Play Ball - Not

You know, I had the greatest parents.  Growing up in Toronto I could do practically anything I wanted.

I wanna play hockey.

Hockey? Okay, sure.

I wanna play tennis.

Tennis? Okay, sure.

I wanna play baseball.

Baseball? Okay, sure.

I wanna go to choir school and learn to play the piano.

Okay I threw that last one in.  My parents wanted me to go to choir school and learn to play piano.

I must say I didn't really excel at any of these things, including the piano much to my parent's deep disappointment.

And I do recall arriving home from school downtown after an hour and-a-half subway and bus ride to my friends deriding voices, somewhat off-key saying: "Look, look it's choir boy...la,la,la,la,la,la,la.

So after two years I quit St Michael's Choir School and took up more manly pursuits.

One of them was baseball.  I was 8 or 9 years of age and of course back then there was no "beginner's" league.  You know with the ball on a batting "T".

Nope this was the real stuff.  Just like the AAA Toronto Maple Leafs baseball team I'd seen play in a stadium a stone's throw from the Canadian National Exhibition. Well, being AAA, they weren't the real stuff but what did I know.  I was 9.

Maple Leaf Stadium. I didn't play there but I watched a baseball game.

But this was organized baseball.  Not the kind you play with your friends in the street with a sewer for 1st base, a garbage can lid for 2nd, little Jeff's sister's hula-hoop for 3rd and your jacket for home plate.

Nope.  This was the real thing with real bases, a backstop and a pitcher's mound.

Now I don't know what I was thinking when it came to choosing positions but I thought it'd be cool to be pitcher.  Yeah, cool.

Of course the coach didn't realize I'd never pitched before.

Oh, sure, I'd played catch...throwing a ball back and forth with a friend, but I'd not had any experience with the strike zone.

Now kid's baseball in our neighbourhood was a big thing.  Other kids from nearby as well as parents of the players had all gathered to watch the game.

I didn't know I'd have such a crowd for my debut.

But, hey, no sweat.  I trotted out to the pitcher's mound with my brand new Clairlea Park team sweater on and my Toronto Maple Leaf baseball cap on, the beak dutifully creased in the middle.

"Play ball," said the guy behind the plate.

This was it.

I leaned forward, took a long look at my catcher, just as I'd seen the pitcher do at the Leaf's game, and let fly.

And let fly I did.  That softball must have had wings.  It left my hand and flew high over, not the batter, the backstop.

Maybe I could have played for the Rochester Wings!

Uh-huh.  Yeah.

I'm told it was the shortest pitching career on record.


This was my Theme Thursday take on "ball".  Check the link out to see how other bloggers have thrown themselves into this week's theme.