Wishing Well (or the sound of a baseball hitting you in the spine)

Last night at my son’s baseball practice—a somewhat chilly, overcast night—batting practice was nearing an end. Given that my right arm now contains all the power of the police chief in a lawless 1870s Deadwood, I no longer pitch batting practice. (Doc, it hurts when I do this.) So I was playing the highly visible yet trained-monkey-capable role of “feeding the pitcher.”

Meaning after the pitcher threw a pitch to the batter, I reached into the ball bucket and fed him another. And again. And again. And again. Yep. Where I once dreamed of playing in the major leagues, I have now settled into my role of handing the ball to the guy who’s acually going to throw it.

(Cue Karate Kid "You're The Best" montage)

Anyway it was the last batter, and I had just taken a throw from the outfield and turned back to face the pitcher’s mound from my position directly behind it. As I did I noted our head coach (I am the assistant coach…my job often entails handing the ball to the guy who’s pitching…but then again we’ve covered that), standing at the mound, had a look on his face that I’d seen before. His eyes were a bit wider than usual. His mouth seemed to want to form words, yet no words came. His face moved in slow motion as he attempted to convey…something...to me. Something that seemed imminent.

It dawned on me—there was a ball heading at my head. I was about to be hit. That was it, wasn't it.

Yes it was.

“DAN LOOK…” was all he got out before impact. I praise the effort, though.

In that final fragment of a second I braced myself in the way that must have seemed like the best idea at the time: I stood there and did absolutely nothing.

THUD!

The ball didn’t hit my head. It hit me instead perfectly in the center of my back, right on the spine between the shoulder blades.

BTW?

Ow.

As everyone winced and I kind of let out a loud groan, my inner Lou Gossett (more Sgt. Foley than the whale guy from Jaws 3-D) came out, as I conveyed about 9 seconds of rather refreshing blind rage.

“You OK?” the coach asked.

“I’M FINE!!! WHY IS SOMEONE THROWING THE BALL TO SOMEONE WHO ISN’T LOOKING?! ISN’T THAT ONE OF THE CARDINAL RULES OUT HERE?! HUH?! OR IS TOO MUCH FUN TO SEE A COACH TAKE A FASTBALL TO THE BACK???!!!”

Silence.

I turned to face the perpetrator who had spined me, yelling as I turned, “MAKES SENSE, DOESN’T IT? DON’T THROW THE BALL UNLESS SOMEONE IS LOOKING?! HAVEN'T WE BEEN TEACHING YOU THAT SINCE YOU WERE 5 YEARS OLD?!”

I finally came face to face with the 13-year-old fiend who nailed me. And...

...it was the quietest kid on our team. And he was wincing like a frightened beagle.

Suddenly I felt like kind of a jerk.

I mean, he didn’t mean it. And I apologized for my outburst and just reminded him to never throw the ball when someone wasn’t looking, and he nodded and apologized, and I gave him a pat on the back. And then fired a fastball into his shoulder blade.

Heh.

(No, of course I didn’t. I told you my throwing arm is shot, didn’t I?)

So anyway, today my back is sore where the ball hit me. End of that part of the story.

But driving into work today I put on a song that I’ve loved for 20+ years. One of the angriest, most visceral songs I have ever heard, yet also one that is strangely melodic. It's sorta punk but sorta not. Sorta metal but sorta not. It's just...power. Angry power. Complete with a guitar solo that has to be heard to be believed—I am fairly certain the guitar filed abuse charges after it was over.

Listen.

Man, the way it builds on some simple acoustic guitar chords, and then keeps building and building? And that detached, bloodless way Bob Mould sings the words? And that solo! (It starts at 2:28 when Bob tears his hand down the neck as brutally as the villain in a slasher film.) The way it reverberates and lingers through the end of the song? Damn! I’m not sure what Bob is so angry about, but I hope it’s not because of something I said.

But I realized…to close this little circle I’ve opened up and to wind this silly story around to actually fit in with this here music blog of ours…that when I first heard this song in 1989 or so it hit me at totally unexpected level. Raw. Painful. Totally by surprise. If blind rage has a sound, this might be it.

This song hit me like a fastball to the spinal column. Now that I know what that feels like, I can confirm this.

Not a good thing to have a baseball do that. But a song? Pretty damn good.

(Now I need someone to get me some ice. Please?)