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Chapter 1: Giving A Darn

 




Costello: Another guy gets up and hits a long fly ball to Because.

Abbott: Yes

Costello: Why? I don't know! He's on third and I don't give a darn!

Abbott: What'd you say?

Costello: I said, I don't give a darn!

Abbott: Oh, that's our shortstop! (1)





     "Hey, that's my spot!" grumbles Ventura Malave coming back to shortstop from shallow left where he'd fielded a cut-off throw.

"Come on, Pitch!" is all I say, leaning into position with knees bent, hands open, and body ready to go any which way on the next hit.




     It was the spring of 1973 and we were vying for the starting lineup on the Bound Brook Junior Varsity baseball team. In ninth grade the best players from the fourteen Little League teams of the twin boroughs of Bound Brook and South Bound Brook converge on the high school's JV team.

     The largest and toughest of the bunch go out for catcher, a position that requires heavy gear and strength of heart to withstand errant pitches, stray bats, and charging opponents. Those with the hardest or most clever throwing arms compete for a spot in the pitching rotation. Only the guys with a combination of skill, speed, and knowledge of the game can try for the field generalship at shortstop.

     Modern statistics confirm what coaches have long known about the position: Shortstops handle more hit balls than any other position - seventy-four percent. This is because the majority of batters are right-handed and more likely to hit the ball to the left half of the field. The shortstop has to cover all the terrain between the third baseman and the rightfield side of second base since balls hit up the the middle of the infield are to the backhand or more difficult side of the second basemen. Shortstops also handle the relay throws from left and center fielders, having to quickly determine where to throw the ball to keep runners from taking an extra base.

     That season Vennie Malave had a leg up on me for the JV shortstop position. He was a year older and a head taller, and he already had some varsity experience as a point guard. I'd missed basketball season after breaking an arm in the first freshmen football game. My elbow wouldn't straighten when the cast came off and the pins came out. All the surgeon could offer was that it would eventually move again as I used it more. I'd have liked to see him try to dribble, make passes, shoot jump shots, or steal the basketball with an arm bent at a forty-five degree angle.

     As the long, grey New Jersey winter faded and a first hint of spring arrived with longer days and a green tinge in the yards, I realized my baseball career would be over if I didn't do something to get my arm back. It took a February of after-school and bedtime heat, Epson salt soaks, stretching, and simulated swinging, but March found me able to wield a bat and glove just in time for tryouts.

     I also had a secret weapon on the baseball field. From the time I was a toddler my older brother had been the shortstop first on the high school team and then on the best softball teams in central Jersey. He kept me supplied in gloves, balls, and hats, and every spring afternoon found me waiting in the yard for him to arrive home from work. He'd spend an hour throwing tricky grounders or high flies, laughing at my catches or advising on better technique after misses. 

     Still, before my first Little League game I was so nervous that I couldn't sit still in the dugout. My shortstop brother was there and called me over to the fence beside the bench where he whispered the advice I'd never forget: "You'll always be a winner if you keep going until the play, the inning, or the game is over."




     "Got it!" yells Ray Gambino leaping for and missing a high-bouncing ground ball down the third base line of the packed clay infield in our JV tryouts at the Codrington Park field.

"Mine," I call bounding over from shortstop, bare-handing the ball behind the bag, and whipping a throw to first. It bounces once and beats the runner by a half step for an out.

"I can do that," grumbles Venny Malave stepping into the shortstop position before I can get back to it.

"Whew, there's our shortstop," calls Coach Martin, shaking his head at the passionate play displayed in batting practice.



 
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(1) From the comedy routine "Who's on First?" by Bud Abbott and Lou Costello, first performed on Hollywood Bandwagon, 1937.

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