Diary of a Switch Hitter

I missed this, the feel of the bat in my hands, my ratty old batting glove that is molded to my palms, the sound of the ball hitting the bat, and the feel of the connection in the right spot. God, I missed it.

So, why haven't I really done this that often since being allowed too? Well, I guess I felt like I betrayed my bat, my batting glove and my helmet by getting hurt. I felt like maybe hitting with them again would feel different, dirty, all because I put them down for over a year. But the thing is, it didn't. It felt right, like a first kiss, or the first bite of a really rich and fudge filled chocolate cake. That ecstatic feeling you get when you open your presents on Christmas morning when you were still a little kid, that's the feeling I get when I pick up my bat, take my slight hitch, exhale, and swing. It feels amazing to step into the batters box, or as in the case today, backyard, and to hit about 150 balls from the tee. It feels like, well happiness, peace, and love all wrapped up into one ecstatic hour.

I know I write about softball quite a bit on here, but in reality, it is the one place where I step out of this shell and move from LoRo, Laurel, Lo, La, and into something else. Someone more intense, yet relaxed, who knows what they are doing every second of the time that batting glove is on my hand. When I step into that box, I have my own little "hitch" as I would call it. I get in there, wait for the sign, take three swings, and, in a whisper say "Bring it bitch, you're mine" or "this ones mine". Yes, the catchers do sometimes hear me, but many of them have played with me before so they know its coming. Then its lift the bat, watch for the beginning of the motion, move my arms back a little higher, and once in the right spot, release that amount of tension from my shoulders and hips. I am a totally different person when I step up to my plate, because that's what it is, MY PLATE. My plate, my bases, and my pitching mound, and I constantly feel as though that pitcher needs to know that.

Needless to say, whether swinging left or right, my ideal pitch is in the same area; low and outside. Why, well, I always seem to drive it to left field no matter which way I am batting. Now, that is pretty bad, as when batting right the outside pitch needs to go to right field, and the inside pitch to left, but then again this is softball me we are talking about here. It goes to the left to the left. ooh.

The thing about batting is that you have to believe in yourself. If you don't, well then you won't hit the ball. You have to be cocky in some way, that way you really bring the BOOM, and not the 'was that supposed to be a bunt?' You have to know that you can hit it, and that when you do, it will be far, it will be hard, and that you will make it to first base. And yes, I said first base because when you aim for a multiple base hit, and start swinging for the fences, that's when you hit a nice soft grounder right to the shortstop, who takes her time, and makes a nice, easy pretty throw to throw your ass out. Either that of you totally whiff it on strike three.

Be Cocky, be happy, and know that no matter what, the next person up has your back if you whiff it.
 
On another note, my father, Boboni, thinks that my swing looks better when I go lefty. I think he is out of his mind. But either way, I still hit 75 from the left, balancing inside, middle, and outside all the same after I got my rightyness out of the way.

Yours Truly,
Laurel Lee

Bill Homa Memorial Tournament

    Most of the people reading this blog never knew William "Bill" Homa, my Pappa, but you all have heard of the drama, but not what happened.

   My Pappa was a great man, and whomever the person, he always held the utmost respect for them. Any girl with a bat bag in hand, batting glove, and mitt nearby was always one of his favorite sights, and most of these girls are unofficial granddaughters to him. He was always on a field somewhere, whether it be running the field crews at the Ohio Invasion Classics, working for Joey and the Akron Racers Pro Fastpitch Team, setting up the field for East High School Orientals, or just on a set of bleachers somewhere watching his girls playing the game. When I say his girls, I do not just mean me and my sister. I mean every teammate we have ever had, and any girl who has a love for the game in her heart. He volunteered for the Racers every chance he got, and he worked hard everyday of his life. Not only did he do all of that for softball, but he made sure to be at every event any of his grandchildren ever had, and I mean every event for all of us. 

     He died on June 19th of 2009 at the Akron Slam Series I, after working on the fields all day. I was at home when we got the call from Joey, I was about to head to work. My dad's phone rang, and Joey was on the other end. I picked up, as the parentals were outside, and could tell that something was wrong. I ran outside and to the hot tub to where my parents were. It only took them five seconds to get out of the tub, and inside the house. Maybe a minute more to change and run out the door. My Pappa was announced dead about half an hour later. He had collapsed next to his truck, as he had been putting his rakes and liner away, and the next thing we knew he was gone. My dad always says that when we Homa's go, we go, there is no holding on, no lingering, its just drop dead. The sad thing is that he is right. Every Homa has been a heart attack, and gone within the hour that it happened. My Pappa had been the only one taking care of four fields, and we are all greatful to the team who found him, and called 911. We are even more thankful to God that the team who found him is the one who won the first annual Bill Homa Memorial Tournament last year.

