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PLAY BALL

Baseball was on hold for awhile because of a virus...my weekends were strange without a game of any kind on TV...But it's back and watching a full stadium last night I thought about how I loved baseball as a kid – I still do and watching the first games of the new season with heart full of hope that for my team, the Phillies – this will be their year…and my mind drifts back to my first game of organized baseball.

 “Your grandfather was a good player,” I can hear my grandmother Ethel saying that over and over as we would watch the black and white flicker on our Motorola TV as the Phillies waged a battle against the Brooklyn Dodgers – the bums.  And I made up my mind right there and then I was going to be good too – but how?  The big kids in the neighborhood never let me actually play with them on the gavel and stony field with the rag-tag chicken wire backstop at the end of third street.  But I played in my mind a lot though.  And I actually wanted to be a first baseman, a position that most kids never wanted to be, but I thought was the best as I could touch the ball at least a couple times each inning.

I could not wait to be old enough to play on a Little League team and especially get a real uniform - anything with a uniform always was a wish for every kid in my circle of pals...The wait seems unending.

   But the day came like all things we wait for – I saw a small article in the Millville Daily Republican – “ATTENTION SEVEN YEAR OLDS - LITTLE LEAGUE TRYOUTS THURSDAY NIGHT... Report to the High School field, 5:30 PM!  Yikes this was it – a try out.  Unlike today, all kids had to “make the team” – today everyone makes the team, everyone plays, everyone wins…and I sincerely believe this is detrimental to learning about life..that’s not how it was nor should be today, but that's another story.  The real beauty of trying to plays sports is that one learns that it takes hard work to succeed in a game, in life.  Today we teach our kids many different lessons – that everyone can be   “good” at everything.   But we never teach them how ...That’s the shame of it  – but I digress…back to my memory.

     All week before the tryout, after school, I tossed a tennis ball against the garage door and fielded wicked grounders.  Bang, toss, bang toss – hour after hour I practiced.  (But I was really afraid about trying out... I had never fielded a real baseball or batted one either.  I asked my grandfather - pop to play catch with me two nights in a row. We did until it got too dark to see the ball and he showed me how to hold the bat.   “Choke up, choke up”, he would said…you’ll hit more if you choke up! And most of all don't try to kill it!” This was Good advice I would soon learn.

     I was nervous all day Thursday secretly hoping it would rain on the weekend and give me a week more to practice.  But the sun was shining Saturday as I prepared to face one of the best challenges of my young life. I dressed like a matador – donning my jeans and white tee-shirt with the hope that I would come home wearing a shirt with a message that advertised a sponsor's logo. Pop drove me to the field.  

     There were many kids there from all over town and to my dismay none from my South Millville pals that I knew.  South Millville boys weren’t usually into anything that seemed too organized.  We played a pickup game 7 days a week with the big kids choosing sides and making the rules.

     I signed in and was told to join a group according to the positions we wanted to play.  There were lots who wanted to be pitchers and shortstops; just a couple joined me at first base.  We were told to stand in a line by the “coach” (somebody's dad I guessed) . He started by winging a pretty hard grounder at each of us.  I stood in the short until it was my turn – yikes the ball game a lot faster than off the garage wall.  I awkwardly dove for it and missed it.  The coach frowned.  “Here son...Take another one,” he yelled.  “Oh no!”- this one went through my legs and rolled away.  “NEXT,” he yelled.

    This was not going well.   Next we got a chance to hit and I started to sweat.  I had never really hit a hardball from anyone except pop - who I suspected tossed me easy ones to make me feel good.  An older kid who was already on a team pitched to us and my turn came much too soon.  I did my version of "Casey at the Bat'' which I had learned from watching TV.  I took a couple of practice swings and then with the bat at the ready the kid threw the pitch - Bam – the first one smacked the catcher’s glove – I didn’t even see.  Bam – another one whizzed by.  The coach yelled, “Come on kid just take a couple of swings – you can do it!”  The pitcher went into a Dizzy Dean wind up and threw a wild one high and outside – I lunged for it clear across the plate and landed in a pile outer of the batter’s box.  As I got up another of the coaches put his arm on my shoulder and urged me to walk with him to the side of the diamond.  He said, “Never played before huh?”  I said, “Not really sir…as tears started to roll down my cheeks.  He continued, “Now don’t worry, no need to cry – you're a big kid and I am going to pick you for the a Farm Team and we are going to learn to hit and field and by next year you will be a started for in the big kid's league – how’s that"?  I chirped, “Gee that would be great, but do I get a uniform”/  He smiled and said, "Not this year – but you will get a nice green tee shirt with a number on the back and a new green hat".  

   That was a start I thought as the tears stopped. And ironically, that summer I played on Chubb's Insurance a bit of an embarrassing team name for me to wear around as I was a bit "chubby"... this got a lot of laughs from my South Millville boys...But I put up with it and I learned the game. 

   The next summer I was picked to play for a regular Little League team - the Millville National Bank and I have to say -  hit a bunch of tape measure home runs that are still mentioned when I see old friend at reunions and our conversations turn to talk about sports and the good old days..."I'll never forget that homer you hit to center field...it went a mile Cal...It went a mile..." 

