Fans of good writing (which, if you're reading this, you clearly are), I would like to introduce you to Chris "Disco" Hayes. He may be rough around the edges, but he has a sense of prose (so rare in an age when so few read) and can turn a phrase. Not surprisingly, he has an analytic turn of mind. But this post is about the writing, so here he is on PFPs ("pitcher's fielding practice"), which
[The team physician] taps the back of my ankle near the Achilles and says, "Make sure you stretch this out well, it's a bit tight." I take it to heart (though it nearly breaks mine) and nod my head. Duly noted.
And then the joke hits me. It's witty, it's relevant ... ah, it's perfect. It happens so fast, before I know it my lips are making a coy, dry grin to indicate I'm about to be a smart alec. I figure the Doctor has a hundred physicals to perform, I might as well make a part of his day funny. Accordingly, I ask, "Would you say it's my Achilles Heel?" I swear I'm not making this up. It was so perfect. Contextually ... My entire body functions perfectly, but there's one specific area that may be a flaw that could lead to an injury? And it's my Achilles? Gold. Well played, Mr. Hayes. Delivery was good. Timing: better.
Everything came together like a sinker just a wink below the knees that gets wrapped to the shortstop for a double play. The batter practically slipped coming out of the box.
I'm obnoxiously proud of my wit at this point. I feel like I've teed the "uncontrollable belly-laughter" golf ball up and handed the Doctor the biggest of Big Berthas. In a way, now, I'm glad the calves and ankles I love so much have been hated on simply for the sake of this joke. It's well worth it. Unless, someho—
"No, not the heel, just the tendon."
The Doctor pats me on the shoulder and looks at the next pitcher in line. Not even a smile. He said it assuringly, like I really thought it was my tight heel, but everything was going to be OK. He raises his eyebrows indicating the end of my physical. And it is. I walk cautiously (so as to not rupture anything) to the calf-stretcher and sink my head, dropping my gaze to my suspect heel. I can't help but notice my splendid calves.
On going undrafted:
You'd think with 1500 selections, getting drafted is a pretty easy way to get signed. And it should be. In fact, on the second day of the draft while you listen to name after name get called, a number of teams will stop drafting players after round 45. At this point, you realize you are not getting passed over for another player, but rather getting passed over for no one. Your absence is worth more than your presence to 30 organizations.
Nothing really to add other than as somehow who teaches writing professionally, I'd kill to get my hands on this kid. By the way, I think I accidentally found out I won some sort of teaching award. It was an email in which everyone referred to me in the third person, which leads me to believe I wasn't supposed to be a recepient.