Backyard Burgundy Baseball

Many sports fans turn to the NFL when their baseball teams are knocked out of playoff contention and the month of October swirls around. Baseball is my favorite professional sport and I actually get depressed when it ends. I start counting down the days to Spring Training. I love watching the games or listening to the broadcasts on the radio. I do not mind the pace of the game itself or the fact some games take hours to end. Boring is not something I’ve ever associated with baseball.
I remember when I was growing up, I would always ask my dad, mom, sister, or anyone else who had a hand that fit my extra Rawlings leather baseball glove to play catch with me outside. Fall, Winter, Spring or Summer was not a concern. I would play catch any time, anywhere. My dad was my usual throwing partner. He would toss the ball high in the air and I would pretend to be an outfielder coming in on a lazy fly ball. Then he would sidearm a twirling toss to the ground, it would conveniently hop into my glove, and I would make the scooping pickup like a showy shortstop. Next, a sharp shot would sting the back of my hand as he nailed a linedrive to me at third base. Any scenario was possible and it was those moments that made me a great player. I learned to prepare for any position on the field and was provided the knowledge of situational baseball.
I was a pitcher for my Little League softball team. Ironically, the team was the Phillies and we were pathetic. The Phillies came in last place every year, had rinky-dink, retro-looking uniforms and were known as the laughing stock around the league. I was considered the best player on the team and one of the best pitchers in the entire league. I was a star on a team of bad news Bears basically. I remember the countless pitching sessions I had in my backyard as my dad squatted and played the backstop position. Every time I took the mound in a Little League game, I focused on the catcher’s glove in order to throw strikes. That is not unusual because you do need a target to throw to. But what went through my head were images of being in my backyard throwing to my father. I pretended the batter was my best friend or sister and it made pitching out there quite frankly, easy. I was used to striking out ten batters in one game but losing my one run because of a passed ball or an error on the field. I was used to being down by five runs but continuing to baffle batters with my pitches. The Phillies were losers and I learned how to accept losing. I learned how to motivate myself to improve despite being handed a hopeless, futile team. I think what I learned in addition to how to pitch to each batter was how to mentally prepare for each situation. I was involved in every single pitch when my team was on the field. I had a hand in every batter that crossed my path. That is why I love following the game of baseball and watching each and every pitch of each and every inning. It’s my belief you have to experience the game to enjoy it. Winning is most enjoyable of course, and when the Phillies changed their team name to the Reds, we finally won our league championship. I still have the 1995 trophy placed high on top my bookshelf at home. It’s my most proud possession and I am not ashamed to admit that. I waited a long time to win but I always imagined I would while I was pitching to my father in our quaint backyard. My father was my greatest influence as I reflect on those dubious days of burgundy baseball.

Parting points: “Success—it’s what you do with what you’ve got” -Woody Hayes