Jennie Finch she isn't, but Candy Maldonado I'm not. That's what I thought

when I stepped into the batter's box against Maggie Johnson, the club softball team pitcher.

Much has been made of Finch's ability to strike out major league baseball players like Albert Pujols and Mike Piazza. Because I figured this is the only time I will be linked with those names athletically, I jumped at the opportunity.

Stepping into the batter's box, I was already at two disadvantages. Johnson throws left-handed and I bat left-handed, giving her the pitcher-batter advantage. If that was not enough salt to throw in my eyes, the team decided to sit around after practice and watch the sad event. I must say that since I was little I have been "batter-shy" about hitting in front of a group of people.

I dug in, fanning the bat above the right corner of the plate, Willie Mays-Hayes style. The first pitch crossed the plate and I took it, trying to get a feel for the pitches.

The second pitch came in eye-level. Due to some anxiousness, and a very short attention span, I swung and missed miserably. I wouldn't have connected with it if I was swinging with a folding chair.

While trying to regain my composure the team was starting to stir, as if striking out a non-athletic buffoon was a positive movement in the battle for women's rights.

Taking the next pitch, I settled in, down to two strikes. The next pitch carried toward the plate and with the flick of my wrists, I squirted the ball down the first base line.

Had this been game six of the 1986 World Series and Bill Buckner playing first, I would be glorified in New York and shouts of "Mookie" would forever be replaced with "Matko" chants.

However, this was Valley Fields on Saturday afternoon and no one was that impressed.

After I connected with the pitch that sent me into my own personal Cooperstown, Johnson brought out a bag of junk that would make Jamie Moyer blush. The cruel thing she did to those softballs in terms of it carrying and changing speeds cannot go unnoticed. I was still able to make contact but in the process was cork-screwed into the ground after the swings.

When it was all said and done after 10 pitches, I swung at five, connected on four and could not get the ball out of the infield. It made for a less than stellar day at the plate, but I found solace in the fact that I still look good

in baseball pants. It's the small victories that make everyone a winner.

Matkovich can be heard every Thursday night 7-8 p.m. on Marquette Radio (http://marquetteradio.mu.edu) with Tribune contributing sports writer Steve Mathie.

This article was published in The Marquette Tribune on September 29, 2005.