Play Ball
When I was in third or fourth grade, I joined a little league baseball team at my school in Lynchburg, Ohio. I had never played any form of organized sport before—I actually remember the coach, Gary Smaltz, asking that very question.
“You ever played any type of organized sports before?” he said.
“No, sir,” I replied.
In all actuality, I wasn’t entirely sure I wanted to play this time either. I’m not quite sure at what point I decided I wanted to or even why. I think it was a combination of wanting to make my father to take notice and my friend, P.J., being on the team.
To a child, Smaltz was very scary. I believe he was in the National Guard and kept his hair cropped very short. He was also one of those outdoorsy types that like to repel off the sides of cliffs and, in my fragile seven or eight year old mind, probably blow things up. Thinking back on it now, he has also become a caricature of the stereotypical, cartoon coach; a screaming, tobacco chewing, huge mouth in gray polyester coach shorts with veins throbbing underneath his mesh cap.
Having never played baseball before, I was not the keenest eye in the batter’s box and it was merely a matter of time before the ball and I had our first dance. A few weeks after joining the team and trying to level out my wildly arcing swing, Smaltz decided it was time to put me in against someone other than my friend P.J.—he wanted me to attempt to hit off of Richard Vilvens—the devil himself in a little league uniform, or so I thought at the time.
Richard liked to throw the ball and he had two pitches at that time—fast or hard. I’m not sure which one he threw at me. Wait, did I say at me? The ball made contact with my left cheek and everything turned white. That little Rawlings baseball peeled all the skin from my left cheek and I sported those seam marks for weeks.
Needless to say, practice was over for me that day and I didn’t want to play anymore—ever. I was certain the next time my head would come completely off. My father made me go to the next practice and the coach could tell I was afraid of the ball after the experience I had a few days earlier. To get me over my fear, he had me put on the catcher’s gear and had the entire team throw baseballs—at me.