It has been five years since illness forced my retirement from sports, but this time of year is the time I miss playing centerfield in softball (baseball was too boring to me, but I loved the faster pace of softball). And before my arm gave out that last year, there were few things more satisfying then playing centerfield on a sunny summer evening, and getting a favorable bounce on a grounder as the runner rounded second or third base – for a split moment, the world stopped and everything that ever was only existed in my wind up and throw. Few things in sports gave me more of a rush then throwing a runner out from the outfield – the wind up, the throw, the sizzle of the ball as it flew towards the bag, the moment of waiting and watching, then the pop of the ball in the glove and the ump’s throwing his fist up in the air to signal the out, and the cheering from the team sometimes and occassional euphoria of the team in a close game. I loved it. Five years later, I can still feel the rush. I don’t as much regret that I can’t anymore as much as I appreciate the thrilling memories.