Back in the day: Any Varsity softball/ baseball players.

[jwoody]

Practice starts 1st week in March 1961, weather damp cool and patches of snow on the field. Our field is wide open no fenches, a hard line drive over short stop or 2nd base would roll a long way. We still using wooden bats and I have my 3 finger PMM rawlings glove from little league. I play 3rd and # 3 pitcher. Opening day game; temp about 32 degrees with lite rain and snow flurries. Coach tell me to pitch.

[GloveGypsy]

New Orleans is beautiful in the early spring.

Clear days and brisk air. My high school coach was a yeller. In fact we nicknamed him "Old Yeller".

I was a junior and just barely 16 at the time. I had transferred across town to a private school during my sophomore and as a result lost that year of eligibility per state rules.

My father had passed away six years earlier, and I wasn't used to a grown man yelling at me, especially one as big as "Old Yeller". Humongous as he was, I was absolutely intimidated, and when I camped out under my first infield fly ball, there he was, hollering in my ears from behind: "You've got 5 laps if you miss that ball!"

I did a lot of running those first few practices.

Missed grounder? Yelled at.....I mean absolutely bawled out and humiliated in front of your teammates. One day, when the team missed many grounders, field practices were cut short and we were bussed over to the local gymnasium, where we were served up many "grounders" across that hardwood floor. That was the last day I went to practice sans cup.

The yelling began to subside after a few trips into the batter's box. As a youngster, I relieved boredom by hitting rocks as far as could with a battered, chewed up wooden baseball bat. To challenge myself, I switched to a sawed off broom handle. To challenge myself even more, I went down in size from rocks to pieces of pea gravel, hit with that broom handle. Needless to say, my eye-hand and swing were "on" and I blistered just about any pitch that came my way.

Being the fastest on the team, I was put at the top of the line up.

I also ran track for my school. The track coach was just the most pleasant guy in the world, and I gave everything I had to please him. I even opted for track meets when they fell on the same afternoons as baseball games.

Years later, I finally understood the reason I favored one sport over the other, at that time. It had nothing to do with my ability in either one and I am grateful to both of those coaches to enlighten me with contrasting styles of coaching youth.

These days, I hardly ever miss a grounder or a fly ball, and I am patient and understanding when one of my players does.

If you are still reading, thanks for allowing me to ramble.
-GG

[mrh64]

No problem, it was enjoyable reading. it always seemed to me that the best coaches could always identify which kids needed a pat on the back and which ones needed a kick in the a#@.

[Goldy the Gopher]

I found out after having a pretty good summer playing vfw ball, that I had made the spring training roster to go down to Florida my junior year. I had great fielding skills but couldn't hit a lick. The first few weeks we practiced in the gym, on the basketball court. When we finally were about to fly down to Fort Myers, I was assigned to fill up the gatorade bucket everyday.

The Two trips that I took to Florida were some of the best times of my life. Both on and off the field was a blast. Junior year our second baseman got injured so i was the replacement. They dh'd for me with the guy who couldn't field, and together I think we were the best player on the field. My team went 17 -4 in the regular season, we won conference, and were seeded number 2 for our sections. We beat one of the powerhouse teams in the playoffs in walkoff fashion.

After my junior year I decided to work instead of play ball (I'm an idiot for that). My senior year I was the starting shortstop, until i went down looking four at bats in a row. I struggled to get into the lineup but had one of the best fielding years of my life. I didn't have as good a senior year as I expected, But played summer ball that year. After that I haven't been able to find or make a team to play for. I do however coach the C team at my alma mater.

[softball66]

I've enjoyed your stories here and can relate. Goldy, VFW ball, and spring training in Florida? (is this college?). Gypsy, me too, hitting rocks from nearby railroad track bed across an nearby open field with an old chipped bat or two. Honed my eye, musta hit a gazillion rocks.
My soph year in high school, I quit the band to go out for baseball and didn't think I had much of a chance. Monty Stratton's son, Monty Stratton, Jr. was a junior pitcher returning to the team and Monty Sr. would come out and throw batting practice to us.
Came the day for the cuts. I was sitting by my locker and Monty Jr. entered the room with his uniform under his arms. He laid his unfiorm in my lap and said, "here I won't be needing this any more." And left. I had made the team, Monty Jr. didn't. Monty Senior never came back to a practice. I knew they were both deeply disappointed.