Day 125 Risk: Go To The Batting Cages

There is a bar right near Wrigley Field in Chicago called Sluggers. The upstairs of Sluggers is this awesome game room complete with batting cages. Beer, baseball and games. Can’t get much better than that.

Wednesday was my husband’s birthday and he loves this upstairs room of Sluggers. He was itching to swing the bat at some flying balls (alright, alright; you can insert a dirty joke here) so we invited a bunch of friends out and went by for a low key evening of baseballs and brew.

Having had a tough week, I was looking forward to hitting the piss out of some balls (okay, that’s enough filthy mind) in the batting cages. I normally would not care so much about this, but the thought of the crack the ball makes against the bat and the power behind hitting a good one was pretty appealing. So I took my turn in the rickety cages.

Something you have to understand about the batting cages at Sluggers is that they are not separated very well. You’ve got 4 cages but they are in a semi-circle and the pitching machines are all located in the same general area, so at times the balls are flying right past each other. The other thing to know about these cages are that they are old and probably haven’t been serviced in years, so the balls are chucked at you wonky, sometimes straight on, sometimes at an angle (now really, get your head out of the gutter!).

The site of the Ball Incident of 2011.

It was my 2nd or 3rd time in the cages when it happened. To my credit I wasn’t really drinking that much, had only 1 beer the entire time we were there. So what happened next was not my fault. I took my stance, swung at a few and was about halfway done when a ball came at me pretty inside. I didn’t judge the distance right and therefore didn’t take the step back that was needed, so the ball ricocheted off the part of my bat just above the handle and popped back, smacking me in the eye.

I dropped the bat and moved to the side so no more crazy pitches would whack me and eventually made my way to the door, cursing up a storm. The crazy part is no one saw it happen. They just saw me bent over, clutching my face and screaming “Shit!!”

I was able to get some ice and luckily there was no real bruise forming. When we got there, I didn’t really foresee this as a risk, but there you go. I was sore for a day, but otherwise I’m fine. Someone said I should sue, but I figure I’m entitled one good lawsuit and I’m saving it for a doozy, like a broken hip bone on a wet floor or something. For now, I think I’ll just stay away from flying balls (now really; you’ve gone to far. Would you kiss your mother with that mouth?).

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