Heads Up!

John J. Smith                                                                    About 3500 words
7134 Hwy 100                                                                  First Serial Rights
Nashville, TN 37221                                                        © 2012 John J Smith
Tel. [phone]

Heads Up
    by
John J Smith

It was a typical hot and humid August day in Levittown, PA. The high would hit 98 degrees, humidity about 65 percent. A great day for Baseball!

My best friend Petey, and I were sitting behind the equipment room at the ball park, smoking  Pall Mall cigarettes.  At the ripe old age of 13, I was already smoking about half a pack a week, all borrowed or stolen. None bought. As we sat there in the shade of the growing heat, in our cotton-wool blend uniforms 2 hours before game time the world was pretty simple; booze, broads, cigarettes and baseball. Basketball when baseball season was over.

We played on a field across from the Levittown Shopping Center with its black macadam parking lot, lined with white stripes indicating where to park . The shopping mall housed some of the biggest stores of the day; Sears, WT Grants, Pomeroy’s and others. The Blue Laws of Pennsylvania didn’t allow the stores to be open on Sundays, except for drug stores, so there was very little traffic today. 

The baseball field was on the South side of the shopping mall.  It had a  dirt infield that would get very dry and dusty in August.  Every once in a while a game would be held up if a strong gust of wind developed and dirt and sand would swirl like little tornadoes, stopping play. The outfield was a combination of grass and weeds; mostly weeds. The only fencing on the field was the backstop behind home plate. The dugouts were plain wooden benches, the kind without a back, just couple of 2 x 4’s on legs. The field offered no shade at all, except for behind the equipment room where Petey and I were sitting. The shade only lasted until about 1 PM when the sun would be high in the sky. It would then begin to roll to the shopping center side of the building.

The bases and pitching mound were at professional dimensions – 90 ft. between bases, 60 ft 6 inches from the pitcher’s mound to home plate. If a ball was hit hard enough and got past the outfielders, it would wind up on the macadam parking lot and it would roll forever. There were no stands for the fans to sit which was OK because very few, if any,  would came to watch the games.

I did spot my father at one of my games the first year I was in the league. He didn’t stay long. He left when I got into a fist fight with an opposing player that slid, in my opinion, too hard into third. After the third base coach intervened, I looked up and saw my dad walking back to his car. He never came to a game again. We never talked about it either.

On this particular Sunday, we were playing “O’Conner’s” which was a garbage pick up company. The O’Conner’s team was  managed by Mr. Burns.  He was a small, soft spoken, gray haired man with a friendly face. The star of the team was Mr. Burn’s son Ricky.  Ricky was the exact opposite of his father. A big, loud mouthed,  brown haired kid with a face that, as my Mother would say, “looked like a smacked ass.”

Petey and I had previously played for a team in Little League managed by Mr. Burns. Ricky was the star of that team too. I liked Mr. Burns. I hated little Ricky. He was a stuck up, spoiled little piece of crap that always had to be the center of attention. So Petey and I made him the butt of our jokes and the center of dissension. We both wondered why Mr. Burns hadn’t picked us to play for his Babe Ruth team. I guess if we had thought about it any at all, the reasons would have been obvious.

Petey and I pretty much knew every kid on the O’Conner’s team. Besides Piece of Crap Ricky there was the catcher, Eddie “Lard Ass” Graboski. Bennie “Stretch” Silverman on first. Manny “The Mouse” Mulligan on second. Richie Koslick at short. Some short fat kid on Third. Stan the Man Ponsic in Left.  Stanley “The Splinter” Selman in center. And Rich “Lefty” Mercantanti in right. This was pretty much the same team Petey and I played with for 3 years in Little League, except I was the 3rd baseman instead of the short fat kid.  Petey, well, Petey was the back up and only played because they had to play him. League rules were that every kid had to play at least one inning in the field and have one at-bat. The same rules applied in Babe Ruth.

In little League we won the League Championship, going undefeated in our last year. Our current team, O’Boyles Ice Cream, was on the smelly end of the same stick. We were 0 and 10 at this stage of the season. The good news was there were only a couple of games left and basketball was starting soon.

