Somewhere in a box, my trophies from T-Ball and Little League will remind me how many years I played ball, but for some reason, I can't remember playing T-Ball for more than one season. If I did it for more than one year, I just don't remember. Nor do I remember participating in Little League for more than one year, though I feel certain I did. I am going to find those trophies and update you on that later.
As per usual, I don't remember any discussion in the household about my transition from T-Ball to the "bigs". Surely there must have been SOME discussion. After all, Little League is unadulterated, American-Pastime Baseball. T-Ball, is merely a game that employs a baseball. I don't recall understanding that distinction as a kid.
Almost everything I remember of my Little League experience is pleasant:
My team: Kelsey and Sons (a contractor, I think). My couch: Mr. Busby, father of our third baseman and a classmate, John Busby. Everybody liked Mr. Busby. I remember big smiles, bright eyes (blue, I think), close cropped hair, stocky with a thickish neck (to my kid's minds eye), and a real zest for coaching.
In T-Ball, you get your first cleats, team cap, and a t-shirt that looks like everyone elses, giving you a pretty good sense of "team". In Little League, you get the UNIFORM: ankle socks, pants with a stripe, a jersey with a number on the back, and a real baseball cap. My number was 13. In T-Ball, you feel like a member of a team mainly once you get around the other guys who all happen to be wearing the same color t-shirt as you. But when you have a full uniform, you're a member of a team as soon as you dress! It's a great feeling.
Another graduation of sorts: you got to play on the "real" field. At Princeton Elementary where we played, there were two fields: a smaller one for T-Ball that has the usual arrangement of a few benches for the "crowd" and another bench for the "dugout". I do not recall it having a scoreboard, and the field was generally rough at the edges. But the other field was where the real action was. Not only was it bigger, but it had a real scoreboard (manually changed by, I think, other kids that sat under the board and added the numbers), it had bleachers, real dugouts, and was well kept.
And then there was the concession stand! I've always had a sweet tooth, and the concession stand never failed me. I was probably introduced to a lot of candies there: Milk Duds, Baby Ruths, Sugar Babies, and the big SweetTarts stand out along with the obligitory popcorn. I was also introduced to a curious concoction: "suicide" drinks. To this day, I get funny looks because I can't walk up to a soda machine and just fill up with one type soda, its got to be a mix, and hopefully there is a little fruit juice or fruit flavored soda on top. I like a mix of cereals in the morning also.
I played outfield for most of my career. I have vague memories of wanting to play infield, but no strong feeling that I remember. I started experimenting, though, on my own with pitching during some practices. It caught the eye of the coach at some point, but the need really wasn't there, so it didn't go anywhere. Until...during one game that wasn't going well, I remember coach Busby calling me in from the outfield to take over the pitching (I played varying positions, I think I was in center field on this day). Unfortunately, one of the clearer memories from that day was a man (I guess a father of a member of the opposing team) in the crowd yelling mean things at me. I don't think I did too bad, though I remember being very nervous and throwing some wild pitches. I don't remember any kind of elation or accolades at having saved the day or anything, but I must have done okay because I did continue to pitch from time-to-time.
Remember Mike Hammond, the slugger from my T-Ball team? He was on my team again, thankfully, and he continued to be the slugger of the lot of us. Despite being a bigger kid than average, he wasn't the bully type, nor was he brash and loud. He was always mild mannered, quick to smile. When approaching the plate to bat, he had a quiet calm about him, never a "let's go hit that ball!" fury you might associate with a competitive slugger. Yet, he was the homerun king of our team, and the guy the opponent's outfield actually took steps back for as he approached the plate.
In the end, Kelsey and Sons was probably in the middle to top of the pack, as was I personally. At the end of what must have been my last year playing, I remember feeling utterly demoralized when I wasn't among the All-Star selections. I don't remember being a stellar player, but I must have felt I meritted some recognition, so I was really upset, but I kept that to myself. Well, a few days later, I get a call from Mr. Busby: do I want to be on the All Star team? Heck yeah!! I had no idea what changed such that he decided to extend me an invitation, nor did I care!... So I traded in the red and white of Kelsey and Son for the green and white of the Princeton Little League All-Stars. I kept the number 13.
So the idea is that all-stars from each Little League division then play each other, the winners going on to larger and larger venues. Well, our team did not fair too well, as I recall. I honestly can't remember playing more than one game, though maybe we played a few.
So, a game might last what, a couple hours? And yet, all rolled into the one All-Star game I remember playing are not only some of my best memories of baseball, but also the happiest moment I remember between me and my parents, particularly my father. As I recall:
Sometime shortly before that game, I remember my father taking me to the high school near our house (my future high school, Edgewater) and spending time with me, giving me pointers on hitting the ball: lining up at the plate, stance, touch the bat on the opposite side of the plate, eye on the ball. This is probably a regular occurence for some, but frankly, I don't remember another time I got one-on-one attention from dad where I learned something and was having fun with him. Later, just before the game, Mom and Dad said they would give me five dollars if I hit a home run - something I don't think I did the entire season.
So imagine the All Star game (I think it was at night which adds a bit to the drama for some reason): Our team is not doing real well, I'm first to bat one inning. Mom and Dad are both in the stands (rare?). I walk to the plate, crowd cheering from our side of the stands, I touch the bat to the other side of the plate as Dad had suggested, line up, look at the pitcher. First pitch - WHACK!!
Home run.
I'll never forget it. You can't help but watch the ball as you trickle towards first base - GO, GO, GO - center-fielder running, tracking it - GO, GO, GO - then to see it bounce on the other side of the fence -priceless! Rounding third base, I was facing the stands where I saw Mom and Dad, I held up my open right hand, five bucks, remember? and came home.
