Diamond days

I was deep in the outfield of one of the three baseball diamonds spread out in Powder Hollow shagging flies with a dozen other twelve years olds. For some reason that morning I was aggressive like I'd never been before, shouting out, "I got it,' as I chased down fly balls near and far. After running down and catching a rather hard hit ball a prospecting coach asked me for the third time what was my name? "I told you twice already," I barked. He grimaced and told me I had a poor attitude and paid me no further attention. I didn't care. I thought he was a jerk.

It was Saturday afternoon in the beginning of summer and I was taking part in little league open tryouts. My father who had accompanied me was hanging out with the other dads comparing and enumerating each kid's strengths and weaknesses. I'm sure he was smoking his pipe.

By the time the waning sun was casting crisscross shadows in the hollow I'd been scooped up as a healthy prospect by a diligent and good natured coach. He'd asked me my name just once. Later the following week we met for our first team workout. I tried out for a pitching. I was tall for my age and a bit lanky with a strong right arm. I took to the mound and burned them in to my catcher. A fast ball was about my only pitch. My curve ball had a habit of hitting right handed batters. Any other pitch I tried wound up as merely a flub. But my fast ball was intimidating as was my size atop the mound. It would come in handy when we met an opposing team.

Marty Prouty was also a pitcher for our team who's name I can't remember although I can clearly see our uniforms. They were off white with blue stripes and blue caps just like the New York Yankees. Marty like me had his battles with control. During one game after he hit three batters in a row his father got out of the pick up truck he was sitting in and stormed across the field. He dragged his embarrassed and protesting son off the pitcher's mound and back to the truck while yelling at him the whole way. The game which had come to an embarrassing halt was restarted by the umpires cry, "Play ball."

I loved my glove. My father had spared no expense when buying me it. The fit was first rate and the webbing was perfect for catching hard hit balls. If I remember correctly the glove was a Ted William's model. I had it for years in fact all the way up into my late forties. I was living then in a cramped studio apartment so I stored the glove along with other nonessentials in the building's dank basement. And there it sat for over a year until the day I was moving out. I went down into the basement and discovered that the glove and everything else I had stored there was rotted with mold. At that point I reluctantly tossed the glove away.

My little league days were family affairs. My father was a doting and instructive assistant coach. After games win or lose he'd treat the whole team to hot-dogs and soda or ice-cream treats from the Dairy Queen. My mother for her part was my most ardent fan. One night during a heated game I hit a ball deep into right field. As I ran for extra bases my mother called out encouragement and jumped up and down with such exertion she broke one of the planks on the bleachers where she had but a moment ago been sitting.

As it sometimes happens a better pitcher came along and I was relegated to right field. I'd stand out there daydreaming and only occasionally take part with the rest of the team in taunting the batter "You can't hit" and yelling "swing" at every pitch.

I had no baseball heros in those little league years (nor do I now). There was not a player I idolized or sought to emulate. I also cared not a wit for the professional doings of the game. There was no team I rooted for or followed. I was aware however of players like The Yaz and Pete Rose. I knew for instance that the latter was nick named Charlie Hustle. But beyond that my interest in the sport was basically nil. I rarely watched a game on TV for I found the proceedings exceedingly dull. I did however find playing the game to be a bit of fun. With that in mind I played in little league for a couple seasons.