Needless-to-say, Petey and I were a little pissed that Mr. Burns didn’t pick us in the draft. That’s how we wound up on this thrown together, ragtag, loser of a team.

Not being one to pass on a good grudge, this game wasn’t important in any way except that it was against Mr. Burns and company and because Piece of Crap Ricky was pitching. Piece of Crap was a actually a pretty good pitcher, even though he only had two pitches, a terrific curve ball and a real hard fast ball they were effective at this level of baseball,  and he usually threw them for strikes. Our pitcher, Brandon “Bad News” Jacobs, was good also. Brandon unfortunately was strapped with a team that couldn’t score runs and made a lot of errors in the field. He would pitch no hitters into the 6th and 7th innings only to lose because we would find ways to let the opposing team score. Hence, his nickname Bad News.

This was a typical O’Boyle’s game. Bad News had really pitched well but ran out of steam in the 6th when he walked a batter who eventually scored on a Ricky Burns double. We, O’Boyle’s, got a couple of men on base earlier, a hit batter and 2 soft singles but where unable to score on that Piece of Crap.

Behind by one run in the bottom of the 7th and last inning, with 2 outs, I found myself at bat having already gone 0 for 3. Never, in my entire Babe Ruth career had I gone 0 for 4.  I knew I had to concentrate and at least hit the ball solid and hard.  Not only to keep my streak going but to at least try to get a run to tie up this game up and not lose.

Ricky quickly got two strikes on me.  Instinctively, I knew he would try to strike me out with his best pitch, his fast ball. Sure enough there it was, right in the center of the plate.
It looked as big as beach ball as it came out of his hand and toward the plate.  I swung with all the strength I had while, in my mind, seeing it fly straight and long, splitting the outfielders, hitting the ground and rolling to the hard top. I saw myself rounding the bases, triumphantly crossing home plate tying the game while Piece of Crap Ricky and Mr. Burns looking on in amazement and admiration; Both of them wishing they had picked me to play on their team.

Instead, what actually happened is that I swung as hard as I could, but I only made partial contact with the ball and it rolled harmlessly down the right side of the first base line.  “Foul ball’ yelled the ump.. Ricky cursed under his breath, frustrated because he thought he had struck me out.

Stretch, the first baseman for O’Conner’s, picked the ball up in foul territory and flipped it back to Ricky. “ That’s OK Ricky” he said “ He can’t hit you. Strike him out.” Ricky grinned and walked back to the mound to make another pitch. I knew he would throw his fast ball again. Ricky was arrogant and not very smart. He scratched his butt and went into his windup, reared back and threw the ball as hard as he possibly could. It came screaming toward the plate and I, once again, swung with all of my might.

This time I made a little better contact but not much. The ball took one big hop in front of the plate and rolled toward the pitcher in fair territory. The catcher, Lard Ass,, tossed his mask aside as I took off for first, running as fast as I could. I was expecting to see Stretch reaching for the ball as I approached the  base but instead, I saw his eyes grow big.  A shocked expression took over his thin, long face.

By the time I reached the bag, Stretch was laughing his butt off and pointing toward home. I touched the base and turned to see what was so funny, while at the same time realizing that I was safe at first.

I looked back and there was Lard Ass with his face buried in the dirt, his butt sticking straight up in the air and the ball resting against his neck and shoulder. The Umpire was standing over him and just watching. Ricky was running in from the mound shouting at Lard Ass “Get the ball, Get the ball!”

Apparently, when Lard Ass jumped up to chase the ball down, he stepped on my bat, which I had dropped on my way to first. He stumbled and  fell face first in the dirt and was now unable to move.

“Interference!” “Interference,” yelled Mr. Burns at the umpire. “His bat caused interference! The batter is out. ”The umpire looked at Mr. Burns, then at the bat, then at Lard Ass and finally at me. He thought for a minute, looked at Mr. Burns again and thought some more. “Safe” he finally said, “the batter is safe.” “ The bat was in the batters box when your catcher stepped on it. No interference.”

Soft spoken Mr. Burns jumped up and down screaming “No Way, No Way. That was interference!”  The umpire waved his mask in the air, gesturing the safe sign. The batter is safe, that’s my call. No more arguments.” 

