A true story about my one and only home run, and boy was it a doozy.
This short, but true , story is about the first and only home run I ever hit while playing baseball as a kid. I was a Navy brat and my parents divorced when I was five, and so I got a bit of a late start in organized sports.
It wouldn’t be until I moved back in with my dad when I was seven almost eight that I would start baseball. I started with coach-pitch, and my dad was one of the coaches.
I vividly remember several moments of this particular trip we took to play a game at a place we had never been. Not only because of the home run, but also what happened prior to that game.
There were four fields at this park surrounded by tall pines, and when we arrived, there were two games in progress on the two little league fields. I think the other two were softball fields.
My dad told me to hang out with the kids playing on one of the softball fields as he had agreed to fill in for a coach on another team that was playing next, and our game was after that one.
I was a really shy kid, and so I just watched the other kids play their sandlot game. Pretty soon, though, a lot of others showed up, waiting for their game, and so they reset the game and picked new teams.
No one on our team knew how to play catcher, and looking back, I’m guessing they were just too afraid to play it without equipment. I had never played that position, having only played shortstop, but I knew I was good at catching the ball. How hard could it be, right?
I’ve always had a knack for emulating what I see, but that does nothing to explain how baseballs move when being pitched. I was doing well for a few innings. Our pitcher was a righty and didn’t have a lot of movement in his pitches.
That was until he decided to throw something different than a fastball. It’s not like I was giving him signals, just catching what he decided to throw. However, this pitch was a doozy and somehow curved upwards, clipping the top of my non-catcher’s glove and slamming right into the outside of my left brow.
I remember it hurt pretty good, but I managed not to cry about it. The pitcher felt really bad, and I think one of the coaches saw it happen and made us stop playing.
It didn’t break the skin, but it left a welt that invaded the periphery of my vision. I don’t remember the pain carrying on for too long, though. As much as I avoided pain, I’ve always been pretty tough, shaking it off soon after as most kids do.
When I told my dad about it, he was angry that I had played and gotten hurt. He wasn’t the yelling type, but would endlessly explain things in a stern manner. Like I knew I was going to get hurt?
Anyways, on to the meat and potatoes… or is it potatos? Damn you Dan Quail!
Jokes aside, this “in-the-park” home run was the most exciting moment I had in baseball, aside from the one-hitter I would pitch two years later.
I put in the quotes for a reason you’ll learn later, but on the books it was a home run. Possibly the most spectacularly scored home run you’ll ever hear about.
It all starts with apprehension. I was used to my dad pitching to me underhand, which was the batter’s option between that and overhand. Our main coach was pitching, and I knew that he didn’t let us choose and only threw overhand.
I remember pleading to my dad as I left the on deck circle, but he was only an assistant coach and was playing first base coach during this game. So, to begin with, I was already nervous, worrying about striking out, which is extra embarrassing in coach-pitch.
I let the first pitch go by, even though it was a strike. He gave me some encouragement before sending the next pitch, and so I swung. I had hit a line drive into center field and it dropped for a base hit, but as I let go of my bat, I accidentally hit the catcher.
The league had just implemented a rule that, if that happens, you’re out. I began to ran, but turned around expecting to see the umpire call me out. I could hear my dad calling to me, telling me to run, and so I did.
Luckily, they well overthrew the first baseman and my dad sent me to second. I knew I would have to slide and I slid head first, but they overthrew second base, sending the ball all the way to the orange plastic, cargo net style fence.
I had never played on a field with fences like that before, and they had explained a rule that, if the ball goes under the fence, all runners stop their progress. I was very much a rule follower back then, and so I stood on second base, though, I soon heard my dad telling me to run, and so I took off for third.
I could see how they were having difficulty getting it from under and behind the fence, but they allowed the play to continue. The third base coach was spinning his arm, telling me to head home. I remember thinking, “I can’t believe this is happening.”
Now, I wasn’t a very fast kid. Later in ninth grade I would run the mile in 5:45, but when I was eight, I wasn’t as athletically developed. Regardless, I took off for home, and I watched as the catcher ripped off his facemask and prepared for the incoming throw.
I had watched “Major League”, and the thought of plowing into the catcher like that player did to Tom Berenger’s character most definitely crossed my mind.
However, believe it or not, they overthrew him too and I slid head first right underneath him. I remember everyone going wild and cheering for me, but I was in shock. Right off the bat, if you pardon the pun, I should’ve been called out for hitting the catcher with my bat. I can only imagine how angry I would be if I were on the other team.
It was like the baseball gods were cheating for me, and making them overthrow not once, not twice, but three times! It was quite spectacular, and most likely the only time I’ve ever seen the ball overthrown three times in one play. It might even be a record for the longest time to score an in-the-park home run.
Thank you so much for reading. Please consider leaving some feedback. Have a wonderful day….[[|:-)
That certainly was a dramatic in the park home run, only possible because a lot of errors in throwing and catching going on. But, was a coach pitching? Sounds like a really bad way to play a pickup game. And he was throwing a softball overhand? That bothers me. But I get the impression that you may have been playing hardball.
While I played a bit of softball with family and friends, I never liked it. I much preferred hardball from the start. And like my uncle, chose to be a pitcher. When my twin brother and I tried to join the Little League in our summer between fifth and sixth grade, we received a lesson in how the wealthy kids got to be on the teams and we didn't.
But when we moved to a hayseed town with no Little League in our summer between seven and eighth grade when we didn't work, we got to play in the city hardball league where the teams were picked randomly. My brother and I were on the same team. When it came to choosing who would take what positions, a loudmouth young braggart took the pitcher away from me.
With him, I recall we won two games and lost sixteen. But on the few days he didn't show up, I pitched and won three out of five. On my best day, I pitched a no-hitter. One of the reasons we didn't win was not my base running, but my uncorrected eyesight. I kept getting a piece of the ball resulting in a pop up or a grounder that got me only to first base. I do recall that Roger with his new glasses was hitting longer balls and once got a double. Dad told me I threw a natural curve. He played softball into his late 50s. I never played baseball again.
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