What a Ball!

Today marks the start of 2011 Playoff Baseball. As a die-hard Yankee fan, I am very excited. This day sparked me to share a short story I wrote about baseball.

It has been forty four years since my last public appearance. Some people call me heroic, others call me lucky. Whatever they think, I know that I was a significant part of one of the most magnificent games in baseball history.

I had waited all season to go into a game. Each time the Yankee manager, Ralph Houk, dug his massive hand into the hefty box of Major League baseballs, I hoped that I would be chosen. Then, on October 16, 1962, in the top of the ninth inning at Candlestick Park, my big chance came.

“Hey, Bat Boy, come here,” grunted Ralph Houk boldly.

I was scared and delighted as the manager placed me into the clammy hands of the skittish Bat Boy, who then transferred me to the calm, rough hands of the home plate umpire. The umpire threw me swiftly to the Sam Francisco star pitcher, Don Larsen.

“Play ball,” the umpire commanded.

I was in play. I have a quick glance at the scoreboard. The game was tied 0-0.

Slap! I landed with a thud into Larsen’s gloomy, smelly glove. He began to rub me with soft but grainy powder. Achoo! I began to cough as the rosin got in my mouth. It was awful, but before I could catch my breath I was in the air. I was flying at an amazingly fast rate. Straight ahead was a bat clenched by none other than the great Mickey Mantle. I squeezed my eyes shut. This was going to hurt.

To my surprise, I landed into the dusty glove of Ed Bailey.

I heard the umpire’s booming shout, “Strike one!”

I was thrown back into the glove of the pitcher, and again at a jet-like speed, I was returned to the catcher.

“Strike two,” the umpire barked over the tumultuous roar of the 43,948 fans.

“Oh no!” My poor Yankee team. If they didn’t get any runs this inning, the Giants could do the job in the bottom of the ninth. Back into the pitcher’s glove I fleeted. I crossed my stitches, hoping for a hit, even though I knew a hit could mean the end of my career. I sliced through the air like a shiny bullet! I saw the big, beautiful bat lift. Whack! Ouch! Mickey pelted me so hard I felt like I was coming apart at the seams.

“Dad, look, it’s coming right at us,” screamed an eager fan.

I soared over the outfield fence and clunked onto an ancient metal railing, bouncing into the glove of a young Yankee fan.

“Wow,” the fan yelled in excitement.

I looked at him as he opened his glove and stared at me with amazement.

“I will give you $20,000 for that,” someone blurted.

“I will give you $30,000,” said another fan.

“NO WAY, I would not give this ball up for anything!” the boy said.

I was glad that the boy did not give me away to anyone because I knew that the boy would love me so much and take care of me.

The Yanks didn’t score anymore runs that inning, but they didn’t have to because neither did the Giants. As for me, I have lived the rest of my life cushioned on red velvet, worthy of a king, surrounded by a clear glass case. The youthful boy is now an older man that limps with a cane, but he values me as much as he did the day he caught me. I am blessed to be so honored, but sometimes I think I would give it all up to play one more time.

Hopefully the playoffs shape up to be as exciting as the conclusion of the regular season was! Go Yanks!