Ah, September. Watching sports is almost as much fun as playing them. Current offerings include baseball, football, tennis and golf...and in a sports year that almost wasn’t.
The first ball I ever struck was a baseball. I can remember my dad’s voice drumming into me “keep your eye on the ball”. It was always the first thing I told myself. Stance, grip, equipment, proper foot placement, bent knees...none of that mattered if you lost the target. I excelled at tennis and squash, played Division II college lacrosse, captained a women’s softball team and can still hit a baseball. But somewhere along the line I took my eye off the ball. My addiction became the only thing that mattered. Sports were too much effort. Work was unfulfilling. People weren’t important...unless they had something I wanted or drank the way I did. Plans were swept by the wayside. Promises were broken and bridges were burned. I was unable to see anything in front of me...only the substances that would numb the pain inside.
They say you can’t get sober for someone else, you have to do it for you. Nevertheless, it helps if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. Something to focus on. Something to aim for.
You might remember Lexi, who spent 6 days in the hospital near death from toxic levels of cocaine and the heart and kidney issues that followed. Lexi is also facing criminal charges for felony possession with intent to distribute. Those drugs weren’t hers, but try telling that to the judge. It’s possible that Lexi, bright, beautiful, well educated and accustomed to living in luxury, will go to prison.
The good news is that she agreed to go to treatment, but treatment has been hard. On top of the pain of detox and the rawness of the work involved, she feels that everything’s been taken away from her. No cell phone. No computer. No vaping. No privacy. No vegan meals. She’s never slept in a single bed before. And she can’t get cucumber melon seltzer. Four times she’s called to say that if I won’t pick her up she’ll take an Uber...back to the place where it all started, where triggers await like Halloween goblins. And what I’ve found myself saying every time she threatens to leave is “keep your eye on the ball”. Her ball is freedom. The judge doesn’t want to hear “they weren’t my drugs”. What he does want to hear is “the defendant completed a voluntary program at a noted psychiatric institute”. We were able to get designer sheets for her single bed at rehab, but that probably won’t be an option if she ends up sleeping on a prison cot. Keep your eye on the ball, Lexi.
One sport I never picked up was golf. My dad played his whole life and until recently was regularly shooting his age. I visited him last weekend and when we went out to his golf club on a beautiful autumn day I decided to have a go at it. Dad spent over an hour going over the grip, the stance, the feet, the balance and the swing. When he finally let me tee up a ball, I heard the voice from my childhood in harmony with the man at my side. “Above all, Annie, keep your eye on the ball.”
And I killed it.
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