Baseball

Baseball

As a kid growing up I had two passions, baseball and computers. I got my first Commodore 64 when I was in second grade and was hooked. I started playing baseball not long after that and if I wasn’t in front of a computer I was outside playing baseball. (A chick magnet I was not.) My favorite memories growing up all revolve around those summer days when my brother and I would spend endless hours playing toss, scrimmaging the neighborhood kids, and heading to the town park for the big game. My brother (Scott) is three years younger than I, but that never stopped him from playing with the “bigger” kids. It didn’t take long before everyone realized he had exception baseball skills; an obvious result of the early start and having to always play with kids older than him.

Little league lasts three years where I grew up and Scott was simply playing in a league of his own by year 2. He dominated on the mound as a pitcher, and was a terrific hitter as well. His third year his team went undefeated with Scott pitching every game. He pitched 3 no-hitters that season, and struck out all 15 batters (little league is only 5 innings) twice. I’ll never forget watching his games and dreaming about his potential future. Unfortunately, like so many young kids, by the time the next summer rolled around he was no longer able to pitch. Basically his arm gave out, probably a result of overwork at too young of an age. He never pitched again after those two years in little league and I’m sure the game was ever so boring to him from the outfield. Scott continued to excel at hitting, however, and was the star of his JV and Varsity teams throughout high school. He went on a played two years of ball at Bluefield State College.

Our age difference always meant we never played on the same teams. When I was in Pony League he was in Little League, when I was on Varsity, he played JV. I always wanted the chance to play with him on the same team. The last two summers I have had the opportunity to play with my little brother on the same through a local adult league. We play on Sundays and some Thursdays with little to no fan-fare. The league is a large mix of guys who either want to get back to their childhood glory days (I’m in this group) or guys who are either in college or just got out of college. Our team is pretty much the worst team in the league, but we have a lot of fun and give it our all each game. It’s good for me to get out and socialize with people outside of work and I get a good bit of exercise at the same time. But, perhaps the part I enjoy the most is being able to play alongside my kid brother.

Thursday night was our last game of the regular season. We were playing one of the better teams in the league and we were pretty desperate for a win. Mannin (our best pitcher and coach) had talked to Scott about pitching a few innings and my brother said he would give it a shot. Scott started the game and was a bit rusty to start, but by the second inning I saw the magic start to creep back into his body; the same magic that decided to leave him 15 years ago. He stood on the mound with a confidence I remembered ever so clearly. He didn’t have a great fastball, but he remembered how to pitch. He began to work hitters and even struck out a few, and before I could blink my eyes it was the end of the 5th inning and Scott had only given up 2 runs! We were winning 5-2? Could this be? Could the worse team in the league pull out the upset?

At the beginning of the 6th (our league plays 8 innings or 2.5 hours max), Mannin takes over as pitcher and Scott moves to centerfield. As we take the field I tell Scott that no matter what happens from here out he pitched one hell of a game. He looked at me and said “I gave it my all.” I said “we know”. Mannin gives up 1 run in the 6th and we are informed that the game will only last 7 innings due to time. Perfect! No way could we blow that lead with just one inning to go.

The opposing team scores one run and then puts runners on second and third with two outs. The batter hits a lazy fly ball to centerfield, a routine play by any measure, we are going to win, I’m sure of it. But then the unthinkable happens, Scott loses the ball in lights, the ball hits right in front of him as he makes a dive for it from his knees. The two runs score and we end up losing 6-5. The team was devastated and I put my brother on suicide watch. Just kidding, but it’s not far from the truth. He takes the game way to seriously, never one to joke about mistakes, even if it’s a silly rec. league game.

That’s the thing about baseball; the team that should win doesn’t always win. We were beating a better team for six and two-thirds innings. But it’s that last 1/3 of an inning that makes all the difference in the world. (I’m sure there’s a lesson about life in there somewhere.)

Before the game Thursday night I was seriously considering giving up baseball. I really don’t have the time, even though it’s only once a week. And it’s really not a lot of fun to lose almost every game. Thursday night changed my mind though; I’m definitely playing again next year. As I watch my brother on the mound I knew moments like this are what life is all about…and why would one ever give that up?