“That’s bullshit’ yelled the normally soft spoken Mr. Burns, “that’s bullshit” as he stomped back to the bench.

Lard Ass, in the mean time, still with his face buried in the dirt,  rolled over on his back.  Piece of Crap picked up the ball and walked back to the mound mumbling something all the way, ignoring his teammate still lying on the ground.

The umpire helped Lard Ass to his feet and picked up his mask.  “Are you OK?” he asked.  “Yeah” said Lard Ass, brushing the dirt from his uniform. “But that was interference.” “Nah” the ump said, “the bat was in foul territory, you stepped on it. No interference.”

Stretch and I were laughing it up on first.  He and I had been good friends a while back.  We played basketball together from 4th grade into high school. Stretch was a pretty good basketball player and probably would have been a star if we hadn’t got thrown off the team. Seems Stretch and I got caught catching a smoke behind the gym by Mr. Clark, the basketball coach, and he immediately dismissed us from the team. Stretch’s parents thought I was a bad influence and told him they didn’t want to see me around anymore.  So he and I would run into each other occasionally and have a laugh or two.  Stretch had a bad habit of constantly looking over his shoulder. It was as if someone was watching him. I don’t know why.







It was at this point that I saw Petey walking from the on deck circle to the batter’s box. “Ah Shit” I thought, He was my best friend but Petey couldn’t hit a horse’s ass with a fly swatter. As it turned out,  Petey hadn’t had his turn at bat in the game yet.  Being the last inning, our coach had no choice. Petey had to bat or we would forfeit the game.

Although a fun guy, he wasn’t much of an athlete. In fact Petey was one of those kids who was still searching for something to be good at. He and I had been friends ever since I could remember.  His parents also thought I was a bad influence but Petey didn’t care what they thought.  After a while his parents gave up telling him not to hang around with me. It might have also been because I was his only friend.

Petey claimed that his batting average was 250. My guess was that he didn’t have a batting average because I couldn’t ever remember him getting a hit or even getting on base on an error. That and the fact that Petey was mathematically challenged and probably didn’t know what an average really meant. Suffice to say, my hopes weren’t real high that he would drive me in. I knew I had to take it upon myself to score.

Petey step into the batter’s box.

Piece of Crap was now back on the mound and ready to pitch. Lard Ass took his position behind the plate and the umpire yelled “time in.”

To my surprise, Piece of Crap went in to a full wind up, not paying any attention to me on first base. As soon as I realized this, I took off to steal second and made it standing up without getting a throw from the catcher.

Rickey’s pitch was a strike - right passed Petey, who never took the bat off his shoulder.  When I looked in to home, there was Petey looking all perturbed with his hands held out as if to say, “what are you doing? You distracted me.”

“What the hell.” I thought to myself and flipped Petey the bird.

Just as I did, I saw the umpire behind the plate looking directly at me. “Time” he called as he walked out from behind home plate and directly toward me on second base.  “Excuse me” he said when he reached second base “What was that I just saw you do? Were you giving me the finger?”

“No sir” I said. “ I  was giving my teammate the hand signal that I am going to steal third base on the next pitch.” The ump looked at me for what seemed like five minutes. “Be careful son, he said, you are on thin ice with me.”

“Yes Sir,” I said.

The ump walked slowly back to his position behind the plate, looking back at me every few steps. As he did, I looked over at Mousey, the second baseman. Mousey had a big grin on his face and sort of laughing to himself. When he saw me looking at him he quickly gave me the finger. I smiled one of those Ha! Ha! Smiles.  When I looked to the other side at Rick Koslick, the shortstop, he also had a smirk of admiration on his face.

Trying to gain some sort of concentration, I focused back on the pitcher. That’s when I noticed Piece of Crap on the mound staring back at me. No smirk. No admiration. Only a knowing look.

So I flipped him the finger. Although this time not in jest.

After the ump called for play to begin, Rickey looked at me and grinned. He then went into a stretch knowing what was going to happen. He knew I had to try to steal third. 
I took a small lead off second, looking directly at Ricky on the mound going through his motions. Once he stopped his motion and looked back at me, I faked a move to third.