I don't think you can be happier.
It was our only point, we lost, and I don't know if I ever played another game, but I won't ever forget it.
As per usual, I don't remember any discussion in the household about my transition from T-Ball to the "bigs". Surely there must have been SOME discussion. After all, Little League is unadulterated, American-Pastime Baseball. T-Ball, is merely a game that employs a baseball. I don't recall understanding that distinction as a kid.
Almost everything I remember of my Little League experience is pleasant:
My team: Kelsey and Sons (a contractor, I think). My couch: Mr. Busby, father of our third baseman and a classmate, John Busby. Everybody liked Mr. Busby. I remember big smiles, bright eyes (blue, I think), close cropped hair, stocky with a thickish neck (to my kid's minds eye), and a real zest for coaching.
In T-Ball, you get your first cleats, team cap, and a t-shirt that looks like everyone elses, giving you a pretty good sense of "team". In Little League, you get the UNIFORM: ankle socks, pants with a stripe, a jersey with a number on the back, and a real baseball cap. My number was 13. In T-Ball, you feel like a member of a team mainly once you get around the other guys who all happen to be wearing the same color t-shirt as you. But when you have a full uniform, you're a member of a team as soon as you dress! It's a great feeling.
Another graduation of sorts: you got to play on the "real" field. At Princeton Elementary where we played, there were two fields: a smaller one for T-Ball that has the usual arrangement of a few benches for the "crowd" and another bench for the "dugout". I do not recall it having a scoreboard, and the field was generally rough at the edges. But the other field was where the real action was. Not only was it bigger, but it had a real scoreboard (manually changed by, I think, other kids that sat under the board and added the numbers), it had bleachers, real dugouts, and was well kept.
And then there was the concession stand! I've always had a sweet tooth, and the concession stand never failed me. I was probably introduced to a lot of candies there: Milk Duds, Baby Ruths, Sugar Babies, and the big SweetTarts stand out along with the obligitory popcorn. I was also introduced to a curious concoction: "suicide" drinks. To this day, I get funny looks because I can't walk up to a soda machine and just fill up with one type soda, its got to be a mix, and hopefully there is a little fruit juice or fruit flavored soda on top. I like a mix of cereals in the morning also.
I played outfield for most of my career. I have vague memories of wanting to play infield, but no strong feeling that I remember. I started experimenting, though, on my own with pitching during some practices. It caught the eye of the coach at some point, but the need really wasn't there, so it didn't go anywhere. Until...during one game that wasn't going well, I remember coach Busby calling me in from the outfield to take over the pitching (I played varying positions, I think I was in center field on this day). Unfortunately, one of the clearer memories from that day was a man (I guess a father of a member of the opposing team) in the crowd yelling mean things at me. I don't think I did too bad, though I remember being very nervous and throwing some wild pitches. I don't remember any kind of elation or accolades at having saved the day or anything, but I must have done okay because I did continue to pitch from time-to-time.
Remember Mike Hammond, the slugger from my T-Ball team? He was on my team again, thankfully, and he continued to be the slugger of the lot of us. Despite being a bigger kid than average, he wasn't the bully type, nor was he brash and loud. He was always mild mannered, quick to smile. When approaching the plate to bat, he had a quiet calm about him, never a "let's go hit that ball!" fury you might associate with a competitive slugger. Yet, he was the homerun king of our team, and the guy the opponent's outfield actually took steps back for as he approached the plate.
In the end, Kelsey and Sons was probably in the middle to top of the pack, as was I personally. At the end of what must have been my last year playing, I remember feeling utterly demoralized when I wasn't among the All-Star selections. I don't remember being a stellar player, but I must have felt I meritted some recognition, so I was really upset, but I kept that to myself. Well, a few days later, I get a call from Mr. Busby: do I want to be on the All Star team? Heck yeah!! I had no idea what changed such that he decided to extend me an invitation, nor did I care!... So I traded in the red and white of Kelsey and Son for the green and white of the Princeton Little League All-Stars. I kept the number 13.
So the idea is that all-stars from each Little League division then play each other, the winners going on to larger and larger venues. Well, our team did not fair too well, as I recall. I honestly can't remember playing more than one game, though maybe we played a few.
So, a game might last what, a couple hours? And yet, all rolled into the one All-Star game I remember playing are not only some of my best memories of baseball, but also the happiest moment I remember between me and my parents, particularly my father. As I recall:
Sometime shortly before that game, I remember my father taking me to the high school near our house (my future high school, Edgewater) and spending time with me, giving me pointers on hitting the ball: lining up at the plate, stance, touch the bat on the opposite side of the plate, eye on the ball. This is probably a regular occurence for some, but frankly, I don't remember another time I got one-on-one attention from dad where I learned something and was having fun with him. Later, just before the game, Mom and Dad said they would give me five dollars if I hit a home run - something I don't think I did the entire season.
So imagine the All Star game (I think it was at night which adds a bit to the drama for some reason): Our team is not doing real well, I'm first to bat one inning. Mom and Dad are both in the stands (rare?). I walk to the plate, crowd cheering from our side of the stands, I touch the bat to the other side of the plate as Dad had suggested, line up, look at the pitcher. First pitch - WHACK!!
Home run.
I'll never forget it. You can't help but watch the ball as you trickle towards first base - GO, GO, GO - center-fielder running, tracking it - GO, GO, GO - then to see it bounce on the other side of the fence -priceless! Rounding third base, I was facing the stands where I saw Mom and Dad, I held up my open right hand, five bucks, remember? and came home.
I don't think you can be happier.
It was our only point, we lost, and I don't know if I ever played another game, but I won't ever forget it.
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