Left Field

I did not want to play baseball. I was afraid of fast balls. My Uncle William Clark, a semi pro ball player would visit us summers, pitching fast balls to me, stinging my palm, busting my lip. When we moved to Kentucky in my fifth grade year, that summer, my friends all played baseball. I wanted no part of it. There was a tall, black pitcher on the Reds named Sam I feared to face, another William Clark. But the boys of Wilmore talked me into it, telling coach to pick me, and so I became a Little League Cub. Being a leftie I wound up in left field, which suited me, far from the action as possible. I was a terrible batter with an .097 average. I cringed when the announcer made that known to all. I did all I knew not to play, but despite my lack of batting skills, I was moved to first base, another good position for a left hander. Now I was part of the action on nearly every play. I even had my dad buy me a Ted Williams first baseman mitt at Sears. I did ok, making few errors. Still I persisted in trying not to face the fast balls. I told my dad the coach cussed. My dad to my embarrassment confronted the coach about it. I never tried that tactic again! What the "heck" was I thinking?

It was that same evening we faced the Reds and their ebony fast baller Sam. I could hear my dad cheering. We were behind. We had two on base. I nervously came up 9th in the order. And there went that announcer, "batting .097, first baseman John Stokes." I did not expect anything different to improve on that fact. All other at bats were strike outs. Sam wound up with two strikes and the former cursing Coach gave me the go ahead to swing. I closed my eyes and swung, hitting to my amazement a ground ball between first and second. It got past the infield. With my running speed I made it to second, the center fielder dropped the ball. With two RBI's, the third base coach motioned me on. I rounded third, the ball was dropped again, he motioned me home. By the time the short stop gained control over the hot potato, I had made it home. My only home run! My only hit for that matter.

It was a score keepers nightmare to plot. We won the game, beating  the lip busting Sam and the Reds. I still have the mitt. One home run, two RBI's, improved on that .097 average.

Damn he was a good coach.