On Tuesday, I set a world record.

My Pink Sox softball team took on some random team from St. Paul. I don't know the names of any of our opponents, because they're all from St. Paul and they're all new to me -- it's not important.

What is important is what I did. That's the point of this online group, Amateur Athletes -- tell about your antics on the field or court, in the pool, or wherever else you play sports.

So, this week, I was hitting bad. I'll admit it. My excuse is that we had a week off because of last week's rainstorm and I got out of sync. Shoulda gone to the batting cages in between games. I think I went 2-for-6.

I pitched a good game, winning something like 13-9.

One brute of a player -- about 6-foot-4 and 300 pounds -- really ticked me off. He whacked one of the hardest singles I've ever had hit off me to left field in his first at-bat. His second time up, I threw him a knuckleball way up and way away and he tomahawked it a million miles. Home run.

I don't get mad about that stuff. What happened in the brute's third and fourth plate appearances is what made me mad.

Knowing he was a crazy-good hitter, I intentionally walked him. He and both teams erupted into taunts of "Nobody intentionally walks in softball!" and the like. I thought it was funny, but truly, it was the smart thing to do -- put a lumberingly slow runner on base. He ended up scoring.

Big deal.

But I couldn't believe that my team didn't agree with the idea to pass on giving up a home run. That irked me.

The brute was intentionally walked in his next plate appearance. I didn't even turn around when he hollered, "Are you going to let me bat this time?" trying to sound like Goliath squawking down at David. Don't even care what he says, I told myself. But he bothered me with his disrespect and flat-out babyish behavior.

We turned a double play.

The next inning, they walked our best power hitter, just to be smart alecs. Very cute. Grrrrr ...

An inning after that, I chalked up my second strikeout of the doubleheader. Both K's were the kind you can only get in softball -- you'd never strike out like this in baseball. I struck out on foul balls both times.

The second K included two hard-hit balls down the third-base line.

After the first pitch passed by me, I was chided again -- this time for taking a strike. I drove the next pitch foul, only a foot from being a fair ball in left field.

I could hear a teammate saying, "See you just gotta get him angry. Insult him some more, and he'll hit a home run."

I almost did. By this time, I was really angry inside, wanting only to hit the ball as hard as I could to unleash my inner demon.

On the third pitch of the at-bat, I stepped toward the pitcher and turned on the ball, skying it about 300 feet to the base of the left-field fence. As I got halfway to second base, the ump had called me out. A foul ball by a fraction of an inch. 

Hitting the ball that hard made me feel better. The strikeout didn't. That is the story of how I achieved a world record for the longest strikeout.

Oh well. I have another game tomorrow, for which I should be ready. So maybe luck will be on my side then.

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