You always remember your first… I sometimes think how the hell I remember all this shit; it’s kind of crazy. I think it’s why I wanted my son to play sports; you experience memories that you will remember for the rest of your life. For all the stuff I can’t remember, there are some moments that, when I think about them, feel like they just happened yesterday. Winning my first baseball championship is one of them.
We played our championship game on that same field where I played my first game ever at Harrison Park, you know, the line drive off my chin that knocked me out; I would be conscious for this one. It was against the Indians; they had a really good team, just like us. I was pitching, again, with my mouthpiece. I can’t tell you what occurred batter by batter, inning by inning, but I can tell you how it felt throwing that last pitch. I may have gotten a pitcher’s called strike on it; the ball crossed home plate just above the belt. When the umpire raised his hand and called the kid out, it was over; we won. We went crazy in that dust bowl that was Harrison Park. It was a culmination of a 4 year journey from last to first. We would continue to be one of the best teams at Harrison Park until I stopped playing there.
The celebration after the game is something I will never forget either. I’m pretty sure it was a Monday night; I remember coming home, turning on the TV, and Monday Night Football being on… I think it was the Cowboys and Giants. It was right before we started school that year. Before all that, we spent like what felt hours running around the park in celebration. The father of one of the kids on our team owned a corner store; he brought all kinds of stuff to eat and drink. We were so happy. Winning it all was so sweet.
There were other moments in that park before and after that, both good and bad, like when the button on my jeans busted (yeah I was wearing jeans for a baseball game, go figure… haha) and I had to hold my pants closed as I ran around the bases; I believe I made it home. There was the time when we played on the one field with lights, usually reserved for 16 inch softball. I was pitching again, bases were loaded, and a kid hits a smash just past me up the middle… and through the center fielder’s legs… grand slam. There was the fly ball that I lost in the high sky that landed a few feet over my head; there was a grounder in warm ups that hit a rock before bouncing up to hit me in the mouth. There was the game I played with a souvenir bat I got at Wrigley, where I cracked the shit out of the ball every time up. These are just MY memories; I remember many things about my brother and sister playing as well. But, let’s wrap this up… at least for now.
Those rained out games, yeah, they rescheduled one of them for this week; only problem is, I had to go out of town one day for work, and I scheduled it for a day he didn’t have any games… yeah… I guess I’ll have to wait even longer now to see my son play at Harrison Park. No more rain in the forecast; time for another baseball game to take place… another one that brings feelings to the surface. Crosstown Classic is next…
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