Opening Day

Even though I have white hair and am long in the tooth, there are some things I can remember from my very early years.  One of them was watching baseball on tv at my grandmother’s house.  The tv screen wasn’t very big in those days, and the picture looked eerily similar to the early green screens of early computers.  But there he was on the screen, wearing number 7.  I remember looking at my grandmother and asking how my dad was on tv, playing baseball, and not at work.  You see, my dad wore number 7 for the baseball team of Carpenter, Illinois, which played every Sunday during baseball season.  The player on tv, wearing number 7, as I learned later, was none other than “The Mick”…Mickey Mantle.

My dad introduced me to baseball.  He played every Sunday when it was baseball season in Carpenter, and our family went to watch.  My dad and I played catch on occasion.  I think the last time that happened I was about 12.  He told me if he saw me throw a curveball, he would quit playing catch.  About the only thing I can remember my dad giving me advice about the game was when I was in high school.  “If you are the leadoff hitter, most pitchers like to throw the fastball on the first pitch of the game.  Be ready for that, and if you like the pitch, jump on it.”

As a young adolescent, one did what one could to practice baseball skills.  In those days of the 50’s, there weren’t batting cages, just as there wasn’t a place to take fly balls.  So, we improvised.  Our playground became the road in front of the house.  Old baseball would have an “Eye bolt” inserted into it and have a length of rope attached to the “eye bolt”.  One person would swing the ball in a circle and the rest of the group would take batting practice in that manner.  What really happened was a bunch of kids learned how to hit from both sides of the plate, because when a person batting right-handed hit the ball, the path of the ball would reverse, and consequently everyone hitting had to turn around and hit left-handed.

We played baseball games in the street.  Bases might be a spot on a sidewalk, a set of steps leading up to a house.  There was no catcher’s gear, so the catcher played back from the plate as to not get hit with a foul ball.  I don’t remember ever breaking a window…and the word “CAR” meant get out of the road.

My first MLB game was at Old Sportsman Park in St. Louis.  The Cardinals were so bad at that time, the team had placed on the hand operated scoreboard, “If anyone catches a foul ball on the fly, you can have a tryout with the team”.  At 7 years of age, I was in no danger of catching a foul ball.  But I immediately became a lifelong StL Cardinal fan.

I became so enchanted with the game; I decided to make the game part of my life’s work.  I became a high school baseball coach, and was blessed to coach many, some who were good, some not so good.  But it was for the love of the game.

As Opening Day comes on March 27th of this year, I would like to leave this statement which came from a close family friend, who is the wife of a baseball player/coach, whose sons grew up to be baseball players and coaches.  I think it says it all.
 
"Ball" is not a game. It's a philosophy. Ball forms you. Ball leads you. Ball points the way and you follow. Ball shapes your values and it develops your character. Ball makes you well-rounded and gives equilibrium to your days and nights. If you work at it hard enough, ball becomes a set of principles that guide your decision making. Ball teaches you to love, to forgive, to breathe deeper, to think. Ball connects you to a spiritual language that only other "ballers" speak. Ball is handed down; it is bequeathed. Ball is the cushion that catches you when you fall and it's the wings that make you soar.

Thanks dad, for the introduction, and GO REDBIRDS!