All last week during her win-less softball tournament, Darby was nagging about not getting to play catcher. Are you kidding? I asked. I explained that the ball comes right at you out of a heartless machine at 35 mph. And oh, by the way, you have to pay attention when you're catcher, something you haven't been able to do at any other position, as I have to yell stop playing in the dirt at least twice a night, and I yell stand up another time or two as well.
She didn't seem phased, but never got the chance nonetheless. She played first base, second base, short stop, right field, center field, and left field. But not pitcher, catcher, or third base.
Well, today at practice, she got her wish. They gave her the catcher's gear and said to suit up. I helped her get the gear on and went over some important points. Pay attention to the ball. Don't take your eye off the ball. Keep your free arm behind your back. Once the ball is hit, throw off your mask and cover the plate. And so on...
She was real cocky about the whole thing, in spite of my warnings to be careful. She walked over and squated down right behind the plate, appearing as though she had done it many times before. This is in contrast to most kids at this age that play that position, which is to sit slightly off center, as to not be directly in the line of fire, but still be able to catch the ball.
Sure enough, upon the second pitch of her catching experience... THUNK. She went down to her hands and knees, not a sound coming from her mouth. I ran over to her, are you okay? Can you breathe? She shook her head yes and squealed what I think was a yes. She had to take a minute to catch her breath, stand up, and another minute to walk it off.
Apparently she took her eye off the ball, missed it, and it hit her square in the sternum, knocking the wind out of her. Yes, she was wearing the chest pad, but that thing is not nearly as think as I would have thought it should be. I would equate the experience with catching a hard-thrown ball in the palm of a glove instead of the web. Stings pretty bad, huh? Imagine that same blow to your sternum. But she only weighs sixty pounds. Somebody do the math on that (7 oz ball traveling 35 mph, impacting sixty pound girl at rest... that has to equal something).
On the way home, we were in a 35 mph speed limit zone. I was going about 32 mph and told Darby that the ball that hit her was traveling faster than the car at that moment. She made a surprised face, so I think that helped conceptualize what she was on the receiving end of.
When we got home I checked her chest and there was no bruise or anything, but I wouldn't be surprised if something became more visible later.
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