This story was first published online for The Creativity Webzine in October, 2019, and refers to sports greats such as Pete Rose and Roger Staubach, as baseball season transitions into football season for a twelve year old boy. Enjoy!
It was the summer of ’77 when nine year old Timmy and his family relocated to Cincinnati due to his dad’s new job.
Timmy had just finished breakfast, melancholy of the friends he left back in Cleveland a week earlier.
“Timmy, why don’t you go to the baseball field to see if there is a game you can get in,” his mom urged.
Timmy slowly nodded, and slumped to his room to gather his baseball gear. He hooked his glove onto his bat and continued to the bathroom to adjust his Reds cap.
“Don’t forget your flip-up sunglasses. The sun looks brutal today,” his mom called to him.
“Got it, Mom,” he answered as he coordinated the glasses with his cap.
Content with his image in the mirror he headed towards the front door.
“How do I look?” Timmy asked his mom.
“You look like Pete Rose. Now, go get your uniform dirty,” his mom cheered, and patted him on his butt as he headed toward the baseball field.
Timmy beamed a smile. Pete Rose was his baseball hero. He emulated “Charlie Hustle”, the all-star member of the “Big Red Machine”, right down to his batting stance. In Little League, Timmy sprinted to first base after a walk because Pete Rose sprinted to first base after a walk. He would dive head first into third base because Pete Rose dove head first into third base. Is was the Pete Rose look he was after.
He turned the corner on his street and spied the baseball field littered with kids playing catch and fungo. His pace quickened the closer he got.
The kids stopped their warmups and saw Timmy with his glove hanging from his bat over his shoulder like a hobo carrying a bindle.
One of the kids waved a ball as an invitation to play and Timmy quickly removed his glove from his bat. A few tosses of the baseball and childlike banter about the game’s major league stars and the game was on.
That day, Timmy made new friends. Everyday friends that would sweat out the hot summer on the ball field, keeping their own score and being their own umpires. The ballfield was their headquarters for friendship and competition. In Timmy’s summer of transition, the baseball field was his oasis.
It was Labor Day weekend, and Timmy went through his ritual of suiting up for a nine inning slugfest with his friends. It would be the last weekend before school began and that meant the end of everyday ballgames.
Timmy got to the field early for an 11 o’clock game, surprised he was the first one there. He warmed up his arm by throwing it against the chain link backstop. He surveyed his watch.
“11:15, why am I the only one here,” he mumbled to himself. He picked up his bat, tapped on the rubber home plate, and crouched down in his stance, just like Pete Rose. He took a few swings, isolated on a field that should be full of kids. He waited until 11:30 and with chin to chest, he dragged his feet home.
Timmy’s mom stopped work on her garden as he approached.
“There wasn’t any kids at the baseball field. There wasn’t any game,” Timmy lamented.
His mom rubbed his chin. “Maybe they are at the football field. I saw a kid walk by with football gear,” she commented.
“But, there is still a month of September left of the baseball season, plus the playoffs,” Timmy said.
“Football season is starting up, though. Seasons change” she offered, as she lead him into the house, and convinced him to grab his football gear with a kiss on his forehead.
She could hear a loud rumble as he rummaged through his closet. Moments later he appeared.
“How do I look?”
“You look like Roger Staubach.”
“You think the kids will mind my Dallas Cowboys helmet?” Timmy asked.
His mom flashed a muffled chuckle. “I guess you will find out by how hard you get tackled. Now, go get your uniform dirty,” she cheered, and patted him on the butt as he headed out to the football field.
Moray Writes 