Faster Than a Speeding Bullet

Last night I attended a Salt Lake Bees game (the minor league team) and sat right on the third baseline. I'd received a pair from a co-worker, so Cody and I headed down to the ballpark. The weather was absolutely perfect--a balmy 75 degrees with a little breeze.

When I say we sat on the third baseline, I really mean the third baseline. We were in the first row behind the visiting team's dugout. Cody and I, both being over the average American height rested our feet on the dugout.

Somewhere in the third inning, Bees player No. 4 stepped to bat. Cody told me this guy would be pro by the end of the summer. Sweet deal, I thought. Then, the moment I can't quite remember but is also impossible to forget. I'm minding my own business when No. 4 swung his bat, and the ball ricocheted into our direction.

Picture time slowing for a moment, and an 80 mile per hour ball suspended in mid-air. Flash forward to the moment I realized it was going to hit me--I calmly turned my head, didn't even flinch, and caught a line-drive into the back of my right thigh. THWACK! The stadium went silent and everyone (including the team in the dugout five feet from me) turned and stared. I was just so flabbergasted! I finally put my hand up and half-smiled so people would quit staring.

I'm now the kind recipient of a perfectly round, baseball-sized bruise mid-way up on the back of my right thigh. (Picture was taken last night, so it's a lot nastier looking today.)

I always say I'm one of the luckiest people alive... and I don't know if taking a baseball to the back of the thigh counts as lucky, but WHO ELSE does this stuff happen to? I had a slim to infinitesimally zero chance of getting hit... and I did. Not really a shock.