Baseball Memories: My Almost Perfect Night at the Plate

When I was a kid, I loved baseball. Like, it’s my first love. I still love it to this day.

I started playing when I was five and my mom and dad were my coaches. I got pretty good over the years, likely because it’s all I wanted to do. I had the chance to play up with the bigger kids a few times which always felt like validation. It was a highlight for me always.

Hell, I even chipped my own front tooth when I was throwing pop flys to myself, lost one in the sun, and tooth the ball right in the mouth.

Things just kept on going from there. I learned to pitch a little bit, played on bad teams and then some good teams (back to back league champions, with an undefeated season). I practised at the park with my team. I practised at home with my little brothers and sister or alone. I threw a tennis ball against the brick wall of the house until I was told not to – so I flipped the picnic table onto its side and threw against that instead.

And when I was old enough, I got my umpiring ticket and started to do that as a summer job. I loved baseball.

Note: If I had loved music half as much as I loved baseball I’m sure I would have learned how to play the piano in the living room or the guitar that sits beside it. Slight regrets there.

When I spoke at my dad’s funeral, I told a story about him showing up with a brand new wooden Rawlings baseball bat the morning of my end of season tournament. That’s a thing I’ll always remember. I said that I don’t remember my at-bats or hits (we won the tournament) but remembering him and his support is the big memory.

But there is one game I do remember more clearly. The night I went 4-4 with 13 total bases.

We were playing on the back field at the Welcome, ON park I called home for years. We were the home team, hosting a team from Port Hope, and I was in the middle of a really good season, just like our team.

My grandparents were there to watch, my mom was our scorekeeper, other parents were there, plus some community folks that were always around and supportive.

In my first at-bat, I hit the ball through the hole at shortstop on a line and made a hard turn around first heading for second base. I remember seeing Brent picking up the ball and knowing I could make it – and then he threw a strike to the bag and I was tagged out. Yikes.

In my next at-bat, I hit the ball hard, really hard, and rounded the bases for a home run (there was no outfield fence).

In my third at-bat, I hit the ball hard again and I rounded the bases for another home run. Two home runs, not too shabby.

Then, in my fourth at-bat (you guessed it) hit the ball really hard and I ran my little 13-year-old legs off for a third home run.

We won the game, I hit three home runs, I felt good. But above that (or alongside it) I remember two things from after the game that still make me smile now.

1) My grandpa gave me a hard time and told me that I missed third base as I was running out my third HR. I don’t know if I did or not, but he was having a good laugh about it. I don’t know if he remembers it, but I do. Fondly.

2) A member of the community and a big supporter of our baseball organizations, who also played in three pitch tournaments with my mom, stopped me as I was walking away from the diamond and told me that he could stick around if I needed to get some swings in and work on hitting. And I thought he was serious. This grown man who was one of the fastest adults I’d ever seen run around the bases was offering to throw me batting practice (I thought) and I said yes. The only problem was, he was joking because he had just watched me be locked in all night, and he definitely was not offering to stay late, keep my mom at the park, and throw pitches to me.

It was house league baseball (I’d go on to play a little travel baseball later on) that didn’t matter for anything serious in a sporting way. It was a nothing game in the middle of the week in the middle of the summer. But I remember it.

I say all of that to say these three things…

1) Thank you for letting me share an adolescent memory that makes me smile.

2) Thank you to my mom and my dad and my grandparents and coaches and everyone else who ever supported and helped grow my love for baseball.

3) I hope that if Ollie loves something as much as I loved baseball, that he finds the support from me and his mom and his grandparents and the community that I had when I was a kid.

And, if he happens to love baseball, I hope he’s smart enough to stay at first base on that first at-bat.