Sacrificial Lamb

{Prompt: Describe a humbling teenage moment}

Sometime in junior high school, back in the 70s, I was enrolled into a summer baseball league in Raleigh.  I’m told by my mother, and also by my brother, that I wanted to play baseball — that it was my idea. 

I don’t remember it that way, but maybe they’re right.  Maybe I thought it would be fun, like the games of roller-bat that we played sometimes at the neighborhood park — trying to roll the ball back, hit the bat, and switch places with the hitter.*

Regardless of who’s idea it was, the decision to play in a baseball league… for me… was a disaster. 

Tryouts

I should have known from the day of the try-out.  I was driven out to a field in a park, just north of downtown Raleigh, where I had never been before.  I was disoriented from the moment I arrived. 

There must have been a hundred kids, about my age, scattered around the field for various baseball drills. I had never tried out before, and I needed directions. I was assigned to a group and kindly advised to stay with my group as we went from station to station.  We were ‘sent forth’ to demonstrate our skills (or lack thereof), while the various team coaches watched from the sidelines. 

There was a drill for stopping an infield grounder. There was a drill for catching a pop up fly. There were throwing drills and hitting drills. Pretty basic stuff. But I was unprepared — an unskilled newcomer. Roller-bat had not been good for my game.

At the end of the day, as the sun was setting on the horizon, the coaches began to select their teams.  I’m pretty sure I was selected in the last round. Even in kickball or dodgeball, I had never been picked last. The coach who picked me had no illusions that I would be great one day. He was simply willing to take pity on a newbie, and add me to the roster. Now I was playing for the Raleigh Exchange Club little league baseball team.

The Raleigh Exchange Club Little League Team

The season was no better.  In reality, I had virtually no baseball experience.  Unlike my teammates, I had never played little league baseball… or any baseball, really… outside of a game of catch.  I barely knew how to swing a bat, so it’s no surprise that I was riding the bench.  Perhaps my proudest moment was when I actually made contact with a pitch, once, in hitting practice, and I knocked it over the fence.  But that was only in practice.  And only once.  

Most of the time I was learning on the fly.  Learning how to wear the uniform.  Learning how to wear the socks.  Learning that baseball socks have “stirrups” and baseball shoes have “cleats”.  

Learning how to catch the ball and throw it.  Learning where to put your fingers inside the baseball glove.  Learning how to field a ground ball.  Learning not to let it go through your legs, if it should take an unexpected hop. 

Learning to hold the bat high before the swing. Learning to hit the ball in the sweet spot.  Learning how to run the bases, if you actually hit the ball.  Learning to watch the first and third base coaches who would tell you whether to tag up or keep on running.  Learning not to go back to tag first base, if you missed it on the way by.

Learning that baseball has signals.  Learning that signals are half the game.  Learning the signal for a bunt.  Learning how to bunt, when you got the signal from the dugout.  

I think that the bunt was my specialty, in fact.  After I learned how to bunt, I made it my goal to became an expert.  I had good prospects of knocking in a run with a sacrifice bunt, or a sacrifice pop fly. Well… not good, really… but possible.  If I could sacrifice myself for an RBI, that was OK. It was better than whiffing three times and striking out.

At the end of the summer, my baseball career came to an end. I never had any love for watching the game of baseball, and I certainly had no love for playing the game after struggling through the season in a proper baseball league. I only felt humbled and humiliated.

I went on to become proficient in many sports: ping pong… basketball… swimming… soccer… volleyball… even cycling. But I never became great (or even good) at baseball. The main thing I learned about baseball was that it wasn’t for me.

Footnotes

*In “roller-bat” one person hits the ball as far as possible, and then lays the bat down on the ground.  The other person tries to stop the ball as quickly as possible and then roll the baseball back so that it hits the bat on the ground.  If successful, then the players switch places.