The ceiling fan wobbled counter clockwise forcing the hot air upward. It was an extremely warm day in late October. My lil' brother and I were sitting at the dining room table, oiling our mitts for the last time, casually reminiscing over another fun season. We folded our gloves with a hard ball placed in the palm, supported the fold with a couple of strong rubber bands, put them in plastic bags, and tucked them away on the top shelf of a large, white, built-in cupboard. Baseball season had come to a close. It was time for the "Boys of Summer" to dream about next year.
There may not be any "crying in baseball," but the sacred ceremony of putting our gloves away for the season was brutal, much like attending the funeral of a close friend.
I ain't ever had a job, I just always played baseball. Satchel Paige
As a child, baseball was everything to my lil' brother Bobby and me. I don't know if we would have survived without this national pastime being a major part of our lives.
Like many families, we faced the brokenness of seeing parents fight and divorce, hearing the words of relatives on both sides of the family run each other down, and the emotional pull of wishing somehow there could have been a permanent truth amidst all the chaos. The sad truth is, some simply chose to carry bitterness and anger to the grave.
Yet, there was one temporary reprieve. Baseball!
No matter how good you are, you are going to lose one-third of your games. No matter how bad you are, you are going to win one-third of your games. It's the other third that makes a difference.
Tommy Lasorda
Bobby and I played baseball fairly well. We were able to make first string on our teams each season, played in a few all-star games, and by fifteen years of age were being encouraged to play at high school level. My brother was visited by professional scouts in his junior and senior years. He was more physically gifted player than myself. On the local level, I could hold my own.
Game Day was a whole different matter! Members from both sides of our family would ignore the divisions brought by my parent's divorce. They came to watch...baseball! Uncle Jack, Aunt Esther, and sometimes Grandma would be in attendance. My Grandpa went to every game! It was good to see 'em sitting in the stands, together in common purpose...the "for the love of the game."
God, I always said I would never bother you about baseball, Lord knows you have bigger things to worry about. But if you could make this pain in my shoulder stop for ten minutes, I would really appreciate it. Billy Chapel: For Love of the Game
After Bobby and I "retired" from baseball and had to get real jobs, the competitive nature within us still remained.
One Sunday afternoon, we were in a church league playing fast pitch softball. We both worked at factories and were married. I had dreams of completing my college education while my brother was busy raising children.
Bobby and I were on opposing teams. In the top of the first, he walked up to the plate and hit a routine grounder to the shortstop, which happened to be me. I remember making the throw to first in time for my brother to hear the first base umpire cry out: "You're out!"
The next inning I went up to the plate and hit a weak grounder to the second baseman. I too heard the base umpire yell "You're out!"
My brother was smiling. He was very talented and could play multiple positions. He was playing second base that day.
If you're going to play at all, you're out to win. Baseball, board games, Jeopardy, I hate to lose. Derek Jeter
Love is the most important thing in the world, but baseball is pretty good too. Baseball is ninety percent mental and the other half is physical. Yogi Berra
Yet, it was another baseball memory that rises above most others.
It was my final league in Little League. I had made the All Star team and was voted the starting pitcher.
Pitching was my favorite position. I had a decent fastball along with a curve that could go inside or out, depending how I held the ball.
The aluminum bleachers were pretty full that day. I would guess around one hundred fifty people came to watch us play. It was a nice turnout, including my relatives from both sides of the "barb-wired, divisive fence."
It was the bottom of the third inning. There were two outs. My team represented the National League. I played for Williams Dairy...the Williams Dairy Dodgers.
The young kid batting was ten years old. I was twelve and thought I would just overpower him with fastballs. I stood on the pitcher's mound and looked for a signal from the bench. The third base coach signaled a curve. I looked to the catcher for confirmation, and sure enough... a curve ball...to the inside. So, I threw my inside curve and the batter, Danny Feltz, missed it by a mile.
Danny was a little guy and known for his speed and ability to bunt. I looked toward the bench. Once again, coach signaled for a curve. I looked at the catcher. He signaled a curve, except this time to the outside of the plate. I threw only to have Danny foul it off trying to bunt.
Baseball is like church; Many attend, few understand. Leo Durocher
Once more I looked toward the bench and this time I got the signal I had been waiting for. Fastball. I looked at the catcher and he confirmed...a fastball, to the inside part of the plate.
One thing about Danny. He was a fearless competitor at the young age of ten. He would not back off anything or anyone. As I let go of my inside fastball, it kind of took off on me and I knew it might come in a little high...and tight.
Danny stood strong in his batting stance and never moved as the ball came sailing toward his head. To this day I think he was looking for an outside curve. As a result, he stood straight-up waiting for the ball to break to his right.
His mother sat in the stands. She was in the second row, third from the left. She stood up and screamed, calling me every rude name she could think of. Both benches emptied and the paramedics came flying onto the field in their red and white golf cart...with a stretcher.
Members of both sides of my family tried to calm her down saying how nice a kid I was and that it was an accident. I was not the kind to throw at players...especially the head.
That didn't calm her down.
The Statue of Liberty is no longer saying 'Give me your poor, your tired, your huddled masses.' She's got a baseball bat and yelling "You want a piece of me?' Robin Williams
When it was all over, Danny was taken to Emergency and everything turned out okay. Well, his face got real black and blue, but his nose repaired nicely.
I continued to play in the game, although Coach did give me the choice of staying in or coming out. The main reason I stayed in was because of Danny. As he was being loaded to the ambulance on a stretcher, he grabbed my hand and gave me a thumbs up.
Danny's mother wasn't quite as quick to pardon. She remained pissed for a while. A few weeks later I ran into her at the library. She happened to see me offered a small smile while giving a wave with her left hand. She walked directly to me and asked if I would relay to members of my family how grateful she was for the get well cards and homemade cookies different ones had sent. Then, she reached out and put her hands over mine, smiled once more, and gave me two thumbs up. That was the last time I ever saw Danny's mom.
What will I take away from that childhood experience. Well, I witnessed both sides of my family having empathy toward Danny's mother, yet protecting me from any confrontation with his mom. Instead, they had my back the entire time.
Yea, the episode itself seemed to last a few minutes, but the memory of everyone being there for me, will remain forever.
Soon after, "family wars" resumed, yet for that brief moment...
Ain't no man can avoid being average, but there ain't no man got to be common. Satchel Paige
Today I consider myself the luckiest man in the face of the earth. Lou Gehrig
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