Enjoying America's Game

by Kurt Holdorf

I sit in the dugout during the third game of the softball tournament and hear one of the older guys on the team joking about his aches and pains. I'd never say it out loud but I think to myself "If you hurt that bad, just quit."

Don't get me wrong, I don't mind him playing on our team; it's a church league so we are more about the fun and fellowship than beating the other team. Besides, he knows the game inside and out and still comes up with a good play now and then.

By the fifth game of the one-day tournament, he's hardly able to get off the bench to go play his position. He can still hit the ball so when he hit one to the fence, he had to run the bases. Did I say run? For most of the others on the team, if the ball gets to the fence, it's a triple or an in-the-park home run. This guy barely gets to second. Our next batter gets a hit so somehow he scores and makes his way to the dugout.

He sits down next to me, gasping and chugging water.

Not able to stop the words from leaving my mouth, I ask "Why do you play, old man?" He shrugged - third out - back on the field we go.

It took 20 years for me to get my answer.

As I enjoy my 40th season of baseball/softball, I find myself recalling the fun times I've had over the decades playing America's game. Some memories are of amazing "glory day" plays that only a 20-something body can endure, like all the diving catches and throws so hard they would literally lift me off the ground. Other memories are of failures so big, they become legendary. Those make me laugh. As you age, you learn to have more fun with failure. It can be quite entertaining.

Like the time we were playing on a short field with a 260 foot fence. In the top of the seventh, I hit a home run to put us up by a run. I was pumped up with adrenaline. In the bottom of the seventh, the other team had two runners on and the batter hit one in the gap which I chased to the fence. As an outfielder, I had a pretty good arm so I knew I could throw out a base runner to end the game. I bent down, grabbed the ball and threw it to third with all my might. Did I say third? No, this ball was going to make it all the way to home plate in the air! Did I say home plate? No, it was going to clear the backstop! Did I say backstop? No, I launched that ball over third, over home, over the backstop, over the parking lot and further yet into the creek. We lost the game, but guys on the team talked about that throw for years.

Then, there was the season I was on a church team whose games were played at a school playground with no fence. A batter smashed a ball way over my head in left field, I chased it down as fast as possible. But, before I could get to it, a piece of playground equipment deflected it around a corner of the school building. Like I said, I could throw the ball so without hesitation, I took a guess at the direction and heaved the ball over the school building then ran around the corner to watch the play. I track the ball. It's on target … it's on target. The runner is jogging so it's going to get there in time. It's going to get there in time! To my dismay, the catcher didn't try to catch the ball as the runner came toward home plate. We lost.

I asked the guy why he didn't catch the ball to tag out the runner. He said "Kurt, when I saw that ball flying over the school, I just froze. I couldn't believe what I was seeing!"

As an outfielder who could throw a softball 300 feet, I would just dare a runner to tag on a pop fly coming my way. I expected to throw someone out at home every game. When you are young, you take skills like that for granted. I never thought much of my ability to throw a ball. Probably because I was never a star player in high school. Sure, I batted 1000 but I was only up once and the coach wouldn't play guys who were just playing for fun. That's what baseball/ softball has ALWAYS been for me - just fun. Besides I wasn't very fast relative to the other high school athletes. Once, while running laps at a practice, the coach yelled out "Hey, Holdy, I'm going to clock your speed today, I got a calendar!" On top of that, when the pinnacle of your ball career is in third grade, nothing really seems impressive after that. Yeah, really, third grade.

It was in a Cub Scout softball league when I was nine years old. I batted 1000 our first seven games - only that season, I was up to bat quite often. The highlight of that year was one of our championship games when I pitched a perfect game. I mean a PERFECT game: no batted balls, no foul balls, no balls, just three strikes to every batter. We were champions that year. I could probably produce a tattered news article or two from that season if I looked through a couple of boxes in the garage. Several of us who played on that team as kids still talked about the experience at our 20th high school reunion. But, you can't live in the glory days, you just have to learn to move on to the next stage.

Well, I was forced into that next stage when my shoulder finally went out two years ago. Already worn out from so much throwing, I was relegated to catcher. It finally got to the point where I couldn't throw the ball back to the pitcher without a lot of pain. I had no choice but to retire from the sport. Next season I couldn't even go to a game to support my team from the bleachers - I knew I wouldn't be able to stay off the field if they needed another player. It was a very difficult summer for me.

That year I thought a lot about what the game meant to me over the years. I am thankful to my parents who made it a fun activity for me rather than pushed me to live out their dreams. I did my best to pass the enjoyment of the game to my children so they could build their own memories. Like when my son pitched in the USSSA World Series tournament and how my daughter, the only girl on five boys teams, played just as well as they did.

Last summer, after two years off the field, I was watching one of my daughter's softball practices and threw a foul ball back to the coach. Amazingly, it didn't hurt to throw! Wow! That next spring, I threw a few more balls, then some more. No pain.

Somewhat reluctantly, I told our church's coach to put me back on the roster. Every game I wonder if this will be the game my should goes out for good. But It felt great to be back out on the field. Several weeks later, we're playing in the mid-season one-day tournament and about the third game, I start joking about my aches and pains . I freeze mid sentence because all of a sudden I realize I became that old man. Finally, I get an answer to that 20 year-old question "Why do you play keep playing?"

Am I reclaiming my youth? No. I can’t play like that any longer. Am I reliving the glory days? No, I still look forward to tagging someone out or getting that clutch hit to win the game. I play simply because it is still fun. It's that simple. As long as it is still fun, I'll get off the bench and make my way to the field another season.

Compared to my 20's, I can't throw or run anymore but I can catch and tag so put me behind the plate, coach! And, as far as those one-day tournaments are concerned, after 40 seasons of playing ball, I've earned the right to bench myself if my body says "Enough!" After all, I've had my day in the sun. I'll settle for a couple of good plays a season, rather than expecting them each game. I'm OK with that. I've got nothing to prove–I'll leave that to the young guns who probably look at me, thinking "Hey, old man, if you hurt that bad …"

©2009, Kurt Holdorf (illustration and story)