I am the world’s worst baseball player. Let me prove it:
As the sun dipped below the treeline on a cool California evening in 1985, a young man stood kicking at the clover in right field, his mouth watering as he savored the aroma of chili-cheese Fritos that emanated from the concession stand of this Little League he knew so little about. He noticed his team heading into the dugout and followed along, not sure of the score or even the inning.
Batters batted in succession as he slid along the bench waiting for his turn to strike out. He always struck out, except that one time when he grounded one out toward first base…and slid into it. Why would he slide into first base? He thought he’d seen someone do that once.
Today he was slightly more nervous. This evening his father was in the stands. His father – who rarely managed to get off work early enough to overcome the L.A. rush hour traffic, managed to get there tonight.
As the rotation advanced, the boy slid the plank. Soon he would come to the edge, and die, again.
It was time. He stepped out from behind the chain link refuge, shouldered his near-pristine wooden bat, and slowly took the plate. He winced at the first pitch, a strike. Mustering up his courage, he inched his feet a little closer to the plate and steeled himself to swing no matter what.
The astonishment of his teammates was only surpassed by his own as the bat connected and the ball flew past the pitcher, and the shortstop, past the outfielder who chased it down. The boy dropped the bat in a terrible moment of bliss and ran. He touched First Base (don’t make that mistake again), and settled into a victory stance on Second. The fans cheered, the boy beamed and all was right with the world. Dad had seen it, but remember, this is not a fairy tale.
The boy stood in an unfamiliar place, taking in the view. Something was happening around him now, he hardly noticed and didn’t really care. He was on second base.
There was a small commotion at the plate he missed while looking elsewhere. It settled down and he saw the basemen around him relax. It was at that moment when he noticed a ball…slowly rolling toward him. The catcher’s throw back to his pitcher missed its mark, and the ball now coasted to a comfortable stop, mere inches from where he stood on that blessed Second Base.
Did I mention the young man had a big, generous heart, and that his present existence as conqueror of doubles made him especially generous today?
When that ball rolled his way, it seemed the most sportsmanlike thing in the world for him to return it to the other team’s pitcher – which he did, by taking a step off the base and kicking the ball back to the pitcher.
The infield umpire, filled with pity, shook his head in disbelief but nonetheless performed his duty.
“He’s out!”
Let us end our narrative here because nobody wants to hear the tragic tale of a boy’s heart being ripped out.
I leave you with this: I am the world’s worst baseball player, and I rest my case.