Jodi Hills

So this is who I am – a writer that paints, a painter that writes…

Tag Archives: sports


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It’s 3:15 somewhere.

I adored playing on the team. Any team. For all the usual reasons, of course. It was fun to hit a ball, spike a ball, shoot a ball. But there was so much more. Having a place to go at 3:15pm, instead of an empty apartment, this was something! The largest room in the school said, “welcome,” as my sneakers squeaked across a polished floor. Passion and practice swirled from gym to bus, as we sang our way to each competition. Wins and losses forgotten. Conversations turning to bedrooms postered with dreams, and unrequited loves. I wrote poems for seasons beginning. Seasons ending. Heart forever on my uniformed sleeve. And I was home.

If this sounds less like sport and more like therapy…maybe it was. I learned pretty early on, that you don’t have to blend to belong. I suppose we all had our reasons for coming together. The thing I appreciated the most was that we didn’t question it. Never said, “I wonder why she’s here???”  I wish we still did that — concentrated more on the welcome than the motivation. What if we said, “Well, it’s 3:15pm, why wouldn’t you be here?!” 

We all have a need to gather, but that doesn’t mean we all have to be purple. We can play together. Work together. Mix our passions and practice. We can unlock the gates and fling open the doors, smile and say, “Here comes Aubergine!”

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“Go, little Quinnie!”

I had a box of trophies — statues, medals, pins — from my Cardinal days. I don’t think they made it to France. But I’m still surrounded by Cardinals. The ones I paint. The ones that visit my heart from heavenly places. Red and black can still lift me, in so many ways.

She’s almost always in red and black when we see her, surrounded by shouts of “Go, little Quinnie!” — as if the words could somehow jump into her stride and carry her along. Dominique picked up on it right away. Returning back to France, on the days when I’m scurrying about, running to get things done, he’ll say, “Go, little Quinnie!” And I can tell you that it works — they jump straight into my heart’s stride. To be connected still, even from so far away, it will ever lift me.

And that’s what I want for her — not the trophies or ribbons, they will surely get lost along the way — but to be ever lifted!  This is something!  Painting her, I realized in this moment, both of her feet were off the ground. These are the moments, I suppose, that we all want to capture. Isn’t that just like a Cardinal? To be in flight! 

Maybe one day she’ll make it to France. I just want her to know that a little part of her is already here.

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Put me in, coach.

I played summer softball when I was a young girl — and I emphasize the word “played” here. We did keep score, but I can’t say that it really felt like we were competing. We were playing with our friends. There was something called “the ten run rule” — if your team was behind by ten runs after a certain inning, they just called the game, assuming you had no chance of winning. (A rule most certainly created by adults. We would have played forever.) And what I most appreciate about these times, times when they enforced this rule, it always came as a complete shock! I, we, never dreamed that we didn’t have a chance. We always thought we had a chance. We thought surely we should be allowed to try, to keep playing.

The confidence of youth! Had I known there was a chance it could slip away, I would have guarded it for the treasure that it was. I work on it now daily — rebuilding this confidence. Because what a joy!  To step up to the plate, without fear of the score, or the outcome!  To just play. To just live!  

I was in college when John Fogerty’s song, Centerfield, was released. It became a theme song for my mom. 

“Oh, put me in, Coach – I’m ready to play today;Put me in, Coach – I’m ready to play today;
Look at me, I can be Centerfield.”

I’m not sure everyone understood the song to the depths that she did. She had spent years rebuilding her life. Rebuilding her confidence. And this song, told her she was ready. And oh how she sang!  

The song begins, “Well, beat the drum and hold the phone – the sun came out today! We’re born again, there’s new grass on the field.” I look out the morning window and smile. There IS new grass on the field! And I, we, have the chance to play – forever!

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