A First Time Pitcher

When I was younger I had some speed, so I was always banished to the wilderness of center field, far away from the fans. Like most young and foolish people trying to make a name for themselves, I was always jealous of our pitcher Golden Arm because all eyes were on him for every pitch, striking his godlike pose on the mound with a defiant smirk on his face that made Charlton Heston look like a wimp. I figure this must be why Golden Arm is so popular with the ladies, so I was hoping someday maybe I would get a chance to try pitching, but I knew I would never get the chance as long as Golden Arm was around, because he had been pitching for a long time. Rumor has it that he was the one who taught Hoyt Wilhelm’s father how to throw a knuckleball.

On a hot muggy day in late July, my dream finally came true. We were playing the last place team and Golden Arm had such distain for them that he refused to waste his talents on them and risk fatiguing his golden arm, especially because it was hot and muggy, so he finally let me pitch. Ah yes, at last, my big chance. I figure if I can pitch a shutout, I might get to pitch more often. Since we were playing the last place team, several of our other players were also trying new positions, but nevertheless I had the utmost confidence that our fine athletes would be able to adapt to any position, except of course pitching, which today was mine alone.

Okay, here comes the first batter. How do you like my Charlton Heston stance? Here, see if you can hit this, you turkey….ah, an easy ground ball to our diminutive second baseman, which gallops merrily into right field after passing thru the tiny arch formed by his legs. I did not think a 16 inch softball could fit thru there. No problem, we will get the next guy. This time it is a grounder between first and second and these two infielders, gentlemen that they were, would not dream of getting in each other’s way, so they stand there looking at each other as the ball once again gallops merrily into right field. Aww, just throw the ball to second base…don’t throw it to third…he did not throw it to third, he threw it into the spectators. Well, there goes the shutout. Next comes an easy ground ball to the shortstop, and then you hear lots of ooohs and aaahs as this time the throw airmails the spectators. Another ground ball to the shortstop, and as he carefully lines up his throw, the ball slips out of his hands and rolls feebly back to the mound. I am getting dizzy watching runners circling the bases. At last a ground ball to the pitcher. I am not going to risk any more throws, so I run over to try to tag the runner who tries to slide at the same time and the other team thinks I knocked him down, so they began to call me some very vile names, and casting considerable doubt upon my ancestry.

A few innings later, the insults have died down and I have once again assumed my Charlton Heston stance, and the defense was rearranged to prevent a repeat of the first inning. Another slow ground ball between first and second. I notice the first baseman fielding the ball so I run over to cover first base. But then the first baseman runs toward the base to make the putout himself, and I foresee a 3 way collision coming up, so I stop short. Aww, what did you throw the ball to me for? Now the first baseman is all shook up and apologetic. It is becoming hard to look cool under these conditions. Next comes a hard grounder to the third baseman. Nice pickup, perfect throw. Our shook up first baseman drops it. Then comes a texas leaguer flyball to short left. Our left fielder makes a nice running catch and we have the runner doubled off first. Nice throw on one bounce to our shook up first baseman. Aww, don’t juggle it. By the time he gets it under control, he stretches too far and falls, pulling his foot off the base and the runner gets back safely. Another ground ball to third. Try for a double play. Good throw, but the second baseman trying to turn the double play, tries to throw it before he catches it and drops it. Another grounder to third. The third baseman starts to throw it to first, but I bellowed at the top of my lungs to step on the base instead, and he sheepishly tiptoes over to step on the bag to get the force. Now he was shook up too. Next inning we put him in the outfield where he drops two consecutive fly balls.

By now I am pinching myself hoping that this is only a nightmare. I am trying my best to make them hit the ball nowhere else but to the pitcher. An infield popup to our shook up first baseman, please please catch it! He did, he really caught it! Yes! I am so overjoyed that the first baseman is hacked off at me for being sarcastic, saying "You expected something else?" Our astute shortstop thinks this is pretty funny, so he is in hysterics. I never had to watch any plays anymore, all I had to do was listen to the shortstop. If he is laughing, the runner must have been safe for some reason, for which I could not bear to look. It is now the last inning, the bases are loaded, we are only up by one run, and there is only one out. One more base hit for them would win the game.

Even though my earned run average was still zero, Golden Arm had seen enough, so he calls himself out of the bullpen to put out the fire. The next batter smokes a hard line drive into the chest of our third baseman with a resounding thud, but he held on for the out, and then spent the rest of the game rubbing his chest with the facial expression of one who had just sucked a lemon. Two outs. The next batter hits a long one and our left fielder looks like a wide receiver on a post pattern as he stretches out to make a diving catch going away.

Game over. Golden Arm had put out the fire on just 2 pitches, and notified me that because I was not able to stop the other team, the experiment was over, my fate once again was to be banished forever into the wilderness of center field, while on the mound the ladies man would continue to do his thing.