If only I had my ‘Dukes of Hazzard’ lunchbox and Trapper Keeper it would have been just like grade school. Not a whole lot has changed since then; I still can’t do long division, girls still run from me, and still I prefer chocolate over white milk. And, my athletic prowess is still far below the standard. A fact that was proved at a recent meeting of the Tippecanoe Canal Jumpers, where I was flooded with memories of always being picked last in gym class.
The Canal Jumpers is a vintage baseball team, which plays under rules from the 1800’s. The balls are pitched slow, often from guys twice my age, and the fielders wear no gloves. I joined last year, finally ready to prove I could succeed at competitive sports.
I never have, nor will I ever be confused for a stellar athlete. I can turn the television on to ESPN but when it comes to much more than that, I’m out of luck. My dream of making the game winning hit in the bottom of the ninth, with the bases loaded and two outs, is nothing more than a wild fantasy. First of all, I would never be allowed to bat in that situation, even if I was the last player available. Secondly, any team I was on wouldn’t be in that close of a game. And for good reason…
The year was 1986. I was in the fifth grade and it was the dreaded week when we played baseball. Almost as bad as rope climbing. Most of the kids had been picked; it was down to just me and a girl that we’ll call Jenny. Now, Jenny was a nice girl, but she had a wooden leg and was blind in one eye. I did beat her in a 50 yard dash so, for her to be picked over me would be forever humiliating— and she was. I still haven’t fully gotten over it, especially remembering that she got two hits and I struck out every time. In my defense, she used her wooden leg to hit with, so she was experienced in handling the bat. I could have gotten her out at first, but I bobbled the ball and she hopped right past me.
All of my life I’ve been waiting for the opportunity to redeem myself, to prove that I was worthy of being picked ahead of Jenny. For that reason, last year I became a member of the Tippecanoe Canal Jumpers, for their premier season.
Believe it or not, I think I broke a league record— the only player without a single hit all season. I also led the league in strikeouts; not as a pitcher, but as a hitter. My fielding was not much better. A rule change was considered just for me, which would allow me to wear a glove.
Now the Canal Jumpers are preparing to start their second season and at a recent meeting, where everyone was assigned their positions, the field was filled and I remained. A special spot was reserved just for me. I have been designated as the official score keeper.
It’s a very important position! The question people ask about a game is not, “How many hits did Mike have?” They ask, “What was the score?” The score is really what it’s all about, and I’ll be in charge of keeping it. If I screw up as the score keeper, there aren’t many more options for me. I’m determined to be the best score keeper in the league! Children in attendance will one day dream of being a score keeper, and somewhere Jenny is jealous.
(For comedic effect parts of the story were fictionalized, but not very much of it)
