“PLAY BALL!”

Pitcher, outfielder,Dad/coach/umpire, first baseman

It wasn’t a call that reverberated over the fences and throughout the neighborhood. No, it was more of a professorial urging by the umpire, “play ball”, and we did.

Today was the official opening of the new ball field, a garden like area nestled among stately homes, comfortably laid out in the family’s new backyard, with floral baselines, an ornamental outfield tree and even a mini brick wall, Wrigleyesque. For lack of a formal name, I’ll refer to it as Claybourne Field, or “the field” for short.

‘The Field’

Such a difference from the ‘old field’, a simple front yard lawn on a busy avenue, a family lab of sorts, where a father and his two young sons bonded forever thru America’s pastime, baseball. A place where the boys learned to hit, run and throw and their dad/coach/umpire honed his parenting skills. *

Every new ballpark has some semblance of a pregame ceremony. Today was no different and I was truly honored to throw out the first pitch, three exactly, one to each boy and their dad. My own solo practice sessions leading up to the big day rewarded me with three perfect pitches, fastballs right down the middle.

Following the pregame festivities, it was time to start the first game on ‘the field’’. I played the pitcher position for both teams, guaranteeing me to be both the winning and losing pitcher, probably a first in baseball annals.

For two innings, I kept the offenses guessing with my repertoire of ‘stuff’: fastball, curve, knuckler, change up and even a hit batsman to keep the hitters honest and away from the plate. Oh, they hit me, alright, and even scored a few runs but the game was low scoring until the third and final inning when the floodgates opened.

The hitters, kids and dad, finally figured me out and sprayed hits all over the field. The tall, lanky first baseman sent shots whizzing by my ear. The small, spunky outfielder swung for the fences on every pitch, pointing where the ball was going each time. Such swagger! Such chutzpah, even. **

Not to be outdone, the dad/coach/umpire peppered the outfield wall and trees, often sending the spheroid out of sight with his brute strength, building a big lead. Not even my high leg kick delivery slowed the onslaught.

The third and final inning saw a valiant comeback effort by the boys stopped in its tracks when the dad snagged a wicked line drive for the final out and a 16-10 winning score.

Thanks for inviting me to join your game and be a young man, again, boys. It was fun to be part of your story and write about it. The autographed ball has a special place on my shelf and in my heart.

This is the third story chronicling my former neighbor and two sons and their love of baseball. See the links below for the first two.

Steve (062623)

* https://srbottch.com/2023/03/18/they-closed-the-old-ballpark-today/

** https://srbottch.com/2021/10/02/the-kid-he-called-it/

Find my stories at ‘srbottch.com’)

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srbottch

Retired in 2013 after 5 years as an elementary school teacher and 40 years as a sales representative to begin anew as a school crossing guard. SMy essays/stories are a way to communicate through the telling of personal experiences. One reader said about my blog stories, "...these are like a cold sip during a marathon run, simple, real life events". Another offered about my blog, “it brings some sense of normalcy not easily found in the modern world.”

15 thoughts on ““PLAY BALL!””

  2. Man, does this bring me back. We have a big backyard, and my son and I (and occasionally his friends) had a few memorable games. He was an Atlanta Braves fan (I think because all of their games were on TBS growing up) and announced who was batting as he picked up his bat. Chipper Jones, Andruw Jones (yes, that’s how he spelled it), Javier Lopez, Fred “The Crime Dog” McGriff, Walt Weiss, etc…

    He turned 30 in the past year and got married earlier this month. We can still talk sports until we’re blue in the face. Now, he’s coaching college football for a career. It’s fun to think back to where it all began.

    I loved your sportswriting style, Steve. I feel like I’m a spectator at the game.

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    1. Peter, I’m just pleased as can be that I struck a nerve that brought all those good memories to the front. My son and I had similar experiences but with hours of ping pong in our basement family room. He eventually got good enough where I couldn’t beat him. Time goes by so fast and kids move away. I’m do glad that I can still remember those hood times over sports and games v thanks do much for commenting, Peter.

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    1. Thanks, Robbie. I enjoy writing a story but it seems that I’m too busy or too tired to get it done. I have lots of titles, just need to get over the finish line. You inspire me to keep going.

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