Boring Stuff
Posted: Fri Nov 18, 2016 2:57 pm
For the first day since over a year ago, I am not drafting or managing a fantasy baseball team.
Boredom overcomes a baseball soul in November.
Cant draft, manage, or talk baseball right now, may as well write about it...
I was never much for school. For me, school was a vehicle to play sports. Schools provided the bodies needed to play games. They provided the equipment and organization to play the games. Then later, in high school and College, they would provide the competition.
If needing D's to play baseball, I got D's.
If needing C's, I got C's.
I would follow that pattern from Kindergarten to College.
At seven years old, I would play on the sandlots. My brother was four years older than me and would take me along. Teams would need players to play 'even up', so I knew I would get my chances to play. Soon, I was not just the little brother tagging along. I was wanted on teams. There's a feeling there that I never got at any other time playing baseball. To be accepted as an equal at seven, to 11 year olds was just an awesome feeling.
At age seven, I also got hooked on listening to the San Francisco Giants on radio.
I remember this one particular phrase-
"Mays hits a ball deep in the hole at shortstop and beats it out!"
I had never seen a Major League Field.
Not even on tv.
Only our sandlots.
The first thing that went through my mind was that there were holes in Major League fields.
And Willie Mays was so good that he could hit the ball into the deepest part of the hole and beat it out for a hit.
I was glad the the sandlot holes were smaller.
Later, my big brother explained what 'a hole' was in baseball.
I've written before about the report card I received in second grade.
"Danny's schoolwork suffers from 'Baseballitis' "
I have to admit, that teacher hit the mark.
All my birthday and Christmas presents were related to baseball.
Baseballs, gloves, bats, and transistor radios.
I sneaked a transistor radio to school in fifth grade. I liked my teacher. He was a baseball and Giants fan.
Like most other teachers before and after, he would write about my 'potential' on the report card.
In his class, I had snuck a transistor radio to listen to the Giants day game.
Cleverly, I had worn a turtle neck shirt so that the clothing would hide most of the wire leading to my ear.
My teacher was going over answers from a test the previous day.
"Nancy, what was your answer for question 12?"
23
"That's right"
"Jimmy, the answer to question 13?"
12
"That's right"
"Danny, what's the score of the ballgame?"
3-2
The classroom howled. Reddest face I've ever had in my life.
"Unfortunately for you Danny Boy, that too is right. Stay after school, please"
But, he never asked for that radio. I thought that was pretty cool.
At the beginning of high school, my parents moved from California to Colorado.
I thought my life was over.
There's not one baseball team in Colorado. None!
California had four when I left. And at night, I could listen through the static of my radio to all of them.
Colorado had snow. Snowballs, not baseballs. Stupid.
We had moved in the Fall. There was no baseball anywhere, but ESPECIALLY, not in Colorado.
My mood got worse, my grades barely passing. The snow piling higher.
When Spring came, there was still snow on the ground and not a single team to listen to during the day.
The baseball coach approached me after school. He had heard that I played (thanks Mom).
I told him I did and how disappointed I was that I couldn't play here.
He told me that there was a team and that they played 16 games.
He told me that the snow would melt and that we would be playing ball soon.
He even gave me the radio call letters for KMOX, a radio station that carried Cardinals games after dark.
He said my D's and F's would have to turn to C's.
And magically, they did.
In my first at bat for our high school team, I walked.
I flipped my bat back towards our dugout and ran to first base.
On my way to first base, I heard screams.
I turned around. The bat I had flung towards the dugout landed in the dugout almost lancing a, probably now, former friend.
My adreneline in playing was over the top.
Later in that first game, I came up with the game on the line.
My leg was shaking so bad, I could hardly contain it. I wanted that pitcher to throw a first pitch strike so much because I couldn;t bear the excitement of waiting for the outcome myself.
He did. He threw a strike and I swung as hard as possible.
The ball went between third and short and our team won.
I had hit it in the hole.
Just like Mays.
