Help! I’m in a slump.

I keep telling myself that this is what makes softball interesting. If it were easy all the time, I wouldn’t even play it, right?
But man, it’s hard.

I know where much of the problem comes from. With my constant two-city shuffle (and a team to play with in only one of them), I’ve got no consistency. Two weeks, two games, maybe seven at-bats, and I’m off for another three weeks

Digression alert! (This may be fixed soon, however. I met a softball gal on match.com - in one of her photos, she’s even holding a bat, which is so hot - and even if the dating thing doesn’t work out, she’s got a coed team in Seattle that needs some players. I’m beginning to wonder, though - are my priorities getting mixed up?)

Making matters worse, I’ve got one of those high-maintenance swings. It’s very effective, but it takes a while to "kick in." Making matters worse still, I’ve always had a magic touch in this particular league, and I’ve become spoiled. One season, I hit .850, which tells you right away that there’s a lot of luck involved. And now, the luck is failing me. Making matters even worse (watch out, this goes on for a while), my team is sucking wind right along with me. After taking the championship last fall, we are playing like a tee-ball team. A bad tee-ball team. So no looking for anyone to "pick me up."
Digression alert! (Have I mentioned how much I hate the expression - "Pick me up"?

If you’re doing badly, root for your teammates, but don’t expect them to make up for your suckiness. That is so self-centered.)
Faced with a little time off, then (at least until my date with Softball Suzy), I’m going to have a little pep talk with myself, and I invite you to come along.

1. Are you really in a slump? In my last game, in fact, I began by hitting two balls right on the nose. The fact that they went directly to the first and second basemen (and that they had to make pretty stalwart plays to stop them) is beside the point. If I keep hitting that way, stroking the ball low and hard, I will get on base. Or at least - and this is an important part of batting - make the defense work for their outs. (The real danger sign is a weak pop out, because it’s easy to play, and reflects something really off-kilter in your swing.) Put briefly: ignore results. Pay attention to actions.
2. Go back to the basics. In my case, this meant dropping my usual search for the elegant off-field stroke, and looking to hit one up the middle. Following the ignore-the-results rule, it wasn’t much of a success - a weakly hit grounder - but the fact that it managed to leak itself into the outfield for a single at least took me off the schneid, and let me run the bases for once.
3. Lower your expectations. Got a man on third? No outs? Well, you know you’re not firing on all cylinders, so just hit a fly ball somewhere, or a grounder to the right side. Voila! An RBI! And you’ve just helped your team.
Digression alert! (Trying to salvage some respectability, my team loaded the bases, no outs, and the rocket scientist at the plate nailed a grounder to third for a third-to-home double play. But then, this is the brainless #@$! we’ve been doing all season.)
4. Kill the ball! The brain is a dangerous organ, and sometimes, if you’re suffering paralysis from analysis, you just have to switch that sucker off. Look for a ripe pitch up the middle and go Cro-Magnon on its butt. Can’t guarantee any results, but at least you’ll work out some frustration. Be sure to let out a hearty grunt. The chicks dig that stuff.
5. Take it to the field. There’s nothing better for taking off the hitting pressure than doing something good in the field. Pretend you’re a designated fielder - that you’re so darn good with the glove, you don’t even have to worry about hitting.
In my last game, however, this proved a particular challenge. I made the mistake of letting a line drive go foul, forgetting that the lack of outfield foul lines on our field sometimes leads to quirky calls, and found myself cussing and swearing all the way to the tennis courts to fetch it back in. Then I took a dive on a ball in the gap, missing it by an inch and managing to jar my knee on landing. Then, some little guy hit a line drive that just kept rising like it was rocket-propelled. I took a step in, but it really didn’t matter - that sucker was gone, into the night.

Great, I thought. Now I’m in a fielding slump. Going back to that handy ignore-the-results thought, however, I realized that all of these plays were far from routine, but that I was now pressing myself too hard on defense. Finally, in the last inning, some guy hit a flare into left field behind third base, and I charged in for a nice sliding catch. One of our opponents (perhaps feeling bad for beating us so savagely) even paid me a compliment after the game, leaving me some nice psychological material to end the season on.

I will keep that catch in mind as I try to remember how to play this accursed sport. Argh!

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of the softball novel The Legendary Barons, available at amazon.com.