Baseball in the heat of summer. It brings back memories of being a kid. The sun beats on you hard out on that field, and later in the day spends most of its time in your eyes. The late afternoon light frames everything in a perfect golden glow, but its not quite that pretty when the ball's hit your way. At first, it's a funny feeling putting that leather mit on your hand. But once you've broken it in, it becomes as natural as the hand you put it on.
I've had the same mit since the sixth grade. I know that sounds odd because I was about four feet tall at that point in my life, but what can I say, the mit was big. My father bought it for me at Modells, and the first time I put it on, it was as big as my arm itself. I got used to it though. That mit has seen a lot of outfields. It still does, but the balls have grown. Sounds like a bad joke, but it's true, the softballs have definitely put a stretch on the old girl. My father told me that would happen if I ever started playing softball. I remember when he bought me the glove. The whole ride home he told me how I was going to use it for a long time. How it was a good glove, better than my old one. I needed an upgrade, I was a true outfielder now. I believed it.
I could never hit. First I was scared of the ball, then I was slow on the ball, and then came the curve. But I could always field. It was the one thing I focused on, because I new it was the only thing I stood a chance at being good at. I was small, and certainly underwhelming at first sight. And I was never the fastest, but I knew how to run. But I grew up playing catch with a big kid. Jimmy was always a large and strong guy. He could throw the ball hard, and far, but not always accurately. He was my best friend. I spent my baseball years throwing with him, and in turn, he gave me a good arm.
Then I learned how to get a read on the ball. How to catch it off the bat. I started to love the excitement of tracking a fly ball. I Still do. I still get that same feeling playing softball now. It's nostalgic, but it's also instinctual. I feel good out there alone with my thoughts, waiting on every pitch. It feels right. Just waiting for someone to hit something my way. Give me a shot at it, i'll come through. If there's a guy on base, especially third, I'm praying for him to tag. Give me a shot at him, I'm gonna take it.
I grew up on baseball. It's a part of my earliest memories and photos. We were a Yankees household, and I always had a cap on. I was playing catch and swinging wiffle ball bats as soon as I could stand on my own. Long before I'd really started talking in full sentences. And because of that, baseball has always had a big place in my heart. As a kid I loved tracking big league stats through the season. Hell, I even loved tracking our little league stats so much, that the coach let me keep the book during the games. They always said "baseball is a thinking mans game." I don't know if that was just to make themselves feel better, but it always made sense to me.
A couple weeks ago I missed my train back to the city and had to wait at the station for an hour. I figured I'd take a walk around the block, and happened upon my old high school. How could I forget, it's mere paces from the station, yet I haven't been back there in a decade. So I sauntered through the entrance, crossed the old soccer field I used to play on, and came upon the new varsity baseball field. It certainly wasn't the one we played on, and it was in very nice shape. It had dugouts and all. And there was a game going on, but it wasn't high school. It was a little league game and the kids were just at the age where they started to let them pitch. So I leaned against a fence post and watched for a few minutes.
It was amazing. I remembered how much I loved little league myself. All the dads and coaches on the sidelines shouting advice and encouragement. The mothers and smaller children all sat together on the bleachers, occasionally looking at the game when they heard that familiar sound of bat on ball. Otherwise they were using the time to catch up on what had happened in each others lives. It was exactly how I remembered it, and a part of me missed it a little bit.
I always kind of hoped I could coach a little league team when I had kids. It seemed like something I'd love to do. I remember how much I loved playing, and I remember the coaches and parents who really taught me something about the game. There's just something about being there to pass on the love of the sport, to the next crop of kids. Sure it's our national pastime and all that, but it's more about giving a kid a chance to love an activity that can help them in their lives, and gives them something to look forward to after school each day. If they wind up loving the game a tenth as much as I did, and do, then it will have been a wild success. And of course I remember the bond it gave my father and I. That's something that can never be taken away. We still talk shop every time I'm home and watch games when we can. One day I hope I have a kid I can share all that with as well.
Until that day, I still get an immense amount of pleasure just watching it on television and at the ball park when I can get there. When I was a kid, I wanted to be a baseball announcer. I loved statistics, and fancied myself a "color guy." I didn't need to do the play-by-play, filling in the holes was where I belonged. Now, I just like talking about it with whoever's watching the game with me. Comparing stats, making wild exclamations about the post season, and debating the chances that the Yankees will win it all. Hey, they've always got a shot. And I think as long as I have that, then this great game's always got a place in my home, and my life.
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