A long way from little league.

Part of growing up when I was young was all about playing organized sports. I tried most of them except football. I was no match for that sport. Probably the one I loved most, and absolutely stunk at, was ice hockey. So, for many years I played little league baseball in our town it was called, “Khoury” league---it was named after a man I believe named George Khoury and all of my friends played. Some were much better than me, and some, not many, were at my level.

Growing up in St. Louis is all about sports, passion for sports, and humidity;no matter what order you placed them, they all seemed to work well together. Typically, unless there was a late cold snap, we would start practicing---all outdoors back then---around the April 1^st. Our arms were well rested when we would hit the field, because back then we didn’t work out in the off-season; when the season was over, we just played catch until the next season.

There are a few memories that do stand out from my little league days; one game I had 3 hits and on the last hit, my bat broke. It was like Samson losing his hair---I never had a 3-hit game after that. Another time, and I was telling a friend about this recently, the batter before me was hit in the mouth with a wild pitch. Needless to say my plate appearance was quick--I swung at every all before the pitch was thrown.

But the best moment in my “baseball life” came as a pitcher during the last game of the season; I had learned how to throw a curve ball and even though it was suggested I not throw it because it would hurt my arm, I decided not to listen. I struck out a number of batters because they could not tell where the ball was going to end up---after that game, I was never able to throw a decent curve ball again. I guess they were right---but then again it became a memory, and I wasn’t going to make the major leagues anyway.

Playing little league baseball was a right of passage; my brother played before me and I wanted to play as soon as I was able to step out on the field. I spent many years giving it my best---playing the infield, pitcher, never catcher---and then one season I explained to the coach how badly I wanted to play right field. (My favorite player on the Cardinals at the time, Bobby Tolan, was the right fielder and I was going to be like him.) What I didn’t know, and I learned that summer, was the right field position is one of the worst in little league. Unless there is a left-handed hitter, or a ball is over thrown, you just stand in the hot humid field.

The photo above was taken in Kansas City when the Chicago White Sox played the Royals. I was fortunate enough to be sitting in the front row, and was able to shoot through the netting. Something about seeing a pitcher stare down the plate brought back long ago memories of my days in little league. Knowing how fast the ball is thrown just a few years after t-ball, I knew my role was to no longer catch a fast ball, it was to catch a photograph. I am just fine with that.

Thanks for stopping by.