The baseball pitch at Middle School, Purchase, NY was a little large for the half pint rookies out for their early season, and possibly first ever, training session; so the bases were brought in towards the batting position thus reducing the diamond a bit. This way, when they got around to batting, their little legs will have a chance of reaching first base before the ball does.
The would-be strikers were standing around swinging their bats dangerously, anxious to get going. Others ambled about kicking the dirt up while most chatted away or shoved each other, or both, as five year-olds are wont to do. To start with Coach bade them all put on their mitts and spread around the field. After much shouting , telling them they didn’t need their bats for this, nor their helmets, he persuaded some to stand near, some farther out;
“No, not all of you out there, some over here, turn around, face me, watch here or you might get a ball in your back, pay attention!”
Coach kept going and I began to think there is no way a baseball game can be created out of this shambolic collection of the youth of Westchester County. Half were still facing the wrong way, trying different ways of putting the mitt on, even experimenting with watching the proceedings through the holes in the mitt webbing,
“Hey, don’t put it on your face, hold it ready, like this, up in the air if the ball comes high, or pointing down like so if the ball comes low and you can scoop it up!”
Coach2 was positioned at first base and Coach began lobbing balls, wisely at first to the ones that had shown a little coordination while they were messing about earlier on.
“Listen up now, if the ball comes to you, you shout ‘I GODDIT’; loud, and then you throw to first base over there. You got that? Say it – ‘I got it’”. “ I got it”, they responded.
Coach2 at first base was a large man who towered like a lighthouse above the minis so they could hardly miss him, I mean hardly miss seeing him. They certainly could miss him with the throw but Coach2 had about a ten-foot reach which reduced the amount of running he had to do.
Thankfully there were a couple of boys looking ready to catch so Coach lobs a ball to one of them who retrieves it, a little untidily, and, just when he was wondering what to do with the ball now in his hand, Coach shouts:
“say ‘I GODDIT’, then throw to first base, the first base over there, throw to first base.”
He points energetically at Lighthouse (alias Coach2) who is standing ready to launch his considerable bulk in any direction that may be necessary. The throw by the small boy is surprisingly good which makes for a great deal of cheering and encouragement all round. Coach has several balls about his person and he begins throwing them to boys, preferably the ones that are paying attention.
“I GODDIT” – chuck – “I GODDIT” – chuck. Coach2 at first base of course had to lob them back to Coach who was wisely positioned in front of the batting position screen so his supply was continually refreshed by this process. Of course there were many fumbles, miss throws, omissions of ‘I GODDIT’ and other forms of incompetence but astonishingly no-one got hit on the head.
“Step forward when you throw, step towards your target, first base, like this” demonstrates Coach, hurling a ball at slightly surprised Coach2. He really knows his stuff does Coach; and it helps; those who did as he advised generally threw something that Lighthouse could catch.
After everyone had had the chance to field a few balls, it was finally time for batting, which of course is what they had all come for and there was a stampede for their bats and helmets.
“Not all of you” yelled Coach, “just four, the rest of you stay out ‘n field”.
The dejected muttering and disbelieving looks were eventually calmed with an explanation that they will all get their turn but someone had to do the fielding notwithstanding Coach2’s ability. After all, there was second base and third base to think about. The complexity of the game started to become apparent and I had deep reservations about the chances of achieving the required order and discipline. However, this was where Assistant Coach3 and Assistant Coach4 were to play their parts. They had not given up Saturday afternoon just to watch. One of their most vital functions was to snatch the ball out of the air just before it hit a little person’s head.
The first batsman came forward, mostly helmet and bat. Again, Coach had picked one with promise. Of course, attempting to pitch the ball would have guaranteed a long afternoon with lots of pitching and not much else, so a device had been attached to the home plate (first base) that acted like a tall golf tee. Cleverly, its height was easily adjustable, ranging from rather low to low to very low depending on the length of leg coming out from under the helmet. The striker was directed to take a few swings at an imaginary ball on the tee. Whack! The tee took the strike.
Finally the moment arrived. Coach placed the ball on the tee and made a mark in the dirt where the strikers lead foot should be.
“Okay, hit it” says coach, optimistically.
The bat swings about an inch above the ball on the tee, spinning the object in the helmet around. He gathers himself and returns to his striking position. The second strike connects and the ball heads out onto the field where the astonished fielder collects it with the wrong hand, forgetting to use his mitt. ‘I GODDIT’, and amid much shouting from others, hurls the ball at the ever-ready Lighthouse at first base.
After a couple more practice shots of varying degrees of success, the moment comes for the real thing.
“This time you hit it AND RUN to first base” says Coach, “you got that?” the helmet nods and prepares to swing.
Striker1 is a little surprised at actually hitting the ball so needs a reminder “RUN, RUN. Drop your bat”. There is so much to remember, but the little legs get going and make it to first base just before the ball comes whistling in to Lighthouse who has to not only catch it but also defend his manhood from the charging helmet as it arrives at the base.
As Striker2 takes up his stand Coach has to explain, loudly, what happens in the event Striker2 hits and runs. Striker1 must vacate first base and head for second base and everyone else must remember the call, ‘I GODDIT’ and throw to first base. Lighthouse raises his hand to confirm.
As Sriker2 raises his bat to the ready position he does that little swing of the hips that you sometimes see a pro do. However, the apparent confidence is misplaced since he misses the first ball altogether. Coach kindly adjusts the height of the tee and there is a second swing, without a hip wiggle this time and a good hit out to short stop where cricketers would call mid-on. Now there are suddenly more moving parts than the afternoon has so far experienced and it gets much noisier as a result. There is yet more escalation when Strikers 3 and 4 get into the action.
“RUN – DROP YOUR BAT – CATCH IT, CACTCH IT – I GODDIT – FIRST BASE – THROW TO FIRST BASE – SECOND BASE, RUN TO SECOND BASE, now you run to THIRD BASE.” All this is accompanied by many other shouts and calls – for which there is no space here to record – and clouds of dust rise up around the Coaches and Assistant Coaches as the helmets hurtle around the diamond.
The next four are called in to bat and need no encouragement to get their helmets on, the problem lies in persuading the first four to leave their bats and helmets and return to the field. Half way out they remember their mitt and trot or amble back amid the general heap of kit on the side to search for it, oblivious, it seems, of the batting, throwing and base running now under way with the next four. Andreas gets his turn and steps up with his smart new black bat and Alexia buries her face in my shoulder in anxiety that her brother should mess up. He doesn’t, or at least no more than anyone else, and she misses his historic first strike.
The sequence is now, to varying degrees, understood by all and, apart from the occasional omission like forgetting to call ‘I GODDIT’ or drop the bat, or even to run, it works well for the majority. A few, however, find themselves out in a rather quiet part of the field where the mind wanders. The tell-tale signs of a disengaged fielder are scuffing the ground with one’s foot, trying the mitt on the other way around, or on the other hand, looking up into the sky or wandering about around ones allotted position looking at the grass. Inevitably the wanderer is rudely awoken by loud shouts from everyone else telling him to get the ball that has just bounced past him into the outfield.
The upcoming event is reported to be a match in two week’s time. Well, I have to concede, if they can make this much progress in one Saturday afternoon they might be able to have something like a match within two weeks; provided of course that they use the tee and don’t try pitching. I have my reservations about the chances of victory, but then Coach produces from the back of his car the KIT! Green and yellow baseball shirts, the real thing, with player numbers on the back accompanied of course by the matching baseball cap. Now, setting aside the legs looking even shorter under the new shirt, we sure do look the part; helmet, shirt and bat – with legs. That should worry the opposition. Andreas is number 6.
RJC April 2014.