As with many young American boys born before 1995 I participated in a number of sports teams. These may have been a vain attempt by my parents to keep me away from that magic glass box that I love so much. But, it was to no avail. Out of the sports openly available for young non-talents such as myself, I only played in to leagues. Once of which, was one of Japan's most popular sports: Baseball.
Yes I was entered to be a on a baseball squadron. My brother played on one many years before I, and I remember him saying how much he hated his coach. Also, that the only time he and his teammates had a good time while playing a game was when the coach was absent from the game (likely due to a severe Orangutan related incident.) On that occasion they were led by the assistant coach, who was well liked among the children, and encouraged them when they slipped up instead of running at them with one of those boards with a nail in it by Wammo.
It would be some time after this that I would try my hand at the competitive field of baseball. All I mostly remember from my brother's tenure in baseball was the snacks they would receive after their practice was over. I would scamper over to the ice chest lined with barrel shaped drinks and ho-ho's and become a small leech and take whatever snacks I could get and stuff down my gob before the parents could swipe me away.
Several years down the line, I felt the need that it was my time to play that sport that is very popular in Latin America. Though in all actuality I was not entered into the normal spring season of play, but rather the "Fall Ball" league, where the good players kept themselves from getting rusty, and the crap players were actually admitted onto the field. This was my place. The team itself was not the most horrible group of outcasts and delinquents that you might find in a children's baseball movie, so that was my first sign that this wasn't going to be as fun as the Bad News Bears. Unlike my brother's team, our coach was a rather nice fellow and was rather encouraging in our wanting to play the sport, and I actually enjoyed playing. Also, our team was the only one which had a girl on the squad, so we fit the sports movie formula even more.
As I was far from skillful, I was only placed in the outfield, as it was less essential that I have fantastical skills to get a player from the opposing team out. Plus, for some reason I was never able to throw the ball in a straight line, I always had to take an alternate route in which to propel that sphere of horse leather. Whenever I actually received the ball, and needed to pass it to the infield, I would have to throw it at an upward angle, making a parabola. The ball would always make it to the person I threw it to, but alas perhaps not as quickly as it would had it been thrown by someone who had an arm.
One of my main memories was the only run I ever scored directly. I was rarely up to bat, so every time I did get the chance to swing the bat, I cherished it. The team did score a few RBIs thanks to me, but I never got past the short stop. But at one point I somehow was propelled to second base, and there was a decent batter at the plate, so I waited like a child in line for the rocket cars at a carnival. Suddenly the bat made contact, and the ball flew over my head, and I started pumping my crazy legs. I rounded third, and bolted (relative term) down to home. Knowing that his was likely my only chance at scoring, I decided to make it as action packed as possible. So, I decided to slide (another chance I didn't learn.) Following my adeptness, I tried to slide on my knees like a rock star, rather than on one leg like a baseball player.
As the dust cleared it was revealed that I had stopped about two yards from the actual target. So in a spasm of excitement I scrambled to the home plate, taking all of the grace out of my attempt to be cool, continuing my streak of awkward un athleticism. Needless to say, the team didn't make it to the little league world championship in Japan.
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