Thinking I was going, Rickey turned and threw to third instead of home.  I stopped and just walked back to second and flipped him the bird again.

Petey jumped in and yelled at Rickey, “come on man. Are you afraid to pitch to me fat ass?”
Ricky chuckled and yelled back “Yeah right, I’m afraid to pitch to you, you dumb fuck.”

“Quit messing around Ricky” Mr. Burns yelled to his son, “Just get the batter and let’s go home.”

Everything set again, Rickey went back into a stretch position. I took a short lead as he looked back at me. As soon as he turned back toward home, I took off for third. Rickey continued with his motion and fired home, another strike passed Petey; right down the middle of the plate. Petey’s bat never moved.

“Strike two” yelled the ump.

Petey looked at me as I held up my arms as if to say “What the hell are you doing?”
I knew this was it.  Ricky would throw a strike, Petey wouldn’t swing and the game would be over with me standing on third base.

“No way” I thought, it ain’t ending this way.

“OK Ricky, “ yelled Mr. Burns again, “One more strike and we win.”

Rickey had a big grin on his face as he began his windup. As soon as he started his motion, I took off running for home. If I had could get to home before the ball I would be safe and at least tie the game.

I ran as fast as I had ever run in my life. As I approached home I looked to my left to see where Rickey was and where the ball was. I knew it was going to be very close.

I dove head first with both my hands stretched out in front of me.

For the first time in his life, Petey decide to swing the bat. Whether it was my hand signals from third base or Rickey’s mocking response, something made Petey decide to swing.

I’m not sure what happened after that, everything went dark.

The next thing I remembered I was sitting on home plate. Mr. Burns and the umpire were holding me up and asking if I was OK. “Why are they asking me this?” I thought, and who are these guys?

After a bit of  time, I stood up and things started to  make sense. I suddenly remembered Mr. Burns and the ump. I told them I was OK. They asked a couple of more times which started to piss me off. “Yeah, I’m fucking OK, OK?” “Let me go!” I knew that if you used profanity most adults would be stunned and flabbergasted. Then they would turn and walk to their car.

I saw Petey standing off to the side and his face was flushed, like he just saw a ghost.
“What’s the matter wit you” I asked as I walked toward him.
“Jesus man, I thought I killed you. I was scared as hell.”
“What were you scared of? If you killed me, nobody would be able to show you how to git home, dumbass?”
“Aw man Moe, you’re my best friend man. I don’t know what I’d do wit out ya man.”
“I know what you’d do, asshole. You’d die of starvation, masturbation or from lack of oxygen because you had your head up your ass for too long;  all self-inflicted you jackass.”

We walked away from the crowd back toward the bench to get our gloves.

That’s when I found out what happened.

Apparently when Petey swung, he missed the ball by a mile. But he caught me squarely in the helmet knocking me unconscious. The pitch was a strike and the ump called Petey out.

Game over. We lost again.

“Man I swear you made it to the base before the ball,” Petey said. “You were safe.”

“The game should be tied.”

“Shit Petey, you hit me in the freaking head didn’t you? The one time you freaking hit sumpin and it’s me you hit, you freaking idiot.”  “Shit man, that hurt.” “How long was I out?”

“Not long” he said, “Just a couple of minutes or so. Sorry man, didn’t mean it.”

“Give me a smoke and let’s get out of here/” I said.

“ I feel like stealing some beer and finding the girls.”  “You?” He asked.
“Yeah let’s get some beer and find some broads,” I said.  I liked using the term “Broads” because Sinatra always said “Broads.” It made me feel like Sinatra. “But let’s get outta these uniforms first, I feel like a clown dressed in this shit.”

“Either that or we could stand in front of the drug store in the shopping center and ask for money for the league.” Petey said as if he just had a great idea.
“Hell no, that con is getting old. We’ll get caught if we keep playing that lame scam” I said, “Let’s just steal some beer, it’s easier.” “Just don’t hit me in the head with anything, asshole.”

“Shit man, if your head was the baseball, we would have won that game.”