The spring-
ification of the weather lately has made me think of all the glorious things that come along with the glorious months before the utterly
unglorious (or is that 'inglorious'?) summer comes along. Spring means shorts and iced drinks in the park, and summer means hideous temperatures and oddly shaved dogs. Spring also means baseball starts back up again and this time of year I can't be outside or see the sun shining without thinking about my days on 'the diamond'.
I have a terrible frame of
reference for when I played little league, I started in elementary school and stopped in, I think 8
th grade, because in high school it gets much more serious...and I was anything but serious back then. So let's say I played from the ages of 8 or 9 to 14. I think I was first drawn to the game by what I like to call the "Laziness Factor", there's a LOT of standing around in baseball, and perhaps even more sitting around. In my youth I went, rather quickly, from being a cute rambunctious kid to a comically overweight child...thus my family did anything they could to get me out of my room and into the sun. Almost
immediately, actually, yes
immediately I was plopped in right field (a little league dead zone due to the lack of lefty hitters) where I spent a good amount of time looking at bugs and adjusting my hat and hardly any time paying attention to the game, let alone participating. According to my dad the very first time I caught a fly ball in the outfield, which I remember was at the
Sunnymead Elementary field, I had my eyes closed. I was also a
lousy hitter, the total package to my fellow Rangers.
As time went on and I went to summer baseball day camps and played catch with my dad I got better and became more interested in the game. I also got fatter, what? How was this happening? Well, since I was completely interested in girls since at least 1st grade, and having no luck even back then, I guess I had already started to "eat my feelings"...not to mention cheeseburgers! But seriously folks. When you really invest yourself in baseball it's not hard to really get in to it, and after the second year, as a tween, I did.
My proudest moment was with the Tigers I believe, pitching relief in extra innings with a lead, all I needed was three outs and I would be A HERO! I went up there pitching sidearm, what a douche. Like any kid knows how to throw sidearm, but we were all jerks, it's impossible not to be kind of a dick when your that age. I got the first two outs on a pop-up and some kid's base running mistake, and when I struck out the last kid I lost it. I was SO happy, it's crazy how much something like that can effect you when there's not much else going on in your life. I kept the ball for years, it was orange with sand and dirt, my prize
possession of childhood triumph.
As the years went by I got better at fielding, possibly worse at hitting, and larger in general. Please don't think that the irony was lost on me, an obese 14 year old with asthma wearing a skintight shirt that said "Athletics". When I was playing in 8
th grade I remember my friend Dana brought a friend that she thought would like me to one of my games. I don't even think I asked for this possible matchmaking session, but I was stoked. I have a fuzzy memory of the girl, but I seem to remember she looked like Velma from
Scooby Doo, so I thought she was a total fox. I was playing left field at this point, I preferred 3rd base, but hey, there's no 'I' in 3rd base...unless you spell it out, then there's one. So Dana and Velma are sitting in the metal rows of seats behind the dugouts and there's a hit to left-center. Oh man, it was quite a shot, it's sailing back...but what's this? The left fielder has a beat on it, he might make it...yes! A stupendous jumping catch deep in left-center! First of all, it was less of a
Sportscenter highlight and more of a Swan Lake audition. Arms and legs splayed trying to look as dramatic as possible, but I did catch it. After I threw it in to the shortstop the center fielder said to me, "Hey man, nice catch!" to which I replied "There's a girl watching me!"
Let me stop right here and address a question that I can only assume you have. "Aren't you
embarrassed to be sharing this with anyone who may feel like reading it?" Yes, 100%. It's very
embarrassing stuff, but I think it's worth it for two reasons: A. It's also hilarious and B. I feel like we've all been through this kind of stuff. I can't imagine that there may be someone reading this who can't relate to acting like a total dork when they were a kid. So it's kind of a jumping off point to make anyone think about their youth and laugh at themselves if they can relate to all this.
Me and Velma didn't get together, the fact that I don't remember her name was a clue I guess. I can honestly say that my baseball career yielded NO romantic opportunities, for some reason the girls that hung around had no interest in an 800lb
freckled kid loudly arguing balls and strikes.
There are two final points that tipped me off that was not suited for high school baseball; every kid wanted to be on the Yankees, every year kids hoped to be picked to be on
the Yankees. It was
everyone's favorite team and they were usually always good somehow, I smell a rat, but that's a whole other story. I, however, always wanted to be on the Blue Jays. Reason? The uniforms. Dark navy, powder blue and white. Classic and stylish. The Yankees uniforms were okay, dark almost blackish blue and white...and maybe gray if you were lucky. This urge should have signaled to anyone paying attention that I was not quite as serious as some of the other kids. Also, I often had no interest in the game as it was happening. I was pumped up as the game was coming along, I checked the schedule and talked to my friends about who we were playing, but on game day (or night) I was in my own little world, especially in the dugout. I can remember one conversation I had with another less-than-enthralled ballplayer. We sat near the on-deck area and had a discussion about time. Time???? Yes, he informed me that since humans invented time that it doesn't really exist and therefore neither does age or all this other stuff. To this point I was not such a deep thinker, I only thought philosophically when they brought it up on the Golden Girls. So me and this kid are talking about time and space and questioning our
existence...I just remember not wanting to hit a ball after that. Luckily I probably couldn't have if I tried.
So that's my springtime baseball nostalgia-
thon. I hope you could see a little of your own childhood in it. As a side note, I think we all know the real reason that I didn't play baseball in high school, baseball isn't punk.
