Hero for One Day

Like many boys in the early '70s, I dreamed of being a major league baseball player; Not for the fame, not for the money (seriously, the average salary for players then was $36,566.00), but for the love of the game. I played it anytime, anywhere and when no one was available, I would play alone, using a tennis ball and the side of my house or the roof to field make believe grounders, line drives, and fly balls at various angles and velocities. Little did I know, this practice would pay off one day.

I played shortstop in a local sports association in Houston, Texas for a team called the Cougars. I didn't have lightning speed on the bases and I wasn't a power hitter so I never had the glory of knocking one out of the park, or stretching a double into a triple, but that was okay.

In the spring of 1973, the Cougars were playing for advancement to the playoffs. It was the final inning and the other team was batting. The bases were loaded with one out. We were up by one run. I don't remember the name of the other team or the final score that day. However, I will always remember the palpable smell of corn dogs from the concession stand heavy in the air and the chorus of chatter (batter, batter, batter, swing batter) from the Cougars with each pitch. My throat was parched and sore from this game long chatter. My knees were nervously, wobbling with anticipation. Like every baseball movie cliché I've seen since, everything that followed switched to slow motion. - The metallic clink of the aluminum bat, the hard, fast drive headed for me at shortstop rising on an arc as it approached. I stabbed my glove above my head and felt and heard the loud smack of the ball. I yanked my glove down to confirm I had it. No time to celebrate. My third baseman waved his arms frantically in the air. The runner on third had broken for home plate when the ball had been hit and was hustling back to third just as surprised as me that I had plucked the ball out of the air. I quickly tossed the ball to third; afraid in my adrenaline excitement I would over throw the third baseman. When the umpire's thumb shot up in the air signaling we had doubled up the runner for the final out, we celebrated, as if we had won game seven of the big league World Series.

I never had that highly coveted home run, or stretched a triple during the rest of my little league years, and I never became a major league player, but I will always remember that one moment in 1973 when I got to be a hero, even if it was just for a day.

Source: http://www.baseball-almanac.com/yearly/yr1973a.shtml

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