And although I knew I wasn't anywhere near as good as Willie Mays, I felt like it that day.
Boredom overcomes a baseball soul in November.
Cant draft, manage, or talk baseball right now, may as well write about it...
I was never much for school. For me, school was a vehicle to play sports. Schools provided the bodies needed to play games. They provided the equipment and organization to play the games. Then later, in high school and College, they would provide the competition.
If needing D's to play baseball, I got D's.
If needing C's, I got C's.
I would follow that pattern from Kindergarten to College.
At seven years old, I would play on the sandlots. My brother was four years older than me and would take me along. Teams would need players to play 'even up', so I knew I would get my chances to play. Soon, I was not just the little brother tagging along. I was wanted on teams. There's a feeling there that I never got at any other time playing baseball. To be accepted as an equal at seven, to 11 year olds was just an awesome feeling.
At age seven, I also got hooked on listening to the San Francisco Giants on radio.
I remember this one particular phrase-
"Mays hits a ball deep in the hole at shortstop and beats it out!"
I had never seen a Major League Field.
Not even on tv.
Only our sandlots.
The first thing that went through my mind was that there were holes in Major League fields.
And Willie Mays was so good that he could hit the ball into the deepest part of the hole and beat it out for a hit.
I was glad the the sandlot holes were smaller.
Later, my big brother explained what 'a hole' was in baseball.
I've written before about the report card I received in second grade.
"Danny's schoolwork suffers from 'Baseballitis' "
I have to admit, that teacher hit the mark.
All my birthday and Christmas presents were related to baseball.
Baseballs, gloves, bats, and transistor radios.
I sneaked a transistor radio to school in fifth grade. I liked my teacher. He was a baseball and Giants fan.
Like most other teachers before and after, he would write about my 'potential' on the report card.
In his class, I had snuck a transistor radio to listen to the Giants day game.
Cleverly, I had worn a turtle neck shirt so that the clothing would hide most of the wire leading to my ear.
My teacher was going over answers from a test the previous day.
"Nancy, what was your answer for question 12?"
23
"That's right"
"Jimmy, the answer to question 13?"
12
"That's right"
"Danny, what's the score of the ballgame?"
3-2
The classroom howled. Reddest face I've ever had in my life.
"Unfortunately for you Danny Boy, that too is right. Stay after school, please"
But, he never asked for that radio. I thought that was pretty cool.
At the beginning of high school, my parents moved from California to Colorado.
I thought my life was over.
There's not one baseball team in Colorado. None!
California had four when I left. And at night, I could listen through the static of my radio to all of them.
Colorado had snow. Snowballs, not baseballs. Stupid.
We had moved in the Fall. There was no baseball anywhere, but ESPECIALLY, not in Colorado.
My mood got worse, my grades barely passing. The snow piling higher.
When Spring came, there was still snow on the ground and not a single team to listen to during the day.
The baseball coach approached me after school. He had heard that I played (thanks Mom).
I told him I did and how disappointed I was that I couldn't play here.
He told me that there was a team and that they played 16 games.
He told me that the snow would melt and that we would be playing ball soon.
He even gave me the radio call letters for KMOX, a radio station that carried Cardinals games after dark.
He said my D's and F's would have to turn to C's.
And magically, they did.
In my first at bat for our high school team, I walked.
I flipped my bat back towards our dugout and ran to first base.
On my way to first base, I heard screams.
I turned around. The bat I had flung towards the dugout landed in the dugout almost lancing a, probably now, former friend.
My adreneline in playing was over the top.
Later in that first game, I came up with the game on the line.
My leg was shaking so bad, I could hardly contain it. I wanted that pitcher to throw a first pitch strike so much because I couldn;t bear the excitement of waiting for the outcome myself.
He did. He threw a strike and I swung as hard as possible.
The ball went between third and short and our team won.
I had hit it in the hole.
Just like Mays.
And although I knew I wasn't anywhere near as good as Willie Mays, I felt like it that day.
