Etc. - Baseball Lamentations

I love baseball. Baseball is in my blood. When I was a kid, I remember throwing the baseball back and forth with my dad. The first time we played with a hard ball, I took a ball to the chops, cried (as my dad laughed) and then continued to play catch without that fear of getting hit again.

My dad went to a hitting class when I was about 7 years old, and learned the modern baseball swing that wasn't exactly mainstream in the early 80's: a clean, short, level swing would get you more power than a sweeping, looping swing swung with all your might. He taught me this swing on a tee in the culdesac at the end of the street.

Next thing you know, this wirey little pip-squeek, who was half the size of his teammates was hitting the ball so hard, kids would cower in fear. I remember one time, I hit the ball so hard it hit the ground, bounced up and knocked some little girls teeth out.

Yeah, that's right, I said girl.

My friends and I played all kinds of baseball, wiffle-ball, and wiffleball hybrids. I played year-round baseball one year when I was living in Arizona. I used to pepper the back wall with a tennis ball at our backyard for hours during the summer--much the shagrin of my parents as I hit a few spot-lights (shattered) and windows (didn't break, but left a mark) back then.

Primarily due to a coach that was unable to control a bunch of snotty rich kids, I briefly gave up playing organized baseball during my high school days in Philly. Like I said, I love baseball, and I didn't need to prove it to anyone.

Ok, that was a lie. Obviously I did need to prove it to someone as I got the wild idea to walk on my college baseball team. After my sophmore year in college, I decided to work my ass off in the batting cages, while fielding grounders for hours and hours during the summer.

The results paid off, as I walked on to the Indiana baseball team. Carrying around my 145 lbs frame (that's measured soaking wet) didn't exactly intimidate or impress anyone. However after a few rounds of live batting practice where I showered the field with line drives, I made it to the next round, which was hitting against live pitching.

They threw everything at you--fastballs, breaking balls, split-fingers, etc. I hit them all, to all fields.

Then they put us in the field and I mopped everything up at shortstop and second-base. Clearly, things were going well and the decided to give my skinny-but a walk on spot. Unfortunately, two-months later, I became a Title IX casualty as the baseball team at to cut 4 roster spots for funding reasons. It was to my benefit, as two months of playing Division I baseball with no hope of seeing any real playing time was taxing.

Anyway, all this training prepared me for the moment that I had last night. I went to the Mets/Giants game and sat in front of the broadcasters booth behind home plate. During the sixth inning, the $14 hotdog I ate didn't really fill me up, so I decided to order a basket of fried chicken fingers with fries for $10. The lady delivered my order (we were sitting in the Club level where they actually deliver your food), and I opened my ranch dressing to eat these not-so-tasty, but adequate fuel providers.

Then Mets 1B, Mike Jacobs fouled a ball back.

It was coming...right....at....me.

I had chicken in my hands and my lap.

I just paid $10 for my chicken.

I compromised.

I sat up and spilled my chicken, but held on the piece of chicken in my left hand. The ball came in. I caught it, but three other people were reaching for it and it was swatted out of my hand.

I lost the ball and the rest of my chicken, along with a gallon of ranch dressing ended up all over me and the ground.

Wrong compromise.

All that training came down that moment, and I chose to hold onto the @#&^$# chicken!

I heard my dad yelling, "Two hands! Two hands!" I guess my dad's lessons of money management collided with his baseball instruction.

Oh well, I'm going back to the game today for another shot. Maybe this time I'll learn, but there is no way I'm spilling a beer for it.

Posted by 10 fingers 6 strings at August 27, 2005 07:40 AM | TrackBack