Softball is certainly a game of chance, and of playing the percentages. It is precisely this quality that makes it difficult to maintain a consistent mental approach. How many times have you seen a guy nail the ball all night, just to watch it head right at the fielders, while some other schmuck goes 3-for-3 with a swinging bunt and two weak but well-placed flies?

The thing is, in order to be a good hitter you have to talk yourself into ignoring the results. This idea came to me on my first swing of the new season. Looking for a pitch to take to right field, I swung instead at something a little too close to the center of the plate, pushing it upwards into a deep fly. I was cursing myself all the way to first - until I noticed that the right fielder had turned his back and was running away from the diamond. After circling the bases, I decided that some sort of funky backspin, combined with the weightlifting I did this winter, had resulted in what, for me, was an unnaturally long drive.

It was a pretty glorious beginning to the season, but I knew immediately that I had to erase it from my mind. My job, as second-place hitter, is to hit low line drives to right, to move the runners along, and to get on my base, in that order. My accidental homer was a mistake.

My second time up, I hit a weak fly ball - one that landed smack between the first baseman, second baseman and right fielder and left me standing on second. Once again: good result, even worse swing. My third time up, I hit a line shot - directly to the first baseman. I was out before I even left the batter’s box. But that was a good swing, so I kept it in my head the next at-bat finally got a good liner to right-center, my first solid hit of the season. I’ve been locked in ever since, and I will do my best to avoid trying to re-create that first swing.

Lady Homer is an unforgiving temptress.

Our new manager, Davis, has assembled a potent lineup, and we began a recent game by scoring 14 runs in the first inning. As the crotchety veteran, it was my job to inform my youngers that this was a problem. It is terribly easy to let up after a first inning like that, and even easier to let a team sneak its way back into a game. “All right, boys!” I announced. “Let’s add on to that lead - at least two runs each inning.” We immediately went three-up, three-down, swinging for the fences, and I thought, “Uh-oh.”

Fortunately, we have developed quite a defense as well - especially our lightning-fast outfield - and it was this that saved us. We managed to forestall our opponents’ inevitable comeback until the last inning, and by then it was too late. Final score: 16-9. That’s right - we scored two runs in the final six innings. That is definitely not going to win us a championship.

I write contemporary novels, about present-day issues, and I rob from my own life whenever it feels right. Thus, the protagonist of my next novel is an opera critic who plays softball - and plays like I do, a little too fond of hurling himself to the ground, a little too proud of getting dirt, grass and blood stains on his uniform. I have always enjoyed playing with the myths of masculinity, and I love dispelling the notion that a macho ballplayer can’t also be a sensitive artist. And vice-versa. I’m sure that one of my regular opponents - a tough-as-nails first baseman who teaches theater at a local community college - would agree with me.

I enjoy wearing MLB regalia to the softball field, but this year I found an unusual way to assemble my uniform. I went to a Halloween party dressed as a Pittsburgh Pirate - that is, half-ballplayer, half-actual-pirate, beginning with a basic Pittsburgh uniform but ragging out the bottom of the pants, holstering a fake bat in my belt like a sword, and adding Jack Sparrow hair and jewelry, plus a long, spangled maritime coat. I took second place - certainly much better than Pittsburgh’s done in a while - and come the season had only to buy a new pair of pants to have myself a dandy black-and-gold outfit. Only problem is, people assume I’m a fan and keep asking for that day’s score. Hey, man, I just like the colors. Ahrr!

Michael J. Vaughn is the author of the softball novel “The Legendary Barons” and the recent karaoke novel “Outro,” both available at amazon.com. See www.outronovel.blogspot.com for excerpts.