Thursday, June 03, 2004
Monday instead of going to band practice (which was cancelled), I headed out to the Sears Clearance Centre with Kathy. I bought a Cracker Jack maker.
Now I will never ever have to bow down to the Halifax Cracker Jack monopoly.
I thought that since the last post was about baseball, I'd be remiss to not mention my new Cracker Jack maker.
I was going to buy a Curt Schilling figure, but he had a bit a of paunch and then I was thinking "What the fuck am I going to do with this? What am I going to do with a paunchy Curt Schilling doll?" So I put it back.
If I had a Reggie Jackson action figure I'd reenact the Celebrity Jeopardy where he received absolutely no money for his chosen charity and the only question he even came close to answering correctly was one about himself. I'd also purchase a Kareem Abdul Jabar figure and have them compete in Jeopardy against each other. Kareem would manhandle him.
Now I will never ever have to bow down to the Halifax Cracker Jack monopoly.
I thought that since the last post was about baseball, I'd be remiss to not mention my new Cracker Jack maker.
I was going to buy a Curt Schilling figure, but he had a bit a of paunch and then I was thinking "What the fuck am I going to do with this? What am I going to do with a paunchy Curt Schilling doll?" So I put it back.
If I had a Reggie Jackson action figure I'd reenact the Celebrity Jeopardy where he received absolutely no money for his chosen charity and the only question he even came close to answering correctly was one about himself. I'd also purchase a Kareem Abdul Jabar figure and have them compete in Jeopardy against each other. Kareem would manhandle him.
The summer before grade seven, I played Little League baseball for a team called the White Sox. We were a reasonably decent team having won the Action Week tournament in August (an elimination tournament that all the teams in the league participated in). I was a reasonably awful player. I don't know what my batting average was, but I had a weak arm, I played left field, and most of the time I made it on base was due to fielder's choice single and walks.
At the close of the season the play-offs had begun and we had made it to the semi-finals.
The series was a best of three and I was starting in left field in the second game. Our coach had promised us a pool party if we won the game (and subsequently the series) and I suppose we all thought that was pretty cool because I don't think any of us had pools or knew anyone who had pools. If you had a pool in Cape Breton in the 90's, you were like a thousandaire or something.
The game was somewhat close, like 3-1, going into the top of the ninth inning. Darryl Brewer was this mammoth 13 year old on the opposing team. I always thought it was weird that his last name was Brewer and he played on a team named the Brewers. It seemed like it was some sort of destiny thing. It made me that much more in awe of him. He was at that point in his development where he wasn't quite a kid anymore. The words 'little league' didn't seem quite applicable to him. We always spoke his name with a strange reverance, even my coach, it was as if he was more than just a player, it was as if he was a giant killer.
When Darryl Brewer came up I was hoping that he'd just strike out. I hated when the ball was in play because it meant that I had potentially had to do something. Most times no one was watching our games because noone really cares about Little League baseball in July, but for some reason people start to care when it's the end of August and it's the playoffs. There was a number of people watching us play and I didn't want any of that attention on me. I was a poor athlete, very uncoordinated, and I was acutely aware of that. I didn't need to be reminded of it any more than I already was by fumbling a ball in the midst of a key play.
Of course Darryl Brewer hit a long ball out to me in left field.
I didn't know what to do. In baseball noone remembers the catches you made, they only remember the catches you didn't make. I didn't want to be the goat that blew the game entirely. It wasn't just about baseball, it was about all social interactions, if I fucked this up...you have to remember at 12 you're really worried about the dumbest shit and 13 years later it means nothing, but back then you think that it will affect your entire life.
I ran in from deep left field, got under the ball, held my glove up, and looked away. I made the catch.
My dad later told me that it was the nicest catch he had ever seen in little league or any league for that matter. I'm pretty sure he's lying, but I still like hearing it.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, down two runs, I drew a walk. I wasn't going to be a hero (or spoiler) in any sort of Rick Monday way, but I thought maybe I could help. The next two batters never reached and I was left stranded on first. The game was over and we were pissed. So was our coach. Apparently he thought that we had given a horseshit effort. I would say he was probably right except for the fact that I had finally done something right in the field. I thought that was a bit of an accomplishment. Baseball success, baseball being a team sport, is all about winning and losing as a team and boy did we ever lose as a team.
