With no live sports going on, my mind is drifting back to my own sports career.

A fun time, to be playing.

An ugly time on the scoreboard, if we're looking at organized sports.

My Little League teams lost games by scores of 56-0, 42-0 and 40-4.

I once struck out in nine consecutive plate appearances in Pony League.

Asked to organize an office flag football team for a newspaper I used to work for, to play in a local league — all as part of a “team building” concept — I discovered we didn't exactly have any flag football players on staff.

But we tried.

And we lost our first game, 119-0.

Every time we would attempt a pass, which was on every play since nobody knew how to block, it was intercepted and returned for a touchdown.

Every time.

One of my teammates pointed to the opposing bench and said to me; “Look how frustrated they are. Their offense can't even get on the field.”

And he was being serious.

Trailing by 119 points, I walked over to an official and asked him if we had to play the second half. Yes, that was the halftime score.

He thanked me for telling my team to go home at that point. We never played again.

I was part of an adult softball league team known as Stoner's in the Bethel Park League. That was an outstanding, competitive slow-pitch softball league.

Uhh ... we weren't.

We had a second baseman who couldn't move. We had a right fielder who couldn't see. We had a center fielder whose relay throw hit the light standard and deflected back over his head.

He did that twice, actually.

I was the pitcher. The other team had a runner at first with two outs. The batter hit a grounder back to me. When I threw the ball to first base, our first baseman wasn't looking.

My throw hit him right in the noggin.

He responded: “What'd you throw it to me for?”

That was our team.

On nights we played, the bleachers were packed. Everybody wanted to see us in action.

We were truly The Show.

I'm not gonna pretend I was a good player. The best team in the league had a slugger nicknamed Bear who could hit a ball well over the light standards and into the darkness.

During pre-game warmups the night we played his team, Bear asked me if I was pitching.

When I told him I wasn't sure, he said he'd give me 10 bucks if I pitched against them.

Naturally, I couldn't forfeit my amateur status. I declined his offer.

Those are my top memories as an organized sports participant. I'm finding myself smiling as I write them.

It feels good to smile.

John Enrietto is sports editor of the Butler Eagle