Always Living and Learning

I recently touched base on Facebook with a former youth baseball teammate named Dean Leonard, the star player and my then-hero and teammate on the triple-A Mets Little League team way back in 1973. I was raised in Vienna, Virginia, a picturesque and wonderful town just outside of Washington, D.C.

Baseball, since I was a young boy, has been one of the loves of my life. My dad and I would watch Washington Senators games on TV and, on occasion, visit Robert F. Kennedy Stadium to watch them play in person. When the Senators left to become the Texas Rangers after the 1971 major league season, I was a devastated eightyear old kid.

But even if my favorite team was gone, I could still play baseball, and my parents signed me up to participate in the local Little League in the spring of 1972. A year later, my second season, I was teammates with Dean on the AAA-Mets (10- year olds). Our team wasn’t very good, but Dean was the star. He had it all – good looks, long blonde hair, and a bat that always seemed to find the outfield gap when runners were on base.

When I became his Facebook pal last year, I noticed he put together occasional story blogs of his memories growing up. Dean’s blogs are funny, sometimes eye-opening, and usually incorporate a life lesson. As a former newspaper writer and current teacher, I had an urge to write some of my own recollections. Dean thought that was a great idea and gave me his blessings.

So here is one of my childhood stories which ran on Facebook a while back – and, of course, it deals with baseball. With the mid-summer Major League All-Star game taking place this week and youth baseball and softball tournaments going on throughout Cibola County, I hope this somewhat humorous childhood baseball recollection will deem appropriate for a good summertime read.

It was my third year of Little League baseball in 1974, and I was no longer a teammate of Dean’s. The Mets had been disbanded and all its players were placed on different teams. For me, I found myself a member of the major division Braves (ages 11-12), the defending Vienna Little League champions.

The summer before, I had watched the Braves, attired in their black and white uniforms, make their run through the playoffs on way to the title. Players on that team were like idols to me. Now, here I was, a member of that same team, with many of the same boys who had been part of that title winning squad.

Fast forward to Opening Day at Vienna’s Yeonas Park, a state of the art, three-field facility – a wonderful complex, much like our own Well’s Park in Grants - for baseballloving kids like myself. After the early morning Opening Day festivities on the lower field, I had rushed up to the park’s concession stand, located at the upper part of the baseball haven. I then headed back to the lower field, where we, the Braves, were set to play the season’s first game a little while later.

As I walked back down to the lower field, cherry snow cone in hand, I noticed our opponents’ best player – formidable Yankees’ pitcher Scotty Hinson – walking towards me. I was walking just beyond the middle field’s outfield fence on a paved walkway, and there was the great Hinson, the league’s best pitcher who was set to take the mound against us, the defending league champions, that morning.

As we both walked towards one another, I could not help notice Hinson’s wiry 6-foot, athletic frame and look of confidence on his face as he approached me. I was a little in awe – all 4-foot-6 of me - and a little intimidated. A moment later, we were standing next to one another. He looked down on me, smiled, shook his head, and said bluntly, `Kid, we’re going to kick you’re A$$.’ He meant, his Yankees, with him on the mound, were going to put a baseball beating on the Braves.

I stood there, probably dumbstruck, and didn’t say a word. If I had said anything, it probably would have been something like, `Yea, whatever you say, Scotty.’ Finally, I made my way down to the lower field, totally intimidated. Is a score of 18-1, Yankees, an A$$ beating? That was the final score. We were totally dominated.

For my part, I committed four errors at second base on that sun-drenched day. I know, at the plate, I never made contact on a pitch with Scotty on the mound. I would remember it if I had! But then again, none of my teammates could touch the fire-throwing Yankee either. I have no idea how we managed to score our only run that day. We were totally overwhelmed by Hinson and the Yankees.

The good news is we ended up being a strong enough team to make the playoffs that summer. And even though we lost in the first round of the playoffs – effectively ending our hopes of successfully defending our league championship from the year before – I got a base hit off one of the league’s other great pitchers, one of the highlights of my season.

So that’s my little baseball remembrance. The lesson – don’t let people, like Hinson, intimidate you. Just be yourself and give your best in all you do! I am thankful to Dean for inspiring me to write this childhood memoir. And I’m pretty convinced that Dean, if he had been on that Braves’ team, would have gotten a couple of hits against the great Scotty Hinson on that long ago Opening Day!