I'm pretty sure our coach was more upset that we, after losing, had encouraged Chris 'Connie Mack', a 20 something man with Downs Syndrome, to throw the bases as far into the outfield as possible and give the ump the finger. We didn't tell him to do it, but our laughter certainly didn't discourage him from doing it.
Chris had been to almost all of our games in the last two months of the season and even participated in an intra-squad game. He was part of our team and he rooted for us at every game (well at least when his hands weren't down his pants and he was telling girls that he thought they were pretty). He was seriously pissed off when we lost and we deserved to bear the brunt of his frustration (for so many reasons), but I think he liked us too much to give us the finger. The umpires made a perfect stand-in.
We all had our heads down when we were being yelled at by our coach. Noone said a thing, but we all knew we had to win the next game (and the series) in order to vindicate ourselves. We played much harder the next game, but we just didn't get it together and lost a tight game by a single run.
It was over, we were over and the feel good ending didn't come. It wasn't no fucking Bad News Bears.
I wish everything had just ended at my catch.
At the close of the season the play-offs had begun and we had made it to the semi-finals.
The series was a best of three and I was starting in left field in the second game. Our coach had promised us a pool party if we won the game (and subsequently the series) and I suppose we all thought that was pretty cool because I don't think any of us had pools or knew anyone who had pools. If you had a pool in Cape Breton in the 90's, you were like a thousandaire or something.
The game was somewhat close, like 3-1, going into the top of the ninth inning. Darryl Brewer was this mammoth 13 year old on the opposing team. I always thought it was weird that his last name was Brewer and he played on a team named the Brewers. It seemed like it was some sort of destiny thing. It made me that much more in awe of him. He was at that point in his development where he wasn't quite a kid anymore. The words 'little league' didn't seem quite applicable to him. We always spoke his name with a strange reverance, even my coach, it was as if he was more than just a player, it was as if he was a giant killer.
When Darryl Brewer came up I was hoping that he'd just strike out. I hated when the ball was in play because it meant that I had potentially had to do something. Most times no one was watching our games because noone really cares about Little League baseball in July, but for some reason people start to care when it's the end of August and it's the playoffs. There was a number of people watching us play and I didn't want any of that attention on me. I was a poor athlete, very uncoordinated, and I was acutely aware of that. I didn't need to be reminded of it any more than I already was by fumbling a ball in the midst of a key play.
Of course Darryl Brewer hit a long ball out to me in left field.
I didn't know what to do. In baseball noone remembers the catches you made, they only remember the catches you didn't make. I didn't want to be the goat that blew the game entirely. It wasn't just about baseball, it was about all social interactions, if I fucked this up...you have to remember at 12 you're really worried about the dumbest shit and 13 years later it means nothing, but back then you think that it will affect your entire life.
I ran in from deep left field, got under the ball, held my glove up, and looked away. I made the catch.
My dad later told me that it was the nicest catch he had ever seen in little league or any league for that matter. I'm pretty sure he's lying, but I still like hearing it.
In the bottom of the ninth inning, down two runs, I drew a walk. I wasn't going to be a hero (or spoiler) in any sort of Rick Monday way, but I thought maybe I could help. The next two batters never reached and I was left stranded on first. The game was over and we were pissed. So was our coach. Apparently he thought that we had given a horseshit effort. I would say he was probably right except for the fact that I had finally done something right in the field. I thought that was a bit of an accomplishment. Baseball success, baseball being a team sport, is all about winning and losing as a team and boy did we ever lose as a team.
I'm pretty sure our coach was more upset that we, after losing, had encouraged Chris 'Connie Mack', a 20 something man with Downs Syndrome, to throw the bases as far into the outfield as possible and give the ump the finger. We didn't tell him to do it, but our laughter certainly didn't discourage him from doing it.
Chris had been to almost all of our games in the last two months of the season and even participated in an intra-squad game. He was part of our team and he rooted for us at every game (well at least when his hands weren't down his pants and he was telling girls that he thought they were pretty). He was seriously pissed off when we lost and we deserved to bear the brunt of his frustration (for so many reasons), but I think he liked us too much to give us the finger. The umpires made a perfect stand-in.
We all had our heads down when we were being yelled at by our coach. Noone said a thing, but we all knew we had to win the next game (and the series) in order to vindicate ourselves. We played much harder the next game, but we just didn't get it together and lost a tight game by a single run.
It was over, we were over and the feel good ending didn't come. It wasn't no fucking Bad News Bears.
I wish everything had just ended at my catch.
