For three years since taking a hiatus from work, I played winter ball and year round with a group of elite senior players on Tuesday and sometimes Thursday mornings. These are the best players in the East Bay 'of a certain age' which translates to over 50. Despite the fact that most are well into their 50s and 60s and even 70s, they could compete easily with players half their age. Even considering that Seniors are allowed to use bats with about 30% more pop than those allowed in 'regular' leagues.
It's been documented that I am not the greatest player; I have no pop (except on very rare occasions), and am generally fairly slow (although I surprise some of them sometimes). This group viewed me as someone that can play, and is pretty good within my limitations. This meant usually batting near the bottom of the order. And they probably wondered why someone who is 5'7" plays first base.
These players play a pickup game twice a week in the mornings more or less for practice for their weekend tournaments, which they travel to, usually somewhere like Reno or Phoenix or Las Vegas, and are sprinkled throughout the year; these are the events for which they play the game. I will probably never be asked to play in them, because I am looked upon as just not quite good enough.
They also field a team in the Pleasanton 'Legends' over 50 league. This team has dominated the league for the last several years. I documented earlier our rain out against coach and pitcher 'E''s team, Boomer's Bangers, in our first time through the schedule. E loads the roster with the elite players, and if one or two or three of them are missing, he just plugs in another very talented player to fill in. I consider many of them friends; despite the perceived attitude around the league that they are elitist, they are mostly good guys.
E is a slightly different story. He actually is a good guy too, but he is very VERY competitive. Some people don't like to be on the field with him. He has been known to argue to the point of absurdity on calls in pickup games that don't matter at all. But one thing about E - if you are on his team he will go to war with you, and always have your back. Whenever he was the (randomly selected) coach in the pickup games, and I was on his team, he would put me leading off; he recognized that even though I may not have the pop of the other players, I usually get on base, and he respects the way I play.
Last week we played them again. It was a ho-hum game - they ended up winning 14-7. But it was the game within the game that was fun for me. We know each other so well from playing well over 100 games with and against each other. I have a book on their hitters, at least the ones I know well, and they think they have the book on me. Lew, the left fielder, plays me 30 feet behind the 3rd baseman. Rick, the shortstop, has no idea where to play me, because if he shades me toward the hole I will go up the middle, and if he plays toward the middle, I will hit the hole. They play me shallow everywhere else.
First time up their rover was playing shallow center, and I hit a fairly sharp liner right in front of him. He fired to first base. I beat the throw by a step or two, and Johnny, the second baseman, says, "where did you get that speed?" Second time up, I frustrated Rick once again by putting it by him in the 5-6 hole. Third time up, the rover had moved into the infield, and I hit a good line drive over his head into center field.
Nothing earthshaking, and Boomer's was well ahead as I said. But it came down to the bottom of the seventh, and I came up with two outs and two on (first and third), and still down seven runs. There wasn't much chance we were going to rally to catch them, but no one likes to make the last out.
Well, first E calls out to the umpire, "Put him on, we never get him out." Of course he was joking. Kind of, they hadn't yet this night. Then I get in the batter's box, and E pretends like he is shaking the catcher off, and trying to 'freeze' me. Finally he is ready to pitch, and just when he is about to, I call for time from the ump. Two can play this game.
Now everyone is having fun. I worked the count with a foul ball and taking a couple of pitches, I don't remember exactly what it was, but finally I got an outside pitch with which I wanted to beat the shift and lace it over the shortstop's head into the huge gap in left center they created by playing me so shallow and with Lew the left fielder pulled way over on the line. Remember I am a lefty who mostly hits the other way.
Instead I did what I do often when I miss the ball, or at least mis-hit it. I hit a blooper into shallow left right along the line, aka a 'heffe' hit. They usually drop for a lucky hit, but not this night. Lew, who had earlier made a rare error (he is one of the speediest guys over 60 I know), and who has had injury problems lately, raced in and dove and caught it on his shoe tops - game over.