     My summer in the farm league made me a difference,,,made learn the basics with led to beging a much better player - I earned my hot and warm wool uniform the next year.  And learned some lessons about life which stayed with me far beyond those summer games of long ago...

     And I got to play first base.

STARS & STRIPES FOREVER!

        As I do every year I watched my old friend Jean Shepherd’s the Great 4th of July & Other Disasters and as always, I smile, get a bit misty-eyed when he closes with “…and the holidays when we were young are the sweetest of all…”

    And then...I am immediately on High Street in Millville on a hot summer’s July 4th morning with the temperature already at 96 – this was going to be a scorcher, according to my grandmother, the weather vane of the family. Already I could feel the sweat running down my back – no this wasn’t perspiration…It was sweat! And no wonder my Official Cub Scout uniform was made for camping in Siberia. Blue wool gaberdine my grandmother the seamstress reported. It was made to withstand the elements on a fall hike and roughhouse games like “steal the bacon.” It wasn’t good for July. Plus, it was dark blue, and I literally could feel the sun rays burning my shoulders through my shirt.

    However, the heat was far outweighed by the anticipation that had been building for weeks – I was not going to watch the big 4th of July parade this year - I was going to be IN the parade.

    Our pack had been practicing marching for months (all of us except Carl could march in unison).  As we waited for the Millville High band to strike it up I marveled at the many merit badges the older Boy Scouts had sewn to their uniforms. I wanted so much to pass all the tests of craftsmanship, stamina and cleanliness that it would take to earn them myself. At this point I only had one - the Webelo’s badge that heralded that I was now a Bear Cub – the first of the three levels of Cubing – to earn this I had mastered the Cub Scout pledge, motto, song, mission and knew the location of the Sears where all of the needs of scouting were sold. Mom had just bought me the Official BSA Birdhouse Kit and after the glue dried I would earn my first badge – for “carpentry“ or maybe it was “wild life knowledge”? (I would learn years later that Sears & Roebuck’s and BSA had formed a partnership that had produced one of the most brilliant merchandising schemes ever – selling millions of uniforms that could only be bought at – Sears!)

    Scout Leader, Mr. Jones cued our bugler to sound revelry or charge – I couldn’t remember which but I had heard it many times at the Saturday matinee. After he got our attention he addressed the “troops”. “Gentleman I am very please to see you’ve come to attention and at this time I want to select the scouts who will have the great honor of carrying our flags.” He had brought 3 flags in long cases.  He singled out our one Eagle scout to carry the Troop Flag, a Second-Class Scout to carry the State banner which looked like a picture of a snake and a farmer? Then to my surprise he called on me, a lowly Cub Scout, to carry the American Flag. Our proudest banner topped with hundreds of steamers that memorialized participation at the Annual Regional Camper-Ree.

    I was honored – but later my mom reminded me that he picked me because I was the just the biggest kid and Old Glory had to be the tallest flag. As I went to pick up my flag, Scoutmaster Jones said quietly, “Sorry Cal but I could only find two flag belts (leather-like holsters worn around the neck which made the flagpole easy to carry) you will have to make do.” “Yikes”, I said to myself, as he handed me the huge pole. And as I struggle to get to my spot in line he added, “And whatever you do, don’t let the flag touch the ground!”  I lined up with the other two bearers and noticed that they had light aluminum flag poles – mine seemed to be made of oak and was thicker than the end of a baseball bat. And no holder! “Yikes…”, I repeated adding the only swear word I knew.  A whistle sounded, and the high school band slowly revived up Stars and Stripes Forever (which first few bars would make me sweat from that day on) And off we went with Scout Master Jones barking a brisk cadence – Left-right-left-right…left, left…left, right, left right.

    My flag immediately started whipping wildly in the hot wind. It was marching me down the street. I needed to do something quick to get it under control – so I stuffed the end of the flag pole into one of my pants pocket which became my flag holder. This was ingenious I thought as the pressure let up on my arms – but then I realized that the weight of the flag just might make my pants fall to my knees or worse. Mortified - I bravely tried to keep up with the other two guys.  I could hear people on the sidewalks begin laughing as I marched sideways, one hand on the pole and the other on my Official Cub Scout Military-Style Web Belt with its imitation brass buckle. The sweat was now a river steaming down my back as I tried to keep in step - these older guys were proudly strutting away as I stumbled and fumbled with a load that was getting heavier by the step.

    The sun beat down and I was roasting. My Keds sticking to the pavement. The band blared on and the end of High Street looked miles away. I started to believe that I may actually carry the “star and stripes” forever.  But eventually it was over. I had made the half mile walk without fainting or letting the flag drag – and only a few hundred folks laughed at me. The only lucky part of the whole mess was that not many of my friends saw my flag fiasco – they were probably home in the shade getting ready for the roasted wieners that they were going to consume that day.

    As for me, I went straight home and went to bed; exhausted. I didn’t wake up until afternoon to devour my blackened hot dogs from the charcoal embers.  That day I learned an important lesson. Everyone who ever got to carry Old Glory from 1776 to 1956 had all taken on a very heavy burden – even a new Cub Scout like me.