Today is National Catchers Day, started in 2019 thanks to some guy named Xan Barksdale who has clearly made a career of something he loves. Speaking as someone else who managed to pull that off, it’s nice when it happens.

My husband loves many things, and made a career of one of them. Before he took up the world of words, however, he, like Barksdale, followed his bliss in baseball as a sort of summer-job thing for several years, starting in high school and continuing through college. So here is his story:

My best catcher story? That’s easy. 

I umpired girls softball. I had coached, and I had umpired in other leagues. The guy who ran this particular show was always looking for umpires. He paid $5 a game for Little League and $10 for girls softball. I had my certificate, so, you know, let’s go!

In this particular game, a girl I knew named Rhonda was catching; I had coached her on another team a while before this; we were friends.

Well, the pitcher threw a strike. It was a high strike, but it was a strike.

I didn’t call it.

Rhonda just sat there with the ball in her glove, framing the pitch, making it clear.

She left it there. It was probably 15 seconds, but it felt like five minutes.

I said to her, a little warning note, “You better throw that back.”

She waited two more beats, then slowwwly took it out of her mitt. Slowwly straighted up. Took her time throwing it back. Settled back into her crouch.

Then she said, without looking at me, “The next one better be a strike.”

Next throw was almost identical, but a teeny bit off the plate.

You better believe I called it a strike.