OK, so last night I made my debut as a fast-pitch softball player ... ON A SENIOR WOMEN'S "A" TEAM.

For all intents and purposes, the Blue Jays (since the demise of my Expos and with no progress made regarding who I am going to cheer for now, I will default to the only Canadian team, despite the unfortunate fact that they are based in Toronto ... ) may as well called me up and said "Hey, we're short a couple players tonight. Wanna come play a few innings?"

I have been practicing with a women's fast pitch team in Squamish, but the league hasn't really gotten off the ground this year, so I went as a pick-up player with one of the girls who plays for a North Vancouver team. Did I mention that said North Vancouver team is a SENIOR WOMEN'S "A" TEAM? Let's put it this way: when National team players retire, this is the level they play. And when the national team needs players, this is where they look for them. These girls are not afraid of the ball. That is thrown at their head at 60 mph. Unlike, say, a certain pick-up player from Squamish.

So the course of events proceeded exactly how you would expect them to in the life of Michelle. I played the bench for the first five innings, with no complaints on my part mind you. I was too busy thinking about the other, and much less scary, sport that I do during the winter.

I got thrown into left field in the sixth, a reassuring position that hadn't seen a single play all night long. And the first hit of the sixth? Of course it comes right to me. Second hit? Where else would it go?

But with a bit of fumbling and my horrible throw, the one that can make it to the infield, but passes through the stratosphere on its way, I made the plays.

And then I was up to bat.

For those of you who say ball is a lame and lazy game, go stand at the plate and take a few windmill pitches. Then we'll talk.

There was no way I was swinging on the first pitch. After several years of slow pitch it only takes one throw to realize that the catcher has the ball before you have even thought of swinging.

So, of course she throws a nice strike. Then way inside, then way outside. And then something that looked straight enough to take a chance, swung, and ran like hell. And the rookie takes a base! I won't mention that shortstop fumbled my grounder ... a base is a base, eh?

And then I took second on a single (which should have got me to third, except I have a habit of running the bases in straight lines and I have no ability to slide). And then I took the third out at third to end the game because I didn't run like hell.

And I am still alive. Now I will return to the much more docile and less adventurous sport of skeleton ...