ok, sam

I'm notoriously hot-natured. Literally, not figuratively. (Figuratively I'm cool as a cucumber.) One time when I was 10 or so, I got heat exhaustion while I was playing first base in a little league game. As in, yes, I was just standing there. The heat index was in triple figures; Dad had arrived early and installed tarps over both teams' dugouts for shade. Back on the field, my vision started to blur and I could only see the batter intermittently. I yelled feebly to the umpire that I was sick, but he told me to wait for the next pitch, which I did. As soon as it crossed the plate, I crossed the first base line and puked into foul territory. (I especially like this detail about not desecrating the field of play.)

The epilogue is I laid down on the bench and drank a bunch of gatorade while everyone looked on in horror. The umpires conferred and dictated that I still had to make an appearance at the plate, lest we violate LL's everybody-gets-to-bat rule. Dad told me not to swing, so of course the pitcher walked me. Except in those days, a coach would come in to pitch to you after a "walk", instead of you just taking first base like God intended. So on the coach's first pitch, I bunted. Which apparently no one in the history of LL had ever done before. I beat the throw to first. But the umps caucused again and decided you're not allowed to bunt when the coach is pitching. They allowed me one more pitch to hit. The coach's pitch was well over my head, but I managed to chop it into center field. I later came around to score.