Newman
New Member
- Location
- Schaumburg, IL
I joined recently and am still getting accustomed to the neighborhood. In the meantime it's nearly zero outside (Chicago Suburbs, early February) and I can't stop thinking about warm weather and what I'll do when it gets here.
I looked over the topics and, although I don't want to dwell obsessively on the past, as though my life was now in the December (re: Jimmy Durante's September Song [May to December]) stretch, I supposed a few thoughts about my favorite activity would be a fun way to pass the hibernation season.
I remember my first tryout in High School. The coach, still my most despised authority figure ever, told me I'd have to grow two inches before he would consider me as a pitcher.
Being a southpaw, only 5'9' and a low power punch and judy hitter put two strikes on me going in, so I knew that making the team was a longshot. A taller kidwith power at first would be the sensible choice. I couldn't deny that was true, and much the same applies to the outfield, leaving the mound as the only feasible slot for someone like me. I would have been fine with short relief; I had a slider that ran away from right handers, but I lacked lively fastball. The problem was I never got a try-out. Instead, he picked out a partner for me from the group that was trying out for catcher and told me to 'work' with him for a few days. I could never arrange a time to do anything. When the coach asked, I could not tell anything except that the 'partner' idea was unworkable. That was the end of trying to make the freshman team. I did make the team the following year, I would up with a letter and survived an inning against the toughest team in the league. I can still hear the crack of the bat as one long fly was caught by a teammate with his back against the wall being the highlight, and I remember a teammate saying, it's just an out on the scorecard, same as a strikeout.
I have lots of days-gone-by memories from my playing days, which ended when a change in work location meant I could no longer get to mid-week night games. I was playing in an over 40 suburban senior-league, still doing mostly short term relief.
I looked over the topics and, although I don't want to dwell obsessively on the past, as though my life was now in the December (re: Jimmy Durante's September Song [May to December]) stretch, I supposed a few thoughts about my favorite activity would be a fun way to pass the hibernation season.
I remember my first tryout in High School. The coach, still my most despised authority figure ever, told me I'd have to grow two inches before he would consider me as a pitcher.
Being a southpaw, only 5'9' and a low power punch and judy hitter put two strikes on me going in, so I knew that making the team was a longshot. A taller kidwith power at first would be the sensible choice. I couldn't deny that was true, and much the same applies to the outfield, leaving the mound as the only feasible slot for someone like me. I would have been fine with short relief; I had a slider that ran away from right handers, but I lacked lively fastball. The problem was I never got a try-out. Instead, he picked out a partner for me from the group that was trying out for catcher and told me to 'work' with him for a few days. I could never arrange a time to do anything. When the coach asked, I could not tell anything except that the 'partner' idea was unworkable. That was the end of trying to make the freshman team. I did make the team the following year, I would up with a letter and survived an inning against the toughest team in the league. I can still hear the crack of the bat as one long fly was caught by a teammate with his back against the wall being the highlight, and I remember a teammate saying, it's just an out on the scorecard, same as a strikeout.
I have lots of days-gone-by memories from my playing days, which ended when a change in work location meant I could no longer get to mid-week night games. I was playing in an over 40 suburban senior-league, still doing mostly short term relief.