The Long Season

Finally, the Little League Baseball season was over. It had been a tough three-months for me and I didn’t want to go through another one like it.

First I had caught a hardball in the crotch when the batter hit a line-drive at me during practice. It wasn’t you usual line-drive either.

For some reason Coach Gillespie put me on the pitcher’s mound. I knew I couldn’t throw the ball well enough to be a pitcher, but he had the idea of rotating everyone during practice to see what sort of hidden skill we had.

I threw the ball, a long, arching pitch right into the batters zone.

The ball came flying back at me and out of instinct I stepped back and off the mound. The ball struck the pitching rubber, a white strip of hard rubber that the pitcher has to be in contact with when throwing the ball.

It was a bad bounce and I knew it. I tried to get my mitt in front of it, but my reaction was far too slow.

Later in the season I was smacked with a fowl-tip as I was standing in the doorway of our dug-out. I reached down and picked up the ball that had knocked me on my butt and handed it to the catcher of the other team, whereupon the umpire called our batter out.

Finally, I was in right field, daydreaming because no one ever hit the ball in my direction, when the ball was hit in my direction. I saw it and had my glove up to catch it.

It seemed like it was taking forever for the baseball to arrive, so I moved my mitt to see where it was. The hard leather wrapped ball smashed into my left-eye, knocking me out momentarily.

When I came too, everyone was crowded around me. This gave me a start and along with the pain developing in my face, I took off at a dead-run, screaming and crying for home, jus’ up the hill from the ball field.

I don’t think Babe Ruth, Joe DiMaggio or Willie Mays ever had it so rough.