     This year, Douche has struck again, and with rumors, has almost had the Akron Racers Organization change the name of the tournament. That is what is going on, and what has me so distressed at the moment. We know that it won't happen, but the fact that a member of my so called family, my flesh and blood, would do that, is unforgivable. He even spread a rumor about my own father, whom he doesn't even speak too. I will never call him family again, he has no right to that word, and has no right to be know as a Homa. Quite honestly, I really want to drive out to Jackson and strangle him myself, but that would be counterproductive.

      Here is the thing, my Pappa loved the game we play. He loved watching anyone play, and even offered up a criticism or a piece of advice to any player willing to listen. He caught my sister and I when dad was out of town and we had pitching or batting lessons. He worked on multiple fields and if a person had a line that was even slightly crooked, the entire field would be redone. He befriended umpires, coaches, and players alike. And it is those players whom he always kept in his heart when he watched them play. I am proud to wear my Pappa's ashes in a sliver softball around my neck at every game, practice, and when I am just getting my equipment out for rehab. I wear his name on a sweat band on my right arm when I am at third base, and I am proud to be his granddaughter. I am proud to know all these people who support everything we do because we are Bill Homa's granddaughters and we were brought up right. I am proud to have had 18 and a half years with him, and I am proud to be playing college ball, because I know that he is watching somewhere out there. Hell, he probably is running a softball field in the sky somewhere knowing him. I play for him, and I am proud of that.

http://www.game-ex.com/vb3/showthread.php?t=36676&highlight=Bill+Homa+Memorial
Playing with his voice in my head always,
Laurel Lee

Uncle Douche is at it again. This time he is trying to sue a non profit organization(aka, The Akron Racers Softball Team) for use of the "Bill Homa Memorial Tournament" under grounds that no one in the family agreed to it. Well, there are already four Homa's writing emails, and calling Joey to say that that is a crock of shit, and it's not us, well not us yet. Holly and I are to work on it and talk with Joey ourselves at their first game, as well as volunteer at the tournament. Needless to say, Joeys Lawyer, and our Lawyer say sue away, as it is a non profit organization.

Sorry for clogging up your blog news feed, but I need to get this out, as this stuff really just hurts me. Sorry to everyone who reads this, as I am pretty sure the douche bag has been in many posts by now.

Lastly, I believe in Heaven, and I believe in Hell. I believe in Karma, and I know you will get whats yours and that there is a special circle in hell just for you.

Packing...

• Lip Balm...Check
• Small Perfume for when it wears off...Check
• Tissues for when I cry...Check
• Mascara for when mine wears off from crying...Check
• iPod...Check
• Pappa's Ashes Softball Necklace...Check
• Camera, Pad of Paper, Pen for documenting the fight between two grown men...Check...Wait, What?

I do not want tomorrow to happen, and would rather just skip to Sunday, but things never happen that way. Tomorrow is one of my Uncle Bob's Memorial Brunch as thrown by my Aunt Marilyn. The first question in my head is not 'Will she be alright tomorrow", or 'Will Uncle Robert be able to get in and move around comfortably in his scooter', but "Is Uncle Douche going to be there"... Yes, its that bad anymore.

I do not know what to do, I mean I can ignore him, but I doubt two of my cousins will be welcoming to me, as they are his kids, and they hold the same disdain I hold to their father, to mine. It sucks because they are my closest cousins, and I love my Jaquolope and my Brandon. Sure, they are both at least five years older than me, but they are my family. I just wish my family was back to normal. I really wish none of this had happened, and that the one stable side of my family was back. It used to be my mom's side that was crazy with problems such as 'Is nana going to call me a whore if I wear this' or 'Do we need to bring chocolate, is the dementor coming'(yes, that is a nickname for my aunt, and the description is rather acurate). No, now its "I wish Christmas Eve was back to being us, Pappa, and Uncle Bill, Heidi, and the kids', and 'Is Uncle Douche going to be there?"

I just want my family back, and I know that that is never going to happen at this rate.