepared me for life off the field.Can you believe that Opening Day is this weekend, Modern Philosophers?

I love baseball so much and cannot wait for the season to begin.  My beloved Yankees open the season at home on Monday against the Houston Astros.  Should be a great game, and I hope it’s the start of yet another World Championship season.

Baseball has always been a huge part in my life.  I was never very good at it, but I played it all through grammar school and even during my season year at NYU.

My dream job as member of the New York Yankees was doomed from the start.  While I was a very good third baseman, I simply could not do anything with my bat other than return it to the rack after striking out yet again.

I don’t know why I struck out all the time.  I really thought that after I got glasses in the seventh grade, my luck would change in the batter’s box.  Alas, all that happened was I could see the smile on the pitcher’s face much more clearly after every strikeout.

Even though I could not get a hit to save my future Yankees career, I never gave up.  Every year, I was back out there, trying my best, and never quitting.

I just kept striking out.

In honor of my horrible baseball career, I’ve made it the subject of this week’s article in my column over on The Good Men Project.

Guess what?  My column even has a name now: Whoopie Pies & Yankees.

The tagline: Deep Thoughts from a New Yorker hiding out in Maine.  It’s weird, quirky, and sums me up very well.  Plus it’s a little nod to this blog, which will always be my most important writing project.

My Dad and I smiling before another four strikeout performance | The Return of the Modern PhilosopherI even was able to convince my editor to use two adorable photos of me in the column.

I’ve shared them in this post as well, Modern Philosophers, so you can see how intimidating I looked in my baseball uniform.

I mean, get a load of those pipes in this photo.  With muscles like that, it’s a shame I could never make any contact.  I bet the ball would’ve traveled at least back to the pitcher’s mound after those massive biceps were through with it!

I hope you’ll take a couple of minutes to head over to Whoopie Pies & Yankees to check out the article.  It was fun to take one more walk out onto the diamond, tip my hat to the crowd, and then get the hell off the field before anyone handed me a bat!

If you enjoy the article, I’d appreciate it if you could use the share buttons at the bottom of the column to spread the word out into the interwebs.

Thanks for your support.  I hope the post is a big hit because it would be nice to know what a hit feels like, even after all these years!

Who are you rooting for this season?

Here’s the link:

Striking Out Made Him a Better Man


About Austin

Native New Yorker who's fled to the quiet life in Maine. I write movies, root for the Yankees, and shovel lots of snow.
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2 Responses to Little Austin Strikeout

  1. Mary B says:

    Congrats on your column. That’s very exciting!
    When I was a little girl (pre- age 10) my older brothers would let me play baseball with them at the field just down the street. When I got older, I realized I wasn’t that great of a player, and I was benched for the rest of my life. Guess I was meant to be a cheerleader – although I don’t recall ever seeing any cheerleaders for baseball.

    Twitter: @KnottyMarie
    Literary Gold
    Jingle Jangle Jungle

    • Austin says:

      Thanks, Mary. I really wanted to be good at baseball. I loved playing and being a part of a team. I just wish I was actually good at it!

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