The subtle joy of the bat hitting the ball squarely needs no further appreciation from me. Many times previously I have celebrated the satisfaction that comes with this contact. Regrettably, however, it’s a pleasure that I have known too rarely in my Sunday softball games of the last four decades. Nowadays, for lack of a vigorous swing,I almost never experience this delight.

Of late, however, I have discovered another subtle pleasure in playing the game. This past Sunday, on a beautifully warm late September day without a cloud in the sky, I made a play in the field that brought me new joy. This play made me realize that you don’t have to be at bat to have access to exquisite athletic satisfaction.

As usual, I was playing first base, a position that offers much action but requires relatively little fast movement. The batter, a strong left-handed hitter, drove a fierce ground ball right at me. On instinct, I reached down with my glove without having had time to think about it. When I looked down, somehow the ball had nestled safely in the glove. All I had to do was move a few paces, step on first base, and the inning was over.

In response to this amazing play, my teammates yelled at me their excitement. Presumably they did so because their expectations for me were appropriately low. I had astonished them as well as myself.

The tactile quality of my play has stayed with me for days afterward. Shamelessly, I have described this feat to family members and friends. I cannot, however, do justice to the subtlety of the play. Seeing the ball safely nested in my glove provides ongoing pleasure in memory and imagination.

The feel of bat’s sweet spot  connecting with the ball continues to strike me as precious. But now so does the feeling that comes with discovering that the baseball glove has its own sweet spot.