"There's no crying in softball"

This is a hard subject for me to talk about, so please bear with me. Last Tuesday night I experienced my worst athletic defeat since I slipped and fell in front of the little league bleachers while attempting to track down a foul ball to exchange for a grape snow cone.
Let me set this up for you. Church league softball. Last week of the season. 3 way tie for first. We lose the coin toss, and have to play a "semi-final" game. The game is close as the end nears. I get a decent hit, and the guys behind me advance me to third. Up until this week, I have been quite the pansy on the base paths. I can turn the easiest of doubles into a "tie goes to the runner" situation at first. But this week I decided to be somewhat aggressive. All that being said, I now have a scratched up leg and elbow from an unsuccsesful attempt at stealing home. However, I did learn that you have a better chance of making it home when you leave when the outfielder catches the ball, instead of two minutes later.
Ok, now to the play that will haunt me until I get a chance to screw up next season. 2 outs, bases loaded. 1 out. Game tied (I think I made a few errors between the previous event and this one, but they were not as obvious). Old man at the plate. Ross Hunter is at shortstop, and I'm at second. I'm new at this whole infield business, but all I could think is that if I get the ball, all I have to do is get it to Ross and game over! Well, I got my chance. The perfect ground ball right to me. I had so much time to think about how great it was going to be to redeem myself. I was carried off the field once after making an important kick in high school, so I only assumed that this day would end the same. It was not to be. Not only did I not make the play, the ball never even touched my glove. The only thought in my head at this was point was "Jon, you're 26 years old, you cannot cry." I left the park with very few words spoken by me or to me. Days later I received a call from our "coach," asking me how I was holding up then concluding with a pep talk about how he once dropped fly balls and now hits two homeruns a game. It's good to know that I have something to look forward to.
On the way home from the game I thought of how much it must have sucked to be Bill Buckner. Thousands in the stands, millions at home, and all those dramatic ESPN specials for years to come. Our only fan was 6 years old. I think I can buy him off.
Then I started thinking about how pathetic it feels to be upset about a Church league softball game. Was I upset because I looked like a fool, or because I let my teamates down? Probably a little bit of both. If nothing else, I realized that competition, if not kept in check, can be as devastating an addiction as any drug. Probably worse.