Friday, May 20, 2005

Baseball and Me

There used to be this routine on “Saturday Night Live” where some Latino baseball player would say, in a thick Hispanic accent, that “baseball has been very very good to me.” As someone who starred in countless neighborhood wiffle ball, softball, and baseball games as a kid, who used to watch just about every single NY Mets game possible, and who went to dozens of ball games with a baseball mitt extended in the vain hope of catching a foul ball...well, baseball has been very good to me too.

This is all a windup to what happened to me at a recent South Bend Silverhawks game. I went to the game, courtesy of WVPE. They actually wined (for $3 a beer) and dined us quite nicely as a way of saying thanks for all of the hard work we volunteers do for the little station that could. What could be nicer? True, the evening took on a bit of a strange quality while I was eating. At my table were a group of volunteers who didn’t listen to WVPE. They just liked to volunteer for things in Michiana. When I remarked that I found this, well, a bit odd, as I generally like to know what I’m getting myself involved with, I was met with hard, cold stares. I then changed the subject to Elvis Presley. We all agreed that the world has really never seen anyone quite like the King.

Anyway, at the end of this gala affair, some big shot at WVPE came to the center of the dining area and said that one of us could throw out a baseball at the start of the game. Now, I have wanted to do this since I was 5 years old, and so I went up to where this guy was standing. As I walked to center of the room I soon found that I was not alone in this dream of glory. With little mercy I beat out 4 other people for this rare privilege, using the time-honored method of playing rock/paper/scissors. In the final round I cunningly switched from scissors to rock after we had cancelled each other out after 6 or 7 times. I was then whisked to the basement of Coveleski Stadium and soon I was out on the field.

There I learned that I was not the only special person of the evening. There were eight other people who had won this privilege of throwing out a ball--and they were all younger than me by approximately forty years or so. I didn’t care a whit as I was on cloud 9 with sheer happiness. I could see my name up in lights, my life would finally have meaning, people might start listening to me, George W. Bush would decide to tell the truth, and all because I was going to throw a ball out to start a game. And then, disaster. Just before I got my chance to throw a ball that would get all of Michiana buzzing, some scrawny kid--he must have been 7 or 8--threw a really great pitch to the catcher. It hit the mitt with a really solid thud. The crowd roared its approval. Now, I couldn’t let this twerp outdo me, so when it was my turn I very unwisely tried to show off some of my former know-how and throw a curve ball (something I had not done since the Carter Administration). I threw too hard.....and it went way, way wide right. Past home plate, past the catcher, past the guy in the goofy mascot uniform. The crowd booed. My 15 seconds of fame had ended in disgrace. I wanted to curl up into a fetal position and disappear.

Happily, friends who saw my debacle did not harp on it. Once the game started, we settled into our seats and remained content to drink beer, eat peanuts, and talk about nothing much until the skies opened up in the fourth inning. I had had enough, I was soaked, and so I called it a day...of baseball anyway. I then retired to a nearby bar to watch the end of the Pacers game. There I slowly cried into my beer and replayed, over and over, how much I would have liked to have thrown that ball the way it should have been thrown. Oh disaster, my fair maiden!

There is an upside to this little affair. I got a Silverhawks baseball which I now treasure. And weirdly, as my throw was going wide, I realized that I was experiencing what I think might be labeled a meta-moment. That is, the second the ball left my hand I knew that I had the makings of a “Michiana Chronicle” story out of this whole escapade. I would like to think, then, that all is not lost. And now all I can do is dream of what might have been and perhaps, if given a second chance, what might become. 

Broadcast by Jonathan Nashel on May 20, 2005
Sports & Recreation • Permalink • Printer Friendly
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Joe Chaney -- More essays by Joe

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