This evening we were playing the Stripes. Moose had watched them play the Stars this afternoon and had given me some tips. They had a speedy center fielder who was all of five-six and maybe 140 pounds. The team that had played them had pulled in the outfield, thinking he was a light hitter. He’d burned them in the final at-bat by hitting over the left fielder’s head. Moose suspected that he was just one of those guys who got more out of his bat than others did. He suggested that I play him straight up and not let his size fool me.
I was glad to see that Coach Mallei and Luke Cash, the right-hander from Missouri, invited Moose to give them a report about each batter. While one game wasn’t enough for a scouting report, it was better than nothing.
While they did that, I was sent to batting practice with Coach Short. Coaches Herndon and Haskins came to watch. Coach Kingwood had gotten them field passes sometime this afternoon. He said they could observe and talk to the coaches, but wanted them not to intrude on what his coaches were saying or doing.
“I just want you to relax and show me your swing,” Coach Short instructed.
Coach Kingwood was throwing the pitches. I got into my stance and focused on the five steps I’d been taught: rhythm, seeing the ball, separation, staying square, and weight shift and transfer.
Batting is an amazing phenomenon, and there’s a reason not everyone can do it at the highest level. Your eyes have to pick up the baseball as it leaves the pitcher’s hand. Within a fraction of a second, your brain has to decide if it’s hittable. If it is, your body has to move in one fluid motion, and your hands have to guide the bat to where the ball is supposed to be. A large part of it is muscle memory and hitting thousands of balls. What can’t be taught is the talent to actually do it.
There were kids here I could tell had put in the time and effort and were good hitters. I could also see they didn’t have the talent to be elite hitters. I had talent, but I hadn’t made baseball my full-time sport. Talent can make up for not hitting every day to create that muscle memory.
I’m also good at blocking out everything and focusing on the task at hand. Coach Kingwood wasn’t really a challenge to hit, but he wasn’t supposed to be. This was about getting all five steps working. I could tell that tonight was going to be good because I was crushing the ball.
Coach Kingwood decided to show me his stuff and tried to throw one by me a little higher in the zone. I made the adjustment Moose had taught me and rose from my crouch to almost standing. This allowed me to have my same swing for the higher pitch. Because the ball was thrown harder, it jumped out of the park in a hurry.
“Stop!” Coach Short called out. “What did you just do?”
“I hit the ball out of the park.”
“Not that. Why did you get out of your normal stance?”
“My high school coach taught me that if I either bend my knees a little more or stand straighter, I can use my natural swing more. It expands my hitting zone up and down by a few inches.”
This was one of those minor things that allowed me to hit a small percentage of balls better. In baseball, a small percentage can mean the world. Most batters my age just focused on hitting a certain way. When a ball was either high or low, they would adjust their swing. That tended to either pop the ball up or drive it into the ground.
The coaches sent me to work in the outfield.
◊◊◊
We had a half-hour to ourselves before the game started, so I sent my Tinder date, Christen, a text. She sent me one back that they were in line to get in. I decided to walk out to see where she was.
“You didn’t think I’d just let you wander off,” Paul said, giving me a heart attack.
“Jesus! Did Fritz teach you how to sneak up on people?” I asked.
He grinned and followed me out to where people were queued up to get in. I could tell they hadn’t planned this well, because there was only one person there to sell tickets. There had to be a line of a couple hundred people, all looking irritated.
I walked up behind the old guy trying to do his best.
“How many of these you normally sell?” I asked.
“Maybe twenty or thirty,” he admitted.
I asked him what that meant in terms of gate sales. The tickets were only three bucks each, so I had Paul give him a couple hundred to let everyone into the park. I waved to get their attention. Seems they already recognized me, and I was glad Paul stepped in front to slow them down.
“Here’s the deal: I just paid for all of you to get in, so you have to cheer for my team tonight.”
I spotted Christen with her friends. I was glad to see they looked like normal girls. What I mean by that was they were in jeans and Duke t-shirts. I was happy to see she hadn’t shown up in a miniskirt and five-inch heels.
“I saved you some seats,” I said.
