Whiffle ball game gets ugly

Opening day is supposed to mean sunshine and new beginnings, not bloodshed, snow and oral surgery.

So when Matt, CJ and I -- the professional whiffle ball league's only returning members available on opening day -- took to the field two weeks ago for the commencement of our whiffle ball season, it was with high expectations.

Already we knew that things were going to be different this year with the subtraction of our former housemate, and my former teammate, Joe Coulter, who moved back to New Hampshire. In the past, CJ and Matt had played opposite Joe and me. Frequently, our friend Dan subbed in for whoever couldn't play on a given day. But, on opening day, Dan was also unavailable.

"It was a real desperate situation," Matt said.

We considered postponing the season until Dan or one of our new housemates, Mike or Ethan, could play, but that thought was fleeting. We realized that the show must go on. In order to make the teams even, we were forced to recruit my girlfriend Haley as a temporary replacement. There was much debate about whether a girl should be allowed to play professional whiffle ball, but we decided to give her a shot because if nothing else, it was opening day.

"I'm just thankful that they decided to give me the opportunity," Haley said. "If I do well, it could open doors for aspiring female whiffle ball players everywhere."

So the four of us headed to the ballpark (a plot of grass between two apartment buildings) to get the season underway. We were immediately pleased to see that the city of Medford took our games so seriously that it added foul lines (bushes) and dugouts (benches) to the field during the off-season.

After a heated argument about whose team Haley was going to be on, it was determined that since my former teammate had bailed on us, I was going to have to play with her. We made it through one and one third scoreless innings, with only minor problems -- a fierce cross wind a la Wrigley Field and two dogs running around the ballpark despite signs clearly indicating that dogs were not welcome on the field.

We managed to overcome those adversities, but with one out in the top of the second, disaster struck.

With a ghost runner on second, I drilled a high fly ball deep to left field. It seemed to be a certainty that the first run of the young whiffle ball season would score. But, CJ and Matt were of a differing view. CJ raced back to attempt the catch with Matt screaming encouragement.

"We give 110 percent on every play," Matt said. "We know that this league is ultra-competitive. If you let down your guard for even one second, then you have no chance."

To everyone's surprise, the ball got tangled in the tree above CJ, and though it hit his hands, he was unable to hold on to it. But in his heroic attempt to catch the ball (which was an automatic ground rule double whether he caught it or not), he stumbled, smashed his face on the dugout (the bench) and collapsed.

I assumed that he was just joking around. I figured the little guy was probably just upset that his team was down 1-0. However, after CJ failed to get up for a few seconds, we rushed to his side to find him bleeding and holding his tooth. The whiffle ball game came to a startling halt.

Instead of having the opportunity to bask in the glory of my first RBI of the season, we rushed CJ to the car and quickly sped to Lawrence Memorial Hospital.

"That must have been an intense whiffle ball game," the doctor conjectured after observing our broken friend.

Three hours, a shot of novocain, and 16 stitches later, we helped CJ back into the car and headed to CVS to purchase the doctor-prescribed vicodin and penicillin.

For the next three days, while CJ waited out the swelling, popped pills, and sipped pudding through a straw, all I could think about was whether my opponent's injury signaled the closing of the professional whiffle ball league.

My question was answered on the fourth day, following CJ's trip to the dentist for a root canal -- he would be able to return to the field.

"Sure I was a little worried that I might be out for the season," CJ said. "I think anybody in my situation would be at least a little worried. But, I never lost hope -- even when I couldn't eat solid foods."

So in a medical miracle, our hero, minus a tooth, was ready to play again only a week after his career-threatening injury. Unfortunately, the weather has not been as accommodating. Snow, rain and unseasonably freezing temperatures have stalled the whiffle ball season.

"CJ's healthy again. That's clearly the most important thing," Matt said. "We aren't going to let this weather stop us anymore. Mark my words, we'll be out there this week no matter what."