Little league memories

When I was a senior in college, I was discussing the topic of why we played football with my roommate and fellow teammate on the Washington and Lee football team, Don Crossley. Don had fingers which were mangled from having his hand broken between two helmets of opposing players. I had a knee which would only feel secure when fluid would fill the cavity around the knee and provide cushion to the stressed parts of the knee. At some point in the conversation, one of us made the assertion that we probably played for the benefit of our fathers. I remember that we found consensus with that statement and probably quit trying to figure out the answers to such esoteric questions at that point. Most likely, Don went into the kitchen and made tacos for the two of us. We usually sat in front of the television and ate tacos and drank PBR out of long necked bottles until it was time to go to bed. Commonly, that was the last thing we did on Friday nights before a home football game.

My dad played football in high school. His dad played football in high school. I don't think there was much of a chance that his dad played football in high school. When he was at the age when most boys play football, my great-grandfather probably worked on the farm with his family. In the 1870's and 1880's, football was a game that was played by rich boys at Ivy League schools. Fortunately, by the time my grandfather came around, football was being played by poor farm boys and rich city boys alike. And so a long chain of football players began in our family, ending, so far, with me and my brother and Frank's son, Luke. Luke tried football for a little while, but really likes baseball best.

My father probably was a better baseball player than a football player, having played from a small boy to his later teenage years in American Legion ball. When my father found himself with two sons of the age for playing little league baseball, he tried to get us interested in baseball. Of course, we were already signed up for football in one of the best youth athletic organizations in the country. However, like thousands of young American boys, we found ourselves signed up for Little League baseball in the early spring. Dad also tried to get us interested in playing his normal position: second base. Unfortunately, only my brother did well in the infield. I remember one experience where my dad tried me at second base in a game. The other team realized quickly that they had a untalented neophyte at second and after three errors and one, final successful throw to first, I went back where it was safe in the outfield.

Early on in my career, the coaches found that I had little talent for snagging hot grounders off the infield grass. It may have had something to do with my uncorrected nearsighted vision. I am not sure. But at any rate, they quickly put me out in left field to languish in the grassy outfield at the national league playing field at Murphy Chandler park.

I only played baseball for two seasons, so I never developed any great skills out there, and my hitting was pretty poor, but I finally developed some skill at finding my way under the fly balls hit out in left field. This became my only skill in baseball. Later on, when I played church league softball, I found my real position at catcher. Just the perfect place for retired linebackers.

The little league program at Murphy Chandler was divided into two leagues: the national leage and the american league. The american league teams played on a field which was placed so that right handed batters faced the afternoon sun as they stood in the batter's box. This clearly provided an advantage for pitchers and fielders in the american league. The national league field, on the other hand, favored the batters, since home plate was located at the northwestern corner of the field and the batters faced southeastwardly, away from the sun, when they batted.

The players with the real disadvantage were those who played late afternoon games on the left side of the field, the shortstop, the third baseman, and the left-fielder. This particularly became so at around the time the afternoon sun drifted down above the batters box and sat on top of a hill which lay behind homeplate, the concession stand and the scorer's box.

For someone like me, playing out in the broad expanse of left field, the late afternoon hours became particularly precarious, as your line of vision toward the batter and the ball coming off of his bat was hidden by the bright orange sun on the hill behind the batter. Most batters seemed to be right handed, and when they connected, the ball ordinarily lept off their bat in some direction towards you, then disappeared in the orange ball on the hill.

At this point, if your vision was not temporarily impaired to an extant that you couldn't see anything from the white dots swimming in front of your eyes, you might see the ball again when it rose above the sun's light, only to disappear again when it fell to the level of the sunset.

The player who I replaced on our little league team gained some notoriety by catching a fly ball out in left field with his eye socket. I never got that clumsy, but I remember that it was pretty difficult to keep up with the ball when it flew off the bat of a right-handed batter.

Perhaps my greatest moment in little league baseball occurred in a game with the giants, when one of the better players on the giants hit a ball out towards my position. As soon as the ball left the bat it disappeared into the sun sitting on top of the hill. With the crack of the bat, I instinctively began moving toward the general direction of the ball. I remember running at an angle toward right field, not really being able to see anything in the sunlight on the hill. I was just running blindly out in leftfield.

At the last minute, maybe fifteen feet or so before the ball came to me, the ball reappeared out of the sunshine. Instinctively, my glove hand went out and I caught the ball. I remember our shortstop jumping up and down and in my excitement I threw the ball over this head into the infield. I don't think I had a more lucky moment in baseball than that one.

I do remember one game where a little pop went over the pitcher's head and our shortstop and second baseman got tangled up together, giving the baserunner on third the idea of running for home. One of the fielders threw wildly toward home and the ball went over the catcher's head to the backstop.

Meanwhile, I was drifting in toward the infield to back up the fielders. The batter decided to run for second and our catcher realized it and threw to the only person near the base: me. As the ball came to me I swiped at the runner and then threw back to home to thwart the other runner from going for home. The referee at second called the batter out at second and I ran back to rightfield. That was my other big play in baseball.

In my second and last season, my eyesight was corrected with glasses before my last game. In the last game of my career, I could suddenly see the ball distinctly when it came from the pitcher's hand. I remember that I walked two out of three times at bat and got a hit the only other time I batted. Perhaps I might have amounted to something if I had worn glasses for the rest of my career.

For better or worse, that was the end of my baseball career. I got to play basketball, which was truly my favorite game, and a whole lot of football, in which I had some talent.

Thankfully, I got to do a lot of things with football. I played on the same field as George Rogers, Heisman Trophy winner (Duluth). I got to play in the highest classification in Georgia against some of the best teams in the area (AAA). I played my best game against the team which ended up being the number two team in the state (Lakeside). I got to travel to New London, Connecticut (Coast Guard), Lehigh Valley, Pennsylvania (Bucknell), Georgetown, Virginia (Georgetown), Sewanee, Tennessee (The University of the South), Davidson, North Carolina (Davidson) and Danville, Kentucky (Centre College). I got to play on the same team with someone who was drafted by the Tampa Bay Buccaneers (Jack Berry). And I can say that I played four years in college, for a team which at one time played all the big schools in Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, and Maryland. We even played in the Gator Bowl one year (not while I was there, of course).

That's not bad.