Village Squire, 1979-07, Page 18"It dang well did not."
"Awright, you ask the ump, see."
From the sidelines. "Aw gee, Slim was tying his shoelace. He
didn't see nuthin' of the play."
More chewing and then someone would yell, "C'mon, play
ball. Let the big baby have his base."
The catcalls might shame Charlie into giving up the base if he
had been bluffing. The game would go on.
There were the shallow flies that everyone charged with yells
of, "I got it! I got it!" These on occasion ended in a mid -field
collision. Worse, everyone left it to George, amid howls and
catcalls as the ball landed safely between three players rooted to
the ground.
I recall an afternoon when "Rabbit Legs" Leggett who had
been drowsing on first without a leadoff was awakened by a
solid crack from the bat of Fatso MacDonald. He took off like the
animal he was named after and by the time the plump Fatso had
steamed into first, "Rabbit Legs" was only two long strides from
home plate.
Did you ever play ball with eleven on a side? We did on
occasion rather than leave anyone out in the cold. If the little
guys were at the plate, it was understood that the pitcher was to
give them a ball they could hit.
We played without masks or gloves or fancy bags. On a given
day third base might be an abandoned hat with a stone to weigh
it down, home plate an empty picnic box. The balls, soft and on
occasion breaking at a seam were usually handdowns from big
brothers, unless some lucky lad happened to have a birthday. No
one worried about innings. We just played on until bones or
hunger got the best of us, or someone, as the shadows
lengthened, shouted, "Hey, Clancey, What time is it? I got to
get home early to cut the grass for Pop? Clancey was the only lad
with a watch. As you could guess, errors were common enough
to let scores run into the thirties.
Best of all there were no snarly adult coaches with their
mistaken Nazi SS Corps notions of instilling the stupid idea that
GAMES HAD TO BE WON. Team loyalty was something we
would not have understood, or, maybe understood too well to
accept. Why if the twins were on one side and had to go home
early, we just swapped one of the players to make it even again. I
never recall dragging myself home at the end of a day with the
feeling of having lost. We played ball, played our hearts out, just
for the fun of playing.
Earlier, 1 refered to being a duffer. It did not stop me from
having fun, though I never fanned anyone when it came my turn
to pitch during a game of Scrub. Once only did I get around the
bases, and only then because a centre fielder let the ball go
through his hands, but I like to cherish the myth that I hit the ball
that day so hard he could not handle it.
Now I won't say that some of the lads of that day did not dream
of being Babe Ruths, Honus Wagners or Tris Speakers. If I recall
correctly three of the old gang did make it to the Juniors and one
to a Senior city team. For most of us tho who were young and full
of beans, games, whether baseball in summer, soccer in the fall
or hockey in winter, were for fun and fun alone.
George Orwell would have given us his unqualified
endorsement. Long ago in one of his finest essays he argued that
the Olympic games had long lost their meaning and that they
promoted more ill will than good fellowship. He has never
successfully been refuted.
I have no tears to shed for youth long gone. I save them for the
kids today who are driven by misguided parents, bullied by
unfeeling coaches into thinking that winning is all that games are
about. We have so abandoned our ideals that we even dope
athletes as we once doped horses so they may clip 1/100 th of a
second of some silly record. Hockey has descended to the level of
a barroom brawl. It is now a game where we honour men little
better than thugs. The gentlemen of that once great game,
Taylor, Bouchet, Primeau, Henry and Apps, are forgotten.
Before it is too late, let's return to the days when games were
fun.
16 Village Squire, July 1979
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TREES...THE GREEN LINK
It used to be
you were a freak
if you were fit.
How times
have changed.
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The Canadian movement for personal fitness
Fitness. In your heart you know it's right.