I had one year to go at Woodrow Wilson. Part of me just wants to say I went to the eighth grade and enjoyed it about as much as I enjoyed sixth and seventh. But before I get to eighth grade, I've got something else to say about seventh.
Seventh graders were allowed to play team sports for the middle school. And somehow, I thought it would be a good idea for me to play baseball.
I had never been all that athletic, but I'm pretty sure in middle school everyone made the team. So while I tried my best, as you can imagine, I wasn't all that good. Plus there was that whole anorexia thing. That didn't exactly help me with my stamina.
There was one game in particular that was difficult for me. There I was, standing in right field (the position I played), soaking in the hot springtime sun, and down I went. I passed out in the heat of the day. Why would that happen? Probably because I had eaten very little during that day. That was my lowest point on the baseball team.
My highest point was at an away game. We were playing James Madison Middle School. If middle schools had rivals, Madison would probably have been ours. And I somehow managed to get my only hit of the season. The only hit of my middle school career. I knocked the ball right between Madison's left and center fielders. I wasn't all that fast, so I only made it to first. But I did get the guys on second and third home. And not long afterward, one of my teammates brought me home. I ended up being the winning run. It was a good day.