Could have been worse - they beat us like 20-1 in the playoffs last year - and after all I did go 3-4. And I have their respect still. But one of these times, like in the occasional pickup game in the last couple of years, I am going to surprise them once again, and hit that gap, and it will win a game.
It's been documented that I am not the greatest player; I have no pop (except on very rare occasions), and am generally fairly slow (although I surprise some of them sometimes). This group viewed me as someone that can play, and is pretty good within my limitations. This meant usually batting near the bottom of the order. And they probably wondered why someone who is 5'7" plays first base.
These players play a pickup game twice a week in the mornings more or less for practice for their weekend tournaments, which they travel to, usually somewhere like Reno or Phoenix or Las Vegas, and are sprinkled throughout the year; these are the events for which they play the game. I will probably never be asked to play in them, because I am looked upon as just not quite good enough.
They also field a team in the Pleasanton 'Legends' over 50 league. This team has dominated the league for the last several years. I documented earlier our rain out against coach and pitcher 'E''s team, Boomer's Bangers, in our first time through the schedule. E loads the roster with the elite players, and if one or two or three of them are missing, he just plugs in another very talented player to fill in. I consider many of them friends; despite the perceived attitude around the league that they are elitist, they are mostly good guys.
E is a slightly different story. He actually is a good guy too, but he is very VERY competitive. Some people don't like to be on the field with him. He has been known to argue to the point of absurdity on calls in pickup games that don't matter at all. But one thing about E - if you are on his team he will go to war with you, and always have your back. Whenever he was the (randomly selected) coach in the pickup games, and I was on his team, he would put me leading off; he recognized that even though I may not have the pop of the other players, I usually get on base, and he respects the way I play.
Last week we played them again. It was a ho-hum game - they ended up winning 14-7. But it was the game within the game that was fun for me. We know each other so well from playing well over 100 games with and against each other. I have a book on their hitters, at least the ones I know well, and they think they have the book on me. Lew, the left fielder, plays me 30 feet behind the 3rd baseman. Rick, the shortstop, has no idea where to play me, because if he shades me toward the hole I will go up the middle, and if he plays toward the middle, I will hit the hole. They play me shallow everywhere else.
First time up their rover was playing shallow center, and I hit a fairly sharp liner right in front of him. He fired to first base. I beat the throw by a step or two, and Johnny, the second baseman, says, "where did you get that speed?" Second time up, I frustrated Rick once again by putting it by him in the 5-6 hole. Third time up, the rover had moved into the infield, and I hit a good line drive over his head into center field.
Nothing earthshaking, and Boomer's was well ahead as I said. But it came down to the bottom of the seventh, and I came up with two outs and two on (first and third), and still down seven runs. There wasn't much chance we were going to rally to catch them, but no one likes to make the last out.
Well, first E calls out to the umpire, "Put him on, we never get him out." Of course he was joking. Kind of, they hadn't yet this night. Then I get in the batter's box, and E pretends like he is shaking the catcher off, and trying to 'freeze' me. Finally he is ready to pitch, and just when he is about to, I call for time from the ump. Two can play this game.
Now everyone is having fun. I worked the count with a foul ball and taking a couple of pitches, I don't remember exactly what it was, but finally I got an outside pitch with which I wanted to beat the shift and lace it over the shortstop's head into the huge gap in left center they created by playing me so shallow and with Lew the left fielder pulled way over on the line. Remember I am a lefty who mostly hits the other way.
Instead I did what I do often when I miss the ball, or at least mis-hit it. I hit a blooper into shallow left right along the line, aka a 'heffe' hit. They usually drop for a lucky hit, but not this night. Lew, who had earlier made a rare error (he is one of the speediest guys over 60 I know), and who has had injury problems lately, raced in and dove and caught it on his shoe tops - game over.
Could have been worse - they beat us like 20-1 in the playoffs last year - and after all I did go 3-4. And I have their respect still. But one of these times, like in the occasional pickup game in the last couple of years, I am going to surprise them once again, and hit that gap, and it will win a game.
Love the part about you hitting a blooper. Great post.
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