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Date Posted: 15:05:17 11/04/01 Sun
Author: digital depression
Subject: Re: I'm not really happy.
In reply to: Byung Hyun Kim 's message, "I'm not really happy." on 22:18:55 11/01/01 Thu

>I am not too happy right about now. In fact, I guess
>it would be safe for you to say that I'm actually
>fairly unhappy.

Yet your 'failure' -- if I may use such a charged word -- is clearly shared with the other members of your team. And every soul living in South and North Korea, Kim.

I recall my abortive attempt at summer baseball. I had been playing "tee" ball throughout my youth which soon gave rise to little league. At the end of one year (I couldn't have been more than 11 years old) I came into "close" a game for my team and somehow struck out the side. My throws (I could not call them 'pitches' at this late date) had no movement. They had no speed. I simply threw the ball past the three worst players on the worst team that year.

But alack, I didn't know that then.

Our bodies changed throughout that winter and I suppose I fancied myself as someone who the ball could be given to over the bleak, fruitless frost. We came back that spring in the next league up and my new coach agreed to let me be the starting pitcher for the first game. My father, an all-state, star high school pitcher watched from his perch of solitude. He knew what was coming. But he refused to teach me the "curveball." Oh, how I asked. Oh, how I begged. Confident that the 50mph fastball I had would overpower my fellow opposing batters, I wanted something to really wow them.

But it did not happen. I was not taught. The inevitable occured. The other young boys pounded my lazily-tossed throws and I left the game in the first inning, never to pitch again.

I suppose I blamed my father then, but I now of course blame myself. He came home from work early that one day and found me in the middle of an all-male foursome orgy. He was stunned, but only in my friends could I find the solace that he had denied me on the pitching mound. As I lay comforted in the tender, teenage warmth of my closest friends I could not supress a knowing shudder: though my father distanced himself from me that summer, I at least had a curveball for him.


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