James Etheridge

So far, this has been a spring and summer of baseball for Jackie and I. From the time he played Tee-ball, we have always gone to her grandson Gavin’s games. He has blossomed into a splendid player, alternating between shortstop, pitcher and first base. He batted leadoff this season and after taking batting lessons over the winter, learned to hit for power. He hit five home runs over the fence and out of the yard, the first coming in his very first at-bat of the season. Gavin played on a good team, the Red Sox, and they finished in second place. He was picked up for the playoffs by the All-Star team. They lost in the second round, but it was a great year overall. Next season he will move up to the big field and the 13-14 age bracket. It will be an adjustment, but I’m sure he’ll be up to the challenge.

Jackie and I began to plan our weeks around the ball games. It is so much fun to watch them at this age level, when they are beginning to really play. We recently went to a Braves game with friends and I seriously think it is more fun watching the kids than the big leaguers. It’s a lot less expensive and you still get an afternoon or evening of good baseball.

I picked Gavin up from school one afternoon back in May and on the way home we were talking baseball. I asked him which positions he liked best and he said shortstop and first base. I told him I played first base growing up. “You played baseball?” he asked. “Yes,” I replied. “From the time I was seven until I was thirteen. When I got into high school, I dropped baseball and played football.”
“What about college?”
“No, I wasn’t good enough to play in college.”

The truth is, I wasn’t even good enough to play baseball in high school. I did all right until I was thirteen and moved up to the big field. By that time, guys were starting to throw nasty curves, exploding sliders and breaking change-ups that would buckle your knees. I even had trouble hitting a straight fastball, because by then they were coming in at 70-80 mph. I got stuck playing right field and figured out pretty quickly that baseball had passed me by. By the time school started in the fall, all I was interested in was football, girls and cars, not necessarily in that order.

I did start playing softball in the early Eighties. I loved it and finally got to play the position I had always wanted to play, catcher. I never was allowed to play it during the baseball years because I’m left-handed. That didn’t matter in softball. I loved playing catcher and lived for a throw from left field and a play at the plate. Before one game I decided I wanted to look like the cool ballplayers on TV, so I stopped on the way to the ballpark and bought a bag of Beech-Nut Wintergreen chewing tobacco. Before my first at-bat, I put a big plug in my mouth and strode to the plate. I hit a double, really just a single that I legged out into a double. I slid low and hard into second and the plug of Beech-Nut shot down my throat. I stood on second and began feeling nauseous. Then the June heat really started to bear down and nausea turned into sick as a dog. I called time, staggered out into shallow centerfield and began puking my guts out. The umpires, players and even people in the bleachers were all falling out laughing. I regained my composure and returned to second base. As I took my position behind the plate at the bottom of the inning, the umpire looked at me and laughed. “You feeling better?” he asked. “I think so,” I said. The batter looked at me and said, “You still look a little green to me.” “Yeah,” I replied. “I won’t try that again.” It was the first and last time I ever chewed tobacco.

I played softball up until the mid-Nineties. My buddy popped his Achilles tendon rounding first on a routine play and wound up in a cast and on crutches. That scared me. I started thinking maybe I should hang them up. I played one more game and after that began spending my Saturdays in the pool, sipping a cold one and listening to the Braves on the radio.

Over this spring and into the summer, Jackie and I began watching baseball movies. We watched all the great ones, The Sandlot, Major League, Bull Durham, The Natural, The Bad News Bears and Field of Dreams. I recently asked which was her favorite. I think she leaned toward The Natural. I have to go with my all-time, go-to movie, Bull Durham.

So for now, baseball season is over. We will continue to pay attention to the Braves, but our Field of Dreams is at City Pond Park in Covington, Georgia. The kids all dream of being big-leaguers one day. And we, the parents and grandparents in the stands in the chill of the spring and the heat of the summer, giving up dinner at home for ballpark hot dogs, hamburgers and French fries. We are there not only because we love our kids, but also because we love the game. We dream of the days of our youth, when we were one of the ones on the field. Hopefully Gavin will play in the fall. If so, we will be there, cheering him and his teammates on. And I will never yell at the ump that I’ve seen better eyes on a potato. Although, I have been tempted to do so more than a few times. Batter up, play ball!