Memories

Obrady,

Your story reminds me of a day 5 years ago. I was a very serious little league (minors) coach at the time. Two other coaches and I took our sons (4 in all) to watch a 13 year old game. When we arrived at the park, we found that the game was rained out. As we three adults stood in the parking lot overlooking the field below, our 4 boys began to play a pick up game. It was the first time that I had watched my son play as I had played when I was young. No coaching, no instruction, they played 2 against 2 on a make-shift diamond in the outfield (infield was under water).

Home to first was about 50 feet. First to second was about 140 feet. They had so much fun playing, yelling, and making up rules as they went. We three dads just watched and I was reminded that fun is at the heart of baseball.

I think we all knew that growing up playing with taped up balls and screwed-together bats. But it seems that many of us forgot somewhere along the way. Watching that ridiculous pick up game reminded me to have fun and I've never forgotten again.

Mike F

I remember playing the 5 man team tennis ball games with the school wall used as a backstop. They were 100 innings long and you had to win by at least 10. The games would last for weeks.

I remember watching a pick up game from my bedroom window. It was being played out on the street in front of my house with all of my best friends there.

I could only watch from the window because I was 'grounded' for squirting garlic juice through the wing window of my older brother's locked '58 Ford Custom 300 2 door coupe (he forgot about locking the wing windows). That'll teach him for teasing me to the breaking point. He had to ride around in a car that smelled just a tad less garlicky than Buca di Beppo's dining room. What's he gonna' do? Sabotage my train set so that it ends its run into the fireplace... Ha!

The game?...I think Ricky Schneider and his team beat Gary 'Tuna Boy' Varley and his team. I had a great view of the game...from the top bunk!

To say that we were "dirt poor" when I grew up is an understatement. We were located in the South and the nearest "hard road" was many miles away. My Dad had tried to buy a worthless piece of land that was overgrown in a Persimmon Orchard. Yes, a Persimmon Orchard! We then tried to clear that land. To make a long story short, my days were filled with using an ax and pulling roots. I was 8 at the time. My Grandpa came over one day and told my Dad that he was going to take me to sign up for baseball. It was the only fight my Grandpa and Dad ever had. Well, I got to sign up. Then I discovered a game that has never released it's grip on me. My Grandpa loved watching us play until the day came when my Dad had to go North to find work. Then we moved and he was never able to see me play a game again. Wow, that was 40 years ago. I can still remember him standing on the sidelines watching.

Flashing back big-time as I read this thread.

During the summer, we'd play for 4-5 hours a day, till the humidity got too oppressive or the water ran out. The diamond we played on wasn't bad, but there was a forested patch just beyond a minimal foul territory down the right field line. It was overgrown with wild rasberries. Accordingly, lots of snakes. But we only had one ball, and whoever hit it in had to brave the elements and not come out till he found it. By the end of the summer, the ball was pretty bad, the courage was steeled, the berries were all eaten, and the friendships were forged.

These days, I have more baseballs in my garage than I know what to do with. ...neighbor/minor-league hitting coach brings my son a huge box of lightly used balls each year about this time. Once or twice a week I retrieve the remains of a baseball from our yard. They are our dog's favorite chew toy. My son and his friends long ago stopped worrying about retrieving stray fouls, overthrows, or even the long balls that chicks dig. ...just pick up another and the game goes on.

But for me, I wouldn't trade my hours in the underbrush imagining mutant giant snakes, or on the sidelines sharing lies with friends while someone else confronted their fears while trying to recover that tired, worthless priceless ball that someone's mom tried to sew back up, or someone's dad retaped.

As I sit here, I have three baseballs sitting on my desk, each with a different story of varying importance. But I didn't realize till this morning the one that's missing. ...possibly still lying somewhere in that berry patch.

Misty eyes here. Thanks for sharing all of these thoughts and memories.

