Recapturing Youth - a Elusive Pursuit!
Posted by Doug Willett
There is something endearing in watching aging men attempt to recapture the flexibility and vitality of their youth. For this reason, we always look forward to our annual softball tussle with Glastonbury Rotary on their cow pasture at the Glastonbury Elks Club.
Our old timers roll out the bats and balls, salt their squad with youthful ringers to do most of the outfield running duties, sprinkle in a few middle age members around the infield and have a go at it. We gather a large cheering crowd huddled along the right field line trying to avoid wicked line drives from the left handed swingers and wild throws to first. Crafty right hander George Schoen toes the imaginary rubber and delivers high slanting pitches to confound our opponents.
John O'Connor holds down first base duties with the aplomb and defensive dexterity of Bill Buckner. Somehow the batting skills remain undiminished as Stu Harris lines another one into the gap.
Our first time shortstop, Alex Wycz, 
provides an infusion of speed despite the knee brace that could serve as a symbol of the waning of our youthful and energetic selves.
Just when we think maybe we're too old to be doing this and maybe the risk of pulled muscles and twisted ankles are too great to justify trying to get the body to do what it clearly no longer wants to do, we look up and see Glastonbury's 91 year old John Dufford step into the batter's box.So
It dawns on us that maybe we are not all that old after all, a foolish delusion but when you love the game and are willing to suffer the consequenses, common sense has to take a back seat After a hard fought battle that is only decided by the last swing in the last inning,
we accept the loss but walk off knowing that we have stopped time in its tracks if only in our imagination and that the greater victory is at hand. We came, we competed, we stumbled and fell and got up again, we swung the bats, we caught the balls, we played the game. We defied time's winged chariot. For a brief hour, we were the boys of summer.
Our old timers roll out the bats and balls, salt their squad with youthful ringers to do most of the outfield running duties, sprinkle in a few middle age members around the infield and have a go at it. We gather a large cheering crowd huddled along the right field line trying to avoid wicked line drives from the left handed swingers and wild throws to first. Crafty right hander George Schoen toes the imaginary rubber and delivers high slanting pitches to confound our opponents. John O'Connor holds down first base duties with the aplomb and defensive dexterity of Bill Buckner. Somehow the batting skills remain undiminished as Stu Harris lines another one into the gap. Our first time shortstop, Alex Wycz, provides an infusion of speed despite the knee brace that could serve as a symbol of the waning of our youthful and energetic selves. Just when we think maybe we're too old to be doing this and maybe the risk of pulled muscles and twisted ankles are too great to justify trying to get the body to do what it clearly no longer wants to do, we look up and see Glastonbury's 91 year old John Dufford step into the batter's box.So
It dawns on us that maybe we are not all that old after all, a foolish delusion but when you love the game and are willing to suffer the consequenses, common sense has to take a back seat After a hard fought battle that is only decided by the last swing in the last inning, we accept the loss but walk off knowing that we have stopped time in its tracks if only in our imagination and that the greater victory is at hand. We came, we competed, we stumbled and fell and got up again, we swung the bats, we caught the balls, we played the game. We defied time's winged chariot. For a brief hour, we were the boys of summer.