I came upon a group of guys I knew playing softball.  There weren't very many, and the sides looked uneven-maybe 7 on one side and 5 or 6 on the other.  It was the team at bat which was shorthanded, so I picked up a bat and joined them.  It was slow pitch, and the first three pitches to me didn't even make it to the plate.  I leaned way into each one in case I could reach one.  The next pitch was good, but I missed it.  I would have swung regardless, because I didn't want to walk.  The next two pitches were also good, and I swung and missed both of them and struck out. What frustration to see that ball hanging up there so temptingly, to eagerly anticipate lashing out and feeling a good solid thump-only to swish through emptiness and not get another chance.  The pitch I struck out on didn't have much of an arc, and I asked someone if it conformed to slow pitch regulations.  I didn't get an answer.  I decided I must have been deceived by his motion, which was quick, but the ball was not delivered fast. The game must have been held up by rain-I think it was overcast and threatening when I joined it.  While we were waiting to resume, I was talking to Jimmy Creager and expressing my eagerness to get started again.  He said he hoped it would be rained out.  I couldn't figure out why he would say that, since I knew him to be a big baseball enthusiast like me.