For as long as I can remember, I’ve never
been able to outdo my brother. He’s always been able to “one up” me in anything
I’ve attempted. Don’t get me wrong, I love my big brother. It’s just that I wanted
to be as good as he was, and never quite seemed to get there.
He was born first. (Older by 11 years.) He
made better grades in High School. (Without ever bringing home a book.) He
played in the High School band, and was STILL popular. (My popularity extended
only to playing for others in talent shows, then dissolving into the forgotten,
faceless crowd.)
But most of all, my brother excelled at
sports. Any sport. Any time. Always ready. And his favorite was BASEBALL. He could hit, he could catch, he could throw
better than anyone else I knew. Sandlot, High School, Church Team, College, it
didn’t matter. This was his “best of the best” sport. And I wanted to be just
like him.
So when a chance came to try out for a
youth league BASEBALL team, I knew I had to do it. I went over all the reasons
with my mom and dad, over and over, to get them to let me try. I was old
enough, I said. I got good enough grades, I said. I could still do my chores
around the house, I said. And my crowning argument? You let Gary, I said.
Finally succumbing to my near flawless
debating technique (Gary was a little better.), it was agreed that I would
attend the tryouts. And best of all, Gary would take me there. I don’t even
remember the ride down, I was so excited. Not only was I going to play BASEBALL
(I knew the tryouts were in the bag.) but I was going to show Gary I could do
something that he could do and he would be so proud of me never mind 11 years
we would be close just like brothers should be never mind he started college
when I started first grade we were brothers and he could finally be proud!
When we got there, Gary pulled his car
into a dirt parking spot facing the field, near home plate. Awesome, I thought,
he’ll be able to see me. He’ll see me make the team. I jumped out, glove in
hand, and ran to the dugout to the nearest adult I could find, and told him I
wanted to try out for the team.
As it happens, we had gotten there after
the tryouts had started, and they had already done some fielding, so he sent me
to grab a bat, and try my hitting. That was fine with me; my fielding wasn’t my
best ability. I had this unfortunate habit of reacting just a bit slow, so I
caught about an equal number of balls with my face as my glove. But I was much better with
hitting. This was my time, I would show them right here. I’d hit that ball so
far, they’d have to take me. And it would all happen right in front of Gary.
I had always been a scrawny kid, so they
must have felt they needed to take it easy on me. For whatever reason, that
first pitch was the most beautiful pitch my young years had ever seen. (Or have
seen since.) I still picture that moment in my head in slow motion, my form
reaching a level of perfection it had never risen to before, feeling the power
of connection, then seeing the ball fly from the bat. I had a hit! To my mind
it was the greatest hit in the history of youth league BASEBALL tryouts.
Soaring out, making it almost all the way to the outfield. And Gary had seen
it.
After a second’s hesitation, to bask in my
history making moment, I began to run for all I was worth. As I rounded third,
I saw that my soon-to-be team mate’s joy was equal to my own. Even though I put
my all into running, I could still see from the corner of my eyes them laughing
and cheering me on. I was not only going to be on the team, I would be its
star. Oh, life was good!
As I rounded second, it seemed the joyous
enthusiasm of my team continued to increase. Some were so happy with my talent;
they were even rolling in the grass, unable to speak, for the joy of obtaining
their new team leader. I would be a gracious leader as well, always offering to
help those not as capable as myself. I looked towards the car for Gary, but I
couldn’t see him. Could he have walked off, without seeing my greatest triumph?
No matter, over my years in school, college, then the pros, he would have
plenty of opportunity to see me shine.
As I rounded first, it began to strike me
as odd that no one had made an attempt to get the ball, now resting comfortably
in the grass next to the nearly comatose shortstop. Had I so overwhelmed them, they
had given up even trying? No, no, this was too much. I would have to remember
to hold back my considerable talent, so that no one would feel they didn’t
measure up. And where was Gary? I can’t believe he didn’t see this adulation
for his little brother.
As my feet finally reached that sacred
diamond of whitened rubber, several realizations hit me at once. First, that
the joy around me seemed excessive, even for such a glorious hit. Second, that
I could see Gary, or at least his head, actually just the top of his head, from
behind his steering wheel. Third, as the coach was approaching me, I was
suddenly less confident if the order of bases was supposed to be 3rd,
2nd, 1st, home…or 1st, 2nd, 3rd,
home. The coach, catching his breath between words, confirmed the correct
order.
I went over to the dugout, picked up my
glove, and walked with the gait of a man being led to his execution to my
brother’s car. I opened the passenger door, slunk inside and, very quietly, we
went home. I went in my room, put away my glove, and didn’t pick it up again.
Well, that’s not actually right. There’s
something about BASEBALL that keeps drawing a person in. Maybe it’s the fact
that anyone can play, yet no one ever completely masters it. It is a game where
the entire team becomes a band of brothers, fighting together for the win, yet
can be determined by one bat, one pitch, one catch. Ruthlessly fair, it is 9
innings of true competition, to which you give your all, you have no other
choice, and would have it no other way. You see, my brother was right about
something else too. BASEBALL is the best.
