Just Playing Ball

We were fortunate to have lived in a neighborhood where sports were played on a regular basis in the street. Each season would find the local kids playing whatever was the current game. Scores were kept in official score-keeping books from year to year. The official books were bought at “The Sports Shoppe” in downtown North Hollywood. Billy Schumacher safeguarded them. Scores were kept in an effort to improve each person’s game. All was done in fun and coached by the kids themselves. Criticism came from one’s peers and not the adults.

            Although the teams basically contained the standard players that included Billy Schumacher, Mark and Danny Dow, Chris Wyneken, Michael Lurch, and Johnny Hayes. There were the occasional others such as Tony Toth, Bobby and Ronnie Robinson, Scott Schumacher, Danny Van Damme, and the Swenson kids who were cousins to the Dow boys. Additional players were recruited when there wasn’t enough players for a complete team.

            The games were played on Tuba Street between Wisner and Noble Avenues. Home base for baseball was located at the corner of Tuba and Noble. Tennis balls were used since they were softer and went further. The fresher they were from the can the better they flew. They came in a vacuumed sealed can. First base was between the Dow’s and Haye’s  houses on the north side of Tuba. Second base was west at about Tuba and Wisner. Third base was in front of the Schumacher’s house at 1112 Tuba Street.

            My brother, Shannon, played baseball with the local parks. Watching the games was disappointing when an adult yelled or chastised his child for not performing as he had been instructed. It seemed that all the enjoyment of just hitting or catching a ball went out the window as that child was humiliated in front of a crowd of spectators. The child’s performance on the field reflected his feelings thus furthering a poor performance.

            For a short time I coached girl’s softball with the LDS Church. To me, anytime someone hit the ball or caught it – regardless of the team – was pure delight and reason to celebrate.

            Billy was revered as a sort of hero. Even 30 years later, where we were approaching middle-age with our own successes behind us, he was still seen as a mystical figure. What happened to him? One remembered him as being “totally hot!” Another remembered what a good kisser was. And still another remembered his home as a refuge from his own dysfunctional life.

            True, he was incredibly handsome with a healthy set of lips. His looks only seemed to improve with age as did his popularity. And true, he was considered the neighborhood hero during his teen years. Many learned the confidence of hitting balls and of camaraderie from participating in these activities. His home was a refuge. It was where the kids congregated to play Atari games, watch concerts on the new cable television, ON T.V. along with playing whatever the current sport was whether it was basketball, street hockey, baseball or football. The statistics were saved from year to year. Each participant vying to better their performance from the previous year.

            Billy was my friend as was his best friend, Mark Dow. Billy played on the men’s baseball team for the LDS Church for a short while. Mark and I watched in support. There was a family who was well-known in the Church who frequently made poor calls and issued criticisms to Billy. Billy was not a member of the Church. The criticisms were inappropriate, especially considering whom they were coming from. Several times Billy and the member of the well-known family got into heated arguments on the field. At least once they threatened to literally fight it out. Each time Billy was the one asked to leave. Then and now, I feel that the other person should have had to leave as well. How sad because this was just church ball being played for fun. The poor sportsman-like conduct exhibited may have had long lasting consequences such as a sour note towards members of the LDS faith. So it was back to the neighborhood where sports were played without regard to uniforms or performances.

            While serving a mission for my church where the women were expected to wear either dresses or skirts six and half days of the week, I needed some comforts of home. I purchased a soft Nerf football and began tossing it to whoever would reciprocate it. Here I was in the Deep South, wearing nylons and a skirt and throwing a football. No scores were kept. Oh…such sweet memories.

            When my own kids were old enough, I taught them to throw, catch, and hit a football as well as a baseball. Occasionally kids from the neighborhood tagged along. But it was mainly Johnny, Brooki, and Seth, and myself. Years went by. Seth went off to be in the military and a missionary. Brooki went off to be a mother. Johnny stayed behind. Early one fall I missed playing ball with an incredible longing that ached. Full into graduate school with homework, clinical hours to complete as well as working two jobs, we somehow found a way to squeeze in time to play. John and I bought a bunch of tennis balls and a new mitt – due to the fact that he had out grown his old one. We located the old blue mesh duffle bag of bats and drove to the nearest park just to hit balls. We lived in north central Utah where snow arrives in October and November. Fall, as beautiful as it is, does not last long. We simply made the time. The aching didn’t go away entirely but it was pacified until the weather cleared.

            In the movie, The Rookie, Dennis Quaid plays Jim Morris. Jim Morris was playing ball for a farm team and getting weary from the long days that provided little financial rewards. One evening he walked over to a park to watch some local kids play baseball. In the movie the child in the outfield turns to wave at him. He smiles, waves back, and realizes he get to play baseball every day. Completely changed his perspective.

            In this day and age of super star sports figures receiving audacious amounts of money  as well as adulation for being able to hit or throw a ball, I believe we have lost sight of what playing is really about – having a good time. It is about the fun of just hitting, throwing, or catching the ball. Nothing more.

Kelli McDonald 5/26/2012