We played baseball in Dougie Brewster’s backyard because it
was big enough for a diamond and outfield. If there weren’t enough of us for
two teams, we played Rotation Runner-Up.
It worked like this. If you made it back to home plate, you were in the line-up
for batting. If you didn’t make it back to home plate, struck out or got tagged
on one of the bases, you went to the outfield and it rotated thusly until you
were back in the line-up.
I wasn’t a great hitter and was lucky to bunt my way to
first base. There was that one time I was up at bat that is seared into my
memory like it happened yesterday. Two strikes and I was about to strike out
when the perfect pitch connected with the sweet spot on my bat. Stunned, I
watched the ball soar high in the air, my eyes on it as I jogged to 1st
base. It was a homer! And as the ball arced towards and over the hedge in the outfield,
I stopped to hear the beautiful sound of the ball bounce off Kelly O’Keefe’s
only concrete paved driveway in the neighborhood.
All the kids ran. I was left standing alone as the ball’s
trajectory targeted the center of Mrs. O’Keefe’s living room window. The next
sound was a horrific one of breaking glass. Memory doesn’t serve me as to what
happened after Mrs. O’Keefe came out yelling. I know that I confessed right
away because I was so proud of the hit. Other than that, I know my mom was probably
equally pissed because Mrs. O’Keefe likely demanded we pay for the window. It
doesn’t matter. I’m sure I rounded the rest of the bases alone and scored home
base.
Our best hitter was Dougie Brewster, and I could have run
off with the others and the blame would’ve likely been tagged on him.
The point of this little tale has been a lesson learned.
Even the hardest earned success has its consequences. No matter how hard I try,
no matter how my luck goes my way, there is no shame even if I am left alone on
first base, and Mrs. O’Keefe is pissed as hell, I can stand proud. But standing
proud when everyone else runs has its price.
