While trying to fall asleep, I was thinking about our game the next day. We were playing for the championship of our high school fraternity league. Our opponents were an impressive bunch, because their roster included just about every varsity athlete at school.
I figured the odds against us were about ten to one. As I fantasized about the outcome, I concluded that I could tolerate a loss, but a slaughter would be hard to accept.
We were playing 16 inch softball. a game which started in Chicago and continues to be the center for the sport. In fact, the city is the home of the 16 Inch Softball Hall of Fame. So far, they haven’t called me.
We were playing at Thillens Stadium on the north side of the city. Primarily it was used for Little League games, but it’s dimensions were suitable for adult games as well.
I was 17 years old at the time, and to me, this game was the equivalent of the seventh game of the World Series at Yankee Stadium. As members of both teams arived at the field, all players were dressed in their uniforms. It occured to me that our only area of superioty was our dress, really sharp black and red duds with buckles on the back of the pants, a reflection of the style of the time.
I felt some pressure before the game, not only due to the quality of our opponents, but because my family and about 25 of my closest relatives were in the stands. So was my date for the senior prom and many friends from school, I didn’t wish to be humiliated in front of so many people I knew.
The game was scheduled for seven innings, and the first two were scoreless. It was like two boxers feeling each other out during the first couple of rounds before getting down to business. The real action started in the bottom of the third. Our opponents had loaded the bases with two outs.
The batter was probably the best all around athlete at our school. After graduation, he received a full scholarship to play basketball at the University of Louisville, and he excelled at tennis as well. This was the guy who stood confidently at the plate with the bases loaded. Our pitcher urged the outfielders to take a few steps back toward the fences.
One of the unique things about 16 inch softball is that there are ten players on a team The extra one is the short center fielder who plays behind second base, close enough to field grounders hit up the middle and far enough to grab short fly balls to the outfield. It’s where I played that day.
The count went to three and two before the batter swung. He got under it and lifted a short fly ball to left. The left fielder, playing so deep, didn’t have a chance of reaching it, so it was on me. It was like magic. I took off and made a diving catch to retire the side.
I couldn’t help but look toward my dad. He had a broad smile and was pumping his fist. I didn’t kmow it at the time, but he had made a $20 bet with the father of one of our opponents. Had I known, I would have told dad about getting some odds.
We started our half of the inning in a promising way. Our first two batters got on base, second and third, to be precise. The next two popped up harmlessly, one to their shorftstop and the other to their third baseman. So, I was up with two on and two out.
So, scoring some runs was my immediate responsibility. To my surprise, I enjoyed it. There I was with a real chance to drive in some runs and put us in the lead.
Right handed batters like me have to practice hard hitting the ball to the opposite field, which in my case was right field. You’ve got to wait on the ball and swing late. It helps if you get a pitch that is on the outside corner. I got one and cracked a line drive double over the first baseman’s head to drive in both runners and give us the lead.
Our opponents turn at bat looked like trouble. They got two singles and had men on first and third with one out. The next guy up hit a liner in my direction. I nabbed it and tossed it to first for a double play to end the inning. I passed their shortstop on the way to our dugout and he said, “Alan, you’re killing us.” I smiled, because I knew he wsas right
In the fifth, our opponents tied the game, but we scored two in the seventh to walk off with victory. Dad gave me ten bucks, half of his winnings, and the keys to the car so I could take my girlfriend out for ice cream sodas. On the way to ice cream parlor, she told me that the guy sitting next to her said I was the best player on the field. My feeling is that on that particular day, for that game at Thillens Stadium, he might have been right. Two weeks later I got my trophy. On the front, the words “Most Valuable Player”were inscribed.
The events described in this story happened seventy years ago, and that is the wonderful thing about the game. Guys like me who are never going to be major leaguers can enjoy playing and come away with memories tha last forever. Fact is, J played until I was well into my forties, and some of my teammates were over fifty. We showed up every Sunday morning with tape over our weak spots to play16 inch softball, the game we learned as kids and continued to enjoy until the bats got too heavy and the bases too far apart.
Now, I’m old and somewhat infirm, and I’d give alot if I could play two seven inning games roaming out in left field and taking my cuts at the plate. All of that is impossible, of course, but the memories are mine forever.