Do you have a special place? If you were “that” insteada buried - where would it be? Over the rail into the Atlantic offa cruiseship you enjoyed so much? Lover’s Leap, mebbe where you first ‘leaped’?… Granny’s place in the country.. Out back by the chicken coup?… Whereya grew up?… That first house you actually owned?…
I’d like to be dropped off at the City Park. Where I live. A little bit’a history there for me. Scratch that, hella history there.
My first memories were of citywide celebrations - 4th of July fireworks where the whole damn town could fit in the bleachers. (we’re approaching 40,000 now)… Playing Little League for the Junior Sheriffs and getting a miniature badge.. Watching the big kids hit towering homers..
As a snotnose of 12, getting to play on the BIG diamond with the 13-15 year olds as they had trouble filling out their teams. Those of us that knew which direction to run after hitting the ball were selected to move up. Imagine the thrill (or fear) of a 7th grader, trying to hit a pitch thrown by a High School sophomore…
Baseball there from 12-19... Local paper sharing the results, mom clipping out the ones that included Victurd’s name.. The horse stables - where “did you hear about Jack and Diane going down there?”
Umpiring. Trying to make change enough to not have to take her to the stables. I thought the ‘61 Chevy was a much better venue.
Working there, too many damn summers whilst I was in High School, College, and even later summers when I taught. I mowed it. I bladed it. I fixed holes, dug basepins, lined them (time after time), fixed bleacher boards, patched an already patchwork backstop… threw a rock at a bird, dammit I actually hit it.
Softball there… Ahem, would you believe 20 thru 45? I know I know. I woulda kept playing, but I lost the vote 1 to 1. Perhaps a beer or two tossed back in the parking lot behind right field.
Among the mems. The kid that got hit in the hand whilst batting, who then limped to first. All Star games with REAL loudspeakers. Getting the field in tip-top shape on nights I had a game. Spilling a gallon of orange paint (we were to paint the benches) in the backa my ‘68 Mercury and answering 463 times “what happened?”
Losing the City Championship on an Sunday night to onea my fellow co-workers… only to come to work at 8am Monday to find the bastard (and teammates) STILL partying - and soaking up in the wading pool there…
Big Fred hitting a triple (quite a feat for his large body) - calling time out - walking (slowly) to the drinking fountain - and walking (slowly) back. Who was gonna hurry him along?
Seeing my kid pitch off of the same mound his old man did some some 31 years later. Tossing an big old dude outta the game after he’s screamed at me for the 47th time “JUST HOW DO YOU CALL BALLS AND STRIKES?” My answer, loud enough for both sets of bleachers to hear “well, firstly, I wouldn’t do so with alcohol on my breath.” He backed off pretty rapidly!
Fast forward to today. 47 years after I first set foot on that field. Today is the very last game of the softball league I played in so many years. One team that’s still lingering there - is short players today. Uh huh, I did. I volunteered. “I know I’m crappy, but I can be a number so you don’t have to forfeit. I can play catcher.”
I suggested they try to find younger ‘tween now and then - but I’m going anyways. What’s worse - I’m excited. Goal is no broken bones, no pulled hamstrings, no running up for a ball that’s actually well over my head, yes - getting a base hit, yes - catching at least one fly ball - but mainly, feeling that feel of a little kid again. I know I’m crazy. I know I’m too old. I’d do the fantasy baseball camps the Major League teams have - but hell, they’re like $3500...
If I get to play, and if I can still move - I may even write about it. If I don’t get to play - they’re having a little wing ding after the games in the right field parking lot I love so dearly. Stories will be retold (Like the time Tom was under a MAJOR LEAGUE popup at shortstop, the wind knocked off his hat, the sun shielded his eyes at the last second - the ball landed squarely on his forehead and rebounded at least 80 feet back into the air - where Chump caught it cleanly at 2nd base. Tom had heap long seam mark on his forehead for over a week. Didn’t hurt nearly as much as his pride.)
The more beers that go down, the better the plays on the field will sound. Goodbyes will be said - and for many, their gloves will be put away forever and ever.
I know blogs like this bore the shit outta women. I guess it’s a guy thing. Camaraderie, competition, whooping up on an opponent that’s cocky as hell, the sweat, the challenge, the dust, the high fives, the “That’s Ok”s…
One large part of my life. Please sprinkle some on the mound. Some in the outfield. Some on the benches. Some in the dugouts. Some in the coach’s box. Some where the umpire stands. A lot in the right field parking lot.
Today, at age 54, I get to be a kid again. Love, Victurd.
3 comments:
Vic,
I am your blog stalker that makes it a point to stay with your blog. Not many people in life do I consider profound, but you are. This lady likes your comments. I was one of those mom's who cut photos out of the paper as well. My son was and still is an all-star on and off the field.
Today would have been my 30 year wedding anniversary had my husband lived. Last week I was in Columbia MO preparing to take the state appraisers exam. The Show-Me State games were in town. As I sat studying in my motel room the noise of the pool area outside my window caught my attention. As the families of those young athletes gather by the swimming pool in the evenings, I was saddened by the fact that I would never be able to do that with him again even though my grandchildren are bound to be there someday. Memories that I had forgotten about.
Sometimes lifes changes are so permanent that those that are not seem to just fade away. Those were proud and fantastic times. Not to mention that in my eyes my son was a chip off the old block. Mom played high school softball and while not quite as talented as my son I enjoyed my day in the spotlight as well.
Irony, to have had those memories, the anniversary, and then check in on you and find this blog today of all days.
Please don't stop as you sometimes serve to make the day for some of us who indulge ourselves through your musings. Thanks, Pam aka Lilli2659
Victurd,........ you are such a chauvinist. Thank God you did not have daughters:
"I guess it’s a guy thing.
Camaraderie, competition, whooping up on an opponent that’s cocky as hell, the sweat, the challenge, the dust, the high fives, the “That’s Ok”s… "
Those are not limited to sons and fathers.
Just calling it like I see it.
C.J.
Ahm, Miss CJ, I spose you are correct. I was justa judging by "no comment" on previous blogs about sports by the female readers. I guess I've always been stuck in 1968, where we fellers had 5-7 sports to participate in, and you chickies could play tennis.
Fast forward to the resta my life - and, I think you'd gimme - if not a "shout out", at least an "Ok."
1972, skinny, longhaired PE Major/gym rat was asked if I'd like to help start a women's basketball team at William Jewell. Uh huh, sure. I was assistant for one year, head coach for six, and believe me - I became well aware of the fortitude, I wanna win, "whooping up on an opponent that's cocky as hell", the challenge, the high fives (I never patted on the butt), hehe, the "that's Ok." (But I am reminded of Tom Hanks line in the movie... "THERE'S NO CRYING IN basketball."
Ok, so, I gotta wife outta all that. I started the Women's Softball Team because their take was "hey, if he can do basketball, he can do softball." Uh huh. We didn't have a pitcher and I finished a 'perfect' 0-18 as head coach.
I eventually spouted off (even made the local newspaper) about the inequities of women's sports and men's sports... and resigned.
I later coached HS girl's basketball... 8th and 9th grade girl's basketball.. and even "put up with" (Just teasing) a few girl snotnoses on my young son's soccer, baseball, basketball teams over the years.
So... I enjoyed you calling it as you saw it... BUT CAN'T YOU SEE I'M A PEOPLE PERSON FOR GOD'S SAKE? hehe...
STILL, my alltime favorite "outta leftfield" coaching moment was when the chicky at Jewell asked me "Coach, do you have two nickels for a dime?".. I was like "WTF?"... Now, I understand.
I suppose there's room in athletics for women.
Loveya, Victurd.
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