... It's been awhile since I've written anything about the men's baseball league I'm playing in this summer. There's a couple reasons for that: 1) We suck ... pretty bad. And 2) Summer got in the way. There was Summerfest, and rain that canceled games, and days that were so flat out beautiful that I would much rather be outside then waste time rambling about a couple amateur baseball games on some barely-read blog ...
So tonight -- as Kates and I wait for the rain to come our way, and we flip the TV channels between the Cubs-D-backs game on WGN and the Cards-Phils game on ESPN (what else would I be watching on a summer week night!?) -- here I am ...
... You see, because the league is in just its first year and I didn't come in with a pre-made team, I basically got thrown on to a team of misfits with no chemistry or common ground. Heck, I discovered one of the guys I play with is a felon ( ... apparently he got dealing cocaine and marijuana a couple times. Ah, the power of the press and public records ...). All the while -- as I tried to shed the rust from not playing competitively in 10 years, and I knew darn well I wasn't playing to the ability I'm capable of -- I spent a lot of the time on the bench as other guys showed up late to games, or came to games hungover and still got to start. I also was a little peeved when I realized a lot of the guys I was playing with and against were well under 25, going against the rule set when the league was organized. ... I realize now, the younger guys were allowed in the league to boost some of the rosters and teams, and build a foundation for the future of the league. But still... what a crock.
... and at the same time, we kept losing. And losing. Badly. I was close to submitting a request to the league president for an offseason trade.
... as of tonight, though, I gotta say things are looking up -- a little bit. I'm playing a lot more -- the other night I started and played all nine innings, doing the first four in right field, moving to second base for a couple, and then playing the remainder in left field. And I'm making contact when I get to the plate, even while the pitching has been pretty darn good.
... last night, even though we lost again, might have been our best effort as a team and our most fundamentally-sound game thus far. It might even be safe to say the team is, dare I say, gelling. Suddenly there seems to be a lot more support for the guys in the batter's box or on the pitcher's mound. There's more chatter in the dugout. And the handshakes at the end of the game are more genuine ...
So yeah. We're getting there ...
The season ... so far...
a Game one ... we lost, 19-9.
a Game two ... we lost, 11-5 ... or something like that.
a Game three ... we lost, 8-5 Game four ... we won, 10-8.
a Game four ... we won! 10-8.
a Game five ... back to losing.
a Game six ... we lost. I struck out twice in this game, but what was more nerve-racking was starting on the bench while our center fielder (who has some of the best natural ability in the league but lolligags like there's no tomorrow) didn't show up to the game until the second inning, eventually fell asleep on the bench and had a little tiff with the umpires (he took a Gatorade from their cooler and refused to put it back when they asked politely), before going into left field midway through the game. ... So it was a little bittersweet an inning or so later when Coach sent me to center field. As I ran past the scorned player in left and he suggested he should be playing his usual position in center, I ran right past him, without a word ...
a Game seven ... we lost. Nope, we got creamed. ... In this one, I walked twice. During my second stint on the basepaths, the batter slapped a ground ball to the right side and I ran safely from first to second base. But I rounded second, not realizing the runner had been called safe at first base. Before I knew it, I was caught in a pickle between second and third, and quickly became the third out ... But more maddening, once again, was sitting on the bench for the first half while our second baseman started and played the entire game, um, terribly hungover. Everybody knew it. Players even suggested he shouldn't be playing. Yet Coach still played him, even while I'm more than willing and capable of playing second base. Instead, I had to settle again, for playing the last three innings in right.
a Game eight ... we lost again. Worst yet. The other team scored at least 20 runs, and by the time the seventh rolled around I was waiting for Coach to walk up to the umpires and forfeit. ... Although this one might have been the turning point of the season, if there was one. As I spent my time on the bench and kept the scorebook (... nobody else on our team knows how to do the books. You're playing hard ball for God sakes, you should know how to keep a scorebook ...), the other few bench players were lamenting their lack of playing time, including one guy -- we'll call him Joe -- who claimed he was recruited for his pitching ability. So when Coach went to the mound to make a pitching change and didn't call Joe's number, well, Joe went balistic, throwing his mitt to the ground and yelling that he was quitting. He was packing his bags and getting ready to leave when Coach saw him and called him to the mound to save face. But let's just say, we probably would've been better off if Joe had indeed left. He couldn't find the plate. He walked 'em round and round, and even hit three batters. So much that for the first time this season, the umpires invoked our league's mercy rule (a team can only score 10 runs in an inning...) ... I did, however, play an inning in center field and then played the last three innings at second base (after our starting second baseman took himself out because he had rocks in his shoes and his toenails were too long ... true story. Go figure.) And I even slapped a nice line drive to right field for a single ...
a Game nine ... we lost. Really badly ... who cares what the score was though, we had fun just marveling at the talent on the field ... This one was a makeup game we played under the lights at the former home of the city's long-gone minor league baseball team. Although, it felt like we were playing a bunch of pros too. Playing for the opponents was Jarvis Brown -- a former major leaguer with a 1991 World Series ring to boot -- who caked one over the left field fence, a rainbow shot that you could tell was gone the moment it hit his bat. On top of that, the guy on the mound was throwing some of the hardest heat I've ever seen up close. This guy finished the game with something like 15 strikeouts (including two from me) and was pitching a three-hit shutout in the ninth when our best base runner finally got on with a walk. To no one's surprise, our base runner quickly stole second, and then made something happen by getting into a pickle between second and third, which he, as usual, bounced his way out of and landed safely at third. And then! refusing to settle for being shut out, he immediately took off for home when the pitcher and catcher turned their backs to him. He scored standing up, giving us our only run, and we all jumped out of the dugout to greet him ...
a Game ten ... we lost, something like 8-7. ... Perhaps the best game we've played all year, though. We hung with the opponent the entire game, swapping the lead with them a couple times. I started and played the whole game in right field. Meanwhile at the plate, I battled to get a walk in the third inning and struck out in the sixth (thanks to a couple of fat pitches I should've wallopped but whiffed at instead ...). Then in the eighth, with us down by the one run, and one out, I blooped a single into center field. Knowing the top of the order was coming up, I decided to play conservatively on the basepaths and stayed put on first base. I watched as the next batter struck out for the second out, and the top of the order came up. Sure enough, the next batter doubled to left, and I ended up on third base. Then the fourth batter of the inning slapped a hard shot to the third baseman. I took off, running toward home, scoring the tying run -- or so I thought. Turns out the runner behind me tried to take third -- when he might've been able to keep the inning going by staying at second -- and was tagged out. ...
... And for the record -- if my calculations and notes are right -- I’m batting .230 with three singles, six strikeouts, five walks, three runs scored and two sacrifice bunts.
It hasn't been pretty. But playin' and that's all that matters.
No comments:
Post a Comment