From the very first time my dad put a toy bat in my hands and told me to swing at a hollow plastic ball, I loved the game of baseball. I loved playing it. I loved watching it. I loved collecting cards and other memorabilia. Heck, I would even pretend I was Babe Ruth when I was a kid (i.e. Smoking cigars, drinking heavily, and womanizing…just kidding).
Starting at a young age, I played in some fairly competitive leagues (although our teams weren’t always as competitive). And I was able to play under the guidance of some, shall we say, “spirited” managers. My high school coach, who was truly an incredible teacher of the sport, scared the bejesus out of us on a daily basis every spring. He did an excellent job of instilling upon us the fundamentals of the game, but where he truly excelled was at forcing us to run. Run around the park. Run sprints. Run up and down a hill. The only thing he didn’t encourage us to run was our mouths (though some of us struggled with that). At the time, I thought he was just a giant a-hole who abused his power for his own sadistic pleasure, but when I reflect back on it, I realize he was really just teaching the value of discipline and hard work to a bunch of spoiled kids. And that is why his teams have been every bit as successful as he is crazy. So thanks, Coach!
Let’s fast-forward about eight years after my playing days concluded to a point when I was grown-ass working “adult.” At this time I was employed by a large ad agency in Dallas and played on the company softball team. It was most certainly a good time, filled with copious amounts of fielding errors; inside the park homers; and pre, during, and post game beverages. Though I greatly enjoyed these bouts of laid-back competition, I found myself missing the hardnosed baseball that I played when I was younger. The one thing I missed the most about the sport was pitching. And pitching in a softball game is a far cry from hurling balls from the mound in a good old-fashioned baseball game.
Fortunately for me, I had a surprise waiting around the corner.
Enter my friend/coworker/softball teammate, Cameron. After shooting the breeze with him several times, he knew I used to play baseball back in the day and had a hunch that I may be interested in resurrecting my career. “Hey man. I just joined an adult rec league baseball team. You should come try out,” he said one glorious afternoon. “Holy sh*t!” I said, partially stunned. “They have baseball leagues for adults? You bet your softball playing butt I want to try out,” I politely replied. I was getting another chance to play the sport I loved, and I couldn’t have been more thrilled.
Cameron spoke with the team manager and set up a tryout for me at their practice that evening. As I drove to the field, I was excited but wasn’t really sure what to expect. Are these guys going to be bunch of big, burly badasses that played in the minors? Are they just going to think I’m some flabby nerd bag that hasn’t thrown or swung at a live pitch for the better part of a decade? Am I going to have to wash their jock straps since I’m the new guy? All reasonable questions one might ask himself when going into a situation such as this.
Well, those fears immediately vanished when I met the team’s “coach.” I would soon learn one thing very quickly. This. Was. One. Weird. Dude. For anonymity and generosity’s sake, I will just refer to him as “Bug Eyes.” Because he, in fact, wore goggles that gave him a distinctive bug eyed look. He was on the shorter side, had less hair than he probably would have liked, and had a beard that looked like a bunch of hair from his nether regions had been cut off and glued to his face. And that was just his appearance. His whole outlook on baseball and managing a team was certainly different than anything I had ever seen. He had grand plans to alter the game for the “better.” (Lots of quotes being thrown around in here). I can’t even remember the specifics because his ideas were so crazy, but one included angry dogs chasing base runners. I thought it was a pretty safe bet that I would make this team.
The tryout went pretty darn well. I had a decent bullpen session and was able to hit the strike zone the majority of the time with a few different pitches. After a few days and some convincing on Cameron’s part, I was given the call up to the rec leagues.
My first game back was on a hot summer afternoon in the beautiful city of Denton, Texas. As I drove to the game, blaring an inspirational playlist filled with the likes of Motley Crue and Survivor, I was feeling pretty cocky. I was sure that I was going to strike out like a million guys and hit at least two home runs. Of course, there would be a scout for the Royals there, too, and surely I would receive a contract as soon as I concluded this sure-to-be no hitter.
Then the game started. And boy was I just flat out terrible. I must’ve walked ten batters in the first four innings. On the rare occasion that I threw a strike, the hitter usually blasted the baseball into the outfield. I managed to squeeze out a little dinker of a hit, but, other than that, I didn’t do anything special at the plate. Needless to say, I was brought crashing back down to earth with this outing.
Though it was super rough start to a new baseball beginning, I didn’t give up on myself. No, I worked hard and shook the rust off with drills, practice, and a better, more inspirational baseball playlist. I still had a long way to go, but the next few times I pitched, I saw significant improvements. I kept at it, and after a lot of effort, I was returning to my old, wildly mediocre baseball self.
Four summers and three leagues later, I am still playing the game I love. I am by no means a super star, but I hold my own for the most part. Every time I take the field, I still get that feeling of nervous excitement. Will I suck today? Will I find the zone? Will I get a clutch hit and save the day? It’s this feeling that makes the game so great. It wouldn’t be any fun if we always knew the outcome. Sure you want to play your best, but experiencing failure makes success all the more rewarding.
Most importantly, I have fun. Win or lose, I have the opportunity to play my favorite sport and share that irreplaceable feeling of camaraderie with my teammates. The sights, the sounds, and even the smells all make me feel right at home. I plan on playing this game until my body falls apart or they kick me off the team. I guess it’s a good thing I’m one of the managers now, so hopefully the latter doesn’t happen any time soon.
Time to suit up and see what tonight’s game brings.