Baseball

th following post is my attempt at becoming a baseball player, although when I look through Baseball through the eyes of my friend rich I can see the draw, I wish I could see it through his eyes and enjoy it , however, I see through my eyes and I am no fan of baseball!

Somewhere between Football seasons I decided I wanted to play baseball. Well I am not sure I wanted to play baseball but I definitely wanted the cool baseball hat with the letter of my team on it to wear to school. Another kid in my third grade class Jeff had a light blue baseball hat with a T on it, I think is stood for Tigers. I definitely wanted a cool hat. I also new that after every game you got a drink ticket! See today kids get a bucket of soda with free refills four times a day and I think we are moving to soft drink IV’s. However in the early 80’s soda was still hard to come by, I think a large soda when I was a kid was six ounces. Soda was like candy it was magical and you had no way of getting it yourself so anytime you could get your own soda and your choice of soda it was magnificent. So you got a drink ticket at the end of every baseball game and you got your choice of soda, but really there was only one cool choice… the SUICIDE. This is when they put a squirt of every flavor soda they had and mixed it all together. This was soda nirvana, this was the biggest treat my 9 year old mind could imagine, this and some big league chew baseball gum. If you have not experienced big league chew baseball gum you have not lived. This was the gum they designed specifically to look like chewing tobacco, it had the same pouch and you were supposed to pack your mouth full just like tobacco. We could pretend we were just like the big leaguers, Oh the days before political correctness.
So to some up my baseball inspiriation there was a hat, soda, and gum… and of course to get these things I needed to play baseball, PLAY BALL! So my parents signed me up and I went down to the jr. high with my Dad for practice. I realized a few things pretty quick. I couldn’t really hit the ball, I couldn’t really throw the ball and I was scared as hell to catch the ball, and I was chubby and not coordinated because I was growing so fast. In case you were wondering this is not the recipe for success. So I was the biggest kid and they made me the catcher. I was the catcher which means I should have caught the ball a lot , like after every pitch. However I was scared of the ball, so I realized it was much easier to dodge the ball , let it hit the back stop and then go pick it up and try and throw it to a base, my coach and my Dad did not think this was a good strategy. So my coach took me and the pitcher aside at practice and had me work on catching. “Keep your eye on the ball Matt!” , what does that mean anyway, so I lowered my glove and kept my eye on that ball, the pitcher threw it straight at me, I kept my eye on that ball, and for a 9 year old pitcher it was moving pretty fast. I watched the ball spin , saw the red stiches on the white ball, it got bigger and bigger , until the ball was stopped by my forehead, I went down hard. “What the hell was that!” the coach yelled in frustration and anger. I thought it was pretty obvious I was demonstrating the best eye on the ball technique he had ever seen. Somehow there was some miss communication. They moved me from catcher to left field, that is the Siberia of little league baseball, that is where they banish the kids with no hope, because no 9 year old is hitting the ball into the outfield.
Then there was batting. I was a little more excited about this but there was still that damn ball flying at you, but now at least I had a weapon. I don’t really remember that many hits or memorable occasions at bat except for one. My home run! ( or maybe a base hit but I am remembering it as a home run!) See I was a strong kid, I was definitely bigger than the rest and there were good odds that I would eventually connect with the ball. So that time did come. I don’t remember the game or the team we were playing but I remember the hit and the aftermath. The pitcher released the ball and it came straight down the lane (Is that even what they call it, sounds good though huh?) I kept my “eye on the ball” and swung that little louiville slugger as hard as I could and it connected. That was one of the best sounds the crack of the bat hitting the ball and if flew far and long. Now the next part was confussing because I hadn’t hit the ball that many times , in fact I don’t have any memory of ever hitting it before but I am sure I did. The first thought was “I better hold on to this bat!” which I later found out was a bad decision. The second thought was “which base do I run to?!” Now most kids may have already had this down but I was more concerned with how my Hat looked, when I was getting my soda, and where I put my big league chew. So right or left, which way do I run? There were two paths that diverged on the baseball field and I chose the left path, and it made all the difference…. Because it was the wrong path. So the big chubby 9 year old who was afraid to catch the ball took off with bat in hand running to third base first. So my whole team decided to cheer me on, and believe it or not 9 year olds are not really encouraging to each other, so the team decided to chant “Fat Matt, Fat Matt, as I ran the bases the wrong direction. That is pretty much the end of my memories of baseball. I don’t remember ever picking up a ball bat or glove again. I don’t remember the end of the season. I am sure I got my “thanks for participating” trophy! I had my hat and can still see the faces of all those other 9 years olds, up on the fence in the dug out, yelling “Fat Matt, fat Matt”……. I hate Baseball.