Despite the cool weather I was reminded the other day that it is indeed spring. I looked out the car window while driving into a field of green and saw a baseball practice and I was suddenly 13 again. I had never played organized baseball but the announcement was made at school that Babe Ruth baseball teams were forming and that we could sign up.
I had never played organized baseball because when a similar sign up was announced in 3rd grade I forgot about it until after the deadline. My mother (correctly now I know) assured me that I could still join but rules are rules and I had missed the deadline. Little League was not to be. So while many of my friends played Little League baseball I didn't and because I had missed the entry into Level One I couldn't just start in the middle (although now I know I could have.)
But Babe Ruth was a fresh start, another level and I was ready. Babe Ruth was for boys 13 to 15 and I was assigned to a team sponsored by a local clothing store named Anderson s and that was the name of our team. I don’t know how I was picked for Anderson’s and when the first practices came around I didn't know anyone on my team. I am sure it was pretty obvious to the coaches that I didn't know much about baseball and they probably had found out I had never played before. I don’t remember a lot of practices but I remember the one in which a high fly ball hit off of the tip of my glove and turned my nose into a bloody mess. I believe that is when the tip of the cartilage of my nose was split, a facial defect that I still bare today. But it was another fly ball that left an even bigger scar.
Everyone had to play in the game with at least one at bat and one inning, I think that was the rule set by the league….at least I know on our team everyone got to play. It was usually in the during the last innings that I made my appearance. Looking back that makes no sense but there is that “honor” of starting the game but I think now that it would better to put your worst players on the field in the early innings…but that isn't how it happened. I would make one appearance in the field and at the plate. I never got a hit all year but I would dream of hitting a home run and of someday even being a pitcher. One day while throwing the ball against the side of our house I broke the kitchen window. I felt really bad and had no money to pay for it but my mom said if I got a hit that I wouldn't have to pay. One game I actually made contact and drove it deep into center field where it was caught. I guess I hit it far and hard enough that the next game I got put in the game a bit sooner. I never got a hit but I did get on base several times. I was left handed, and fairly big and definitely slow. I think all characteristics that led opposing pitchers to manage to hit me. I didn't mean to get hit and it usually hurt but it was better than what usually happened which was strike out. My mom never did make me pay for the window (which probably was because I had no money but she said that I had hit the ball really hard and it was almost as good).
Anderson’s was one of the better teams in the league but not the best but we were always competitive. One warm clear summer evening nearing the end of the season it was late in the evening and Anderson’s was leading I think by two and it was in the last inning. I found myself in right field hoping that no one would hit the ball to me. Bases loaded and two outs suddenly a smack of the bat and the ball is rising and coming in my direction. I think one has time to think of a lot of things in that split second and I should probably have been thinking about using two hands or squeezing the mitt tight but my memories are a mix of feeling the sheer terror of the moment and the anticipation of being the hero. The ball hit my glove and fell to the ground. Do I grab it and throw it in? I don’t remember. Did someone else run and get it? I don’t remember? I do remember that the bases were loaded and everyone scored and that our second baseman Don was yelling at me. I don’t remember what he yelled but I felt bad, real bad. Was the game over or did we had one more chance? Did I come up and strike out? I don’t remember. I do remember not going to anymore games that year. I couldn't, it hurt too much. I don’t think anyone missed me.
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