Wow, I had forgotten about the electrical taped ball we used. I do remember my glove was tied together with old tennis shoe strings. By the way, it was a hand-me-down glove from my brother. Problem is he is a righty and I'm lefty. When I first started playing I would catch the ball with the glove on my left hand and then take it off to throw.
obrady- didn't you guys ever use pitchers mound poison? It would have saved you a lot of running.

i have so many great memories from baseball of the past. (maybe that is why i got into the coaching profession). it all goes back to the taping of the ball with electrical tape, nailing old wooden bats and then using the electrical tape on top tof that.

some of my fondest memories are of my brother and 2 cousins playing pegs (where if you hit the runner before he got to the base he is out. we usually used a tennis ball for this game. 1st and 2nd base was a tree, third was the clotheline pole and home was an old stump. the year we broke out a hundred windows (the role up pane glass kind) dad never said a word he just came home with a plastic bat and ball.

when we where little dad (aka buddha= short, big belly and bald head) would come home from work and take off his work shirt (the grey or blue kind) and with just his t shirt on he would hit us hundreds of ground ball a day. the day we buried him he had in his casket a baseball, a football jersey, and a little budha doll. everytime i get on the field to coach, before the game during the national anthem, i say a little prayer (more like thanking him for what he gave me) to him.

Wow....Can relate to just about everything.

Playing on the streets and alleys near 18th Street and Desplaines in Chicago...big alley closer to Canalport. Johnnie Fields and Leroy and Sonny Novak and I would play baseball from 9 a.m. til 9:00 p.m., daily, each summer. Pockets full of fruit and a dollar for some ice cream and pop was all that I needed to sustain me for the entire day.

Remember (about age 10) buying my first bat (a Vic Wertz model) and my first glove (a Carl Furillo model) at the Mages store on Halsted Street, South of 63rd Street in the city. As part of our shopping trip, mom took me to see the ducks at the Southtown Theater (located East of Halsted on 63rd..still not sure why when the money was burning a hole in my pocket!) Wow, I thought. So many stores. Had enough money to buy my glove when I hand-washed a neighbor's car for 50 cents. As a kid, had one of those mechanical cash registers for nickels, dimes and quarters and the side door would open when you reached $10.00....his 50 cents put me over the top!

Had to let Sonny Novak play baseball with us virtually all the time because his mom could afford new baseballs. Bad at supper time because he would leave for an hour and take his ball with him...had to make do with the taped-up version.

Remember, in high school, spending hours and hours at McKinley Park during long summer days taking batting practice with 4 guys....Frank Rogers, Zig, Herbie and me. Had to learn to pull the ball because no one wanted to chase the ball in right...pitcher, batter, shortstop and left fielder.

Was a hamburger in high school but was maturing into my body...good college player. Never forget Chester Radwin...built like a Greek god who had all kinds of tools...never played beyond high school...Where is he now? Joseph Porrevecchio, Jr., best hitter I have ever seen...Played for Michigan State and then in the Twins organization. WHAT A HITTER!

When Al Unser, the Braves scout called to tell me I was drafted by the Braves...Hugged my mom; went to Marquette Park and ran timed windsprints for 45 minutes...crack of the bat to first.

Two short years in pro ball have left me with memories for a lifetime...stories as well...Tom Saffel, my first manager; Eddie Haas, best storyteller of all time; Earl Williams, ROY for Braves in 1971; Enrique Gutierrez, Pablo Torrealba, Chuck Walke, Ralph Wells (from UAlabama), Jim O'Laughlin from St. Joe's in Renssalear (sp)...Udell Chambers...always remember him...Couldn't get served a sandwich in Sarasota in 1966 and then wound up dying in Viet Nam later.

Every time I pass by empty baseball fields in the summertime, start to tear a bit...How can anyone (kids today) do what they do to the game that I/we love?

CoachB25:

What a nice story...aren't grandfathers great? I'm actually looking forward to becoming one some day...and I hope I am as good at it as yours obviously was.

quote:

My Dad had tried to buy a worthless piece of land that was overgrown in a Persimmon Orchard. Yes, a Persimmon Orchard!

Too bad it wasn't a quince orchard...you probably would have had better luck.