caught

So I am sitting here, my nose raspberry red, sniffling because of a cold I caught.

Caught.

When hearing the word, baseball comes to mind. It is the 9th inning of the game and the Dirtbags have one last chance to bat and if they get a man to home base they will tie the game, otherwise they will lose. The biggest player steps up to bat with a wad of chewing tobacco shoved in the corner of his right cheek. He swings his hardest swing and the ball goes soaring up up up over the field. On the opposing team, the Speedmachines are desperately trying to stop the ball. They are running after it, hoping they can get it. Finally one player charges toward the falling ball, running almost horizontal to the ground. Reaching, arms extended, giving every ounce of energy to bring out the tip of his mitt closer to the ball. He leaps, lands in the muddy grass, stretches out like a rubber band, and makes the catch. There are celebrated yells from his team mates and tears of joy. The ball was caught.

Caught.

Like fishing. On a boat that charges 500 dollars for a turn out to catch tuna. It is almost the end of the trip and the fisherman has not caught a thing. He tries for one last cast. Puts on his biggest and best lure and gives the farthest swing his arm can muster. He waits, 5 minutes, 10 minutes then slowly starts to reel in his line and all of the sudden his pole yanks down surprisingly hard.

Caught.

Not quite sure about the logic of that common term regarding a cold, treating it as if it were some sort of baseball or fish. As if it were something willingly, eagerly, and readily sought out. The word should be closer to received or even better, pitched or swung.

So I am sitting here, my nose raspberry red, sniffling because of a cold that was punched, heaved, slapped, tossed, and maneuvered my way.

Yes, that’s better.