The Bloody Doors Off

I was never an athletic kid.

Could barely skate worth a damn.

The first time I tried skateboarding, I fell backwards and hit the heel of my right foot onto the pavement.

Chipped a bone.

Doctor said I’d walk with a limp the rest of my life.

(Shows what he knows. I may have foot issues, but they’re related to Plantar Fasciitis.)

My mom thought I was faking an injury to get out of going to school that Friday. (I remember Linda Carter’s Wonder Woman was on television that night, and it was a Thursday. I can barely remember what I ate for dinner three nights ago, but this is burned into my memory.) Anyway, she felt sheepish when the doctor confirmed the injury.

I was walking on it within days.

Yeah.

I played baseball as a kid. Sponsored/run by our local church, St. Rose of Lima. (This is important to remember.)

My best friend Doug was on the same team, coached by his father.

I was never an athletic kid.

So I played right field.

If you hit the ball to me, chances are you had an extra base hit.

Except the one time.

Crack of the bat.

Never saw the ball coming my way.

Yet I reached up with my glove (I’m a south paw) and boom. Caught the fuckin’ thing.

Again, never saw it coming.

Lots I never see coming.

I digress.

When I was 16, maybe 17, I approached the league about coaching. They put me on a team as an assistant coach.

Some of the best times of my life.

The next year, I got to coach my own team. I remember being in the church basement, going over the kids’ applications, basically drafting our teams. There was one kid I’d worked with the year before, arm like a cannon, could switch hit. I told a little white lie that he was a bit of a handful, to get him on my team.

My dad jumped in as my assistant coach. He let me lead the team. Practices, games, setting the line-up.

I don’t think we won that year. But we all got trophies anyway.

But the two biggest things I remember:

1. One of the parents gave me a gift at the end of the season. A silver pen. As thanks for helping their son out of his shell. Apparently he’d been quite an introvert before playing ball.
2. That kid with the arm? I ran into him a few years later at the bowling alley arcade (again, this I remember) and he thanked me for believing in him. He’d continued to pitch in the league as he got older. Something tells me he could’ve gone to school on a scholarship if he wanted. (But this I don’t know. I’m speculating.)

I’m reminded of all this as I watch the Blue Jays get tarred by the Rays this afternoon.

Ya know. If Coltrane were into playing baseball, and wanted to join a league, I’d be willing to come out of “retirement” and coach again…