A Boy's Memory

The boy remembers it this way:

The notice came on a page of purple letters, fresh off the school mimeograph machine, and he took it to his parents. Baseball teams were organizing!

Dad took him to a store to purchase the equipment needed: A glove, bat, ball and hat. A glove was selected; leather, a comfortable fit for the size of his hand. A wood bat, long, solid with a smooth grip, was found. A fine new ball of regulation size was placed in the basket. Finally, a ball cap in school colors was fitted. Everything he needed was purchased.

The boy doesn't remember playing catch with his dad. Probably did, but not much. There was no batting practice with the boys on his block. The only other boy on his block was two years older and not a baseball player. He wasn't allowed to play with him anyway.

The boy devoted much time in forming the pocket of glove to be the proper shape for catching the ball. Hour after hour he would hurl the ball into the glove, the ball making a satisfying pop against the leather. Slowly the pocket formed into the dimensions of the ball. He even wrote his name in ink on the thumb of the glove below the endorsed signature of some big league player. For good measure, he wrote his name on the strap next to the brand name.

His bat only needed one modification. He put a big, red "B" on the bottom of the knob and then drilled small holes around the "B" in case the ink should rub off with much use. He thought it looked neat. The boy practices holding the bat like he heard Mickey Mantle holds a bat, with his little finger up over the knob.

He wrote his name in ink on the ball and rubbed it in hands with dirt to take the "new ball" luster off it. Then pop, pop, pop into the glove. He practiced putting his fingers on the threads to give a good spin to the ball. He was getting ready.

Last was the baseball cap. Forming the bill was necessary to look like one of the guys. A crease was needed in the center of the bill, starting at the front edge and extending to the back where the bill joins the cap. Next, half way, on either side of the center crease, another crease was formed. These creases formed a semi-curved bill to help block the sun from his eyes. Mostly it looked cool. It was the expected look to have.

All the rituals the boy knew of had been observed. He was ready to play ball.

The first practice arrived. The boy went. Sat on the bench. Stood up and walked around the bench. Sat on the bench some more. Sat. Sat. Sat.

While waiting, the boy noticed the other player's gloves. They were big. Their gloves looked man sized. His glove looked like a child's next to these huge flaps of leather. And the other boys had shoes with spikes sticking out from the soles.

Most surprising, these boys seemed to know what to do out there on the field. It had not occured to him that they would not be beginners too.

After a long while, the coach said, "why don't you go out in right field?" Wow, right field. So, he went and stood in right field. And stood, and stood, and stood. Nothing came his way.

Finally, the coach took the bat and hit a few out his direction. He missed or dropped them all. And throwing. Were should he throw the ball? Not a clue. Other boys shouting, "here, there, to him, no, to me, not there," all in one loud confusing chatter.

At last, batting practice came for his side. The boy was last to bat. Swing, "Strike One!" Swing, "Strike Two!" He decides to let one go by. "Strike three!" The coach calls to the pitcher, "throw some more, slower and down the center, give the boy a chance."

After a few more strikes, the boy dribbles one into short right field and runs for first base where he is thrown out. Practice is over.

The boy doesn't remember going to another practice. He never received the game shirt. Baseball was over for him.

The boy concluded much later that it takes more than rituals to make you one of the players.