When I was young, my dream was to play baseball for the Pittsburgh Pirates, to fly fighter airplanes in the Air Force, and eventually to become an astronaut and be the first person to go to Mars. Playing baseball didn’t quite fit into the idea of going to Mars, but the fighter pilot, astronaut track made a lot of sense.

Well, my Air Force career ended over a decade ago, and though I earned my wings, they weren’t pilot wings. I have to face the facts that I will not be an astronaut and I won’t be going to Mars. That’s one dream shattered.

But I’ve revived some hopes about playing professional baseball. If there were any scouts at tonight’s coach pitch softball game, I might get some consideration. I’m getting a little old, but you should have seen the way I was pitching tonight.

Since I pitched the previous night, I was pitching on no rest tonight. Nevertheless, my arm felt good. It wasn’t sore at all. The girls had hit me pretty well last night. I don’t know what was the difference. Maybe I didn’t I didn’t have my good stuff that night, but pretty much all of them were ripping me. I just couldn’t get it by them.

But tonight was a different story. I really brought my A game. They couldn’t touch me. Good morning, good afternoon, good night. One after another. I think there was only one out that wasn’t a strike out, and one inning I only faced three batters and struck them all out. It was just a stellar pitching outing.

One of the girls brought a beany bag monkey to the game. We set it on the bench and called it our Rally Monkey. After the dismal batting in the first inning, we moved the Rally Monkey and put it in the fence so it could watch the game better. But it was to no avail, as they continued to not be able to hit me. So we moved the Rally Monkey, and again the girls didn’t bat any better. For the last inning, we buried the Rally Monkey at the bottom of the ball bucket. But even hiding the Rally Monkey hidden didn’t help.

So of the girls think the problem was the Rally Monkey, and they asked the monkey’s owner to not bring it back to another game. I encouraged them in thinking that, because I don’t want them blaming me for their lack of hitting.

But you should have seen the bottom drop out of the ball when it crossed the plate tonight. It was a thing of beauty. If the Pittsburgh Pirates ever decide they need someone who can strike out eight year old girls, I’m their man.