February 13, 2005

Creeping Nostalgia, Part MMCXXXVIII

Matt Welch showed
the way down the path of Secret Histories of Youth Baseball, and so I have chosen to follow that road to its inevitable conclusion, namely, that of "What The Fuck Happened To My Hair?":

Ye know not what ye have unleashed, O Welched One. Anyway, I think my "career" batting average languished around .222 (and that's with aluminum bats, folks), with plenty of K's and diminishing field time. Stole plenty of bases (and moreover, whenever the hell I wanted to) when the distance was only 60 feet to each base. Got thrown out stealing home once when my dad was coaching third (instead of his normal scorekeeping duties). Got totally bent and threw equipment for the first and last time when I only had 2/3 inning's worth of play. Chawed lots of Big League Chew. Only got to bat against my best friend's pitching a few times, but I only remember a double down the left-field line.

Still, the most memorably perverse part of it all is the smell. See, the Del Obispo Youth Baseball field is near the Dana Point sewage treatment plant. Baseball will always smell like shit to me, for better or worse, Selig or no, and that was before failing to make the high school team for three years in a row (not counting winter ball one year).

Mmm, spring training is just around the corner...

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