We Are All Brothers in This Game

I was in the baseball locker room before daylight, trying on gloves. My hand went instinctively to the Rawlings XPG6. It was endorsed, with his name embossed on the palm, by Mickey Mantle. It evens says “Personal Model.” It had the beautiful “Spiral Top” with the “TRIPLE ACTION” web. And the faded, worn red Rawlings tag on the back strap still proudly proclaims that it was “Made in America.”

I bought this glove at Johnsey Sporting Goods in Jackson, Tennessee, in June of 1966. I tried on every glove in the store. I smelled the leather. I banged my hand into the pocket. I dropped down into a fielding position and simulated catching a two-hop shot hit right at me.

It is the best baseball glove that I have ever stuck my hand into. I was 19 years old, and heading into my sophomore year at the University of the South. I had played my freshman year with a dilapidated 1957 Frank Bolling model Spalding I borrowed from Chick King.

At a whopping $39.99, the Mantle glove was the most expensive in the store. It was an economic fact in those days we didn’t do “most expensive;” it was always about what we could afford. With Mom’s help, between us, we came up with the money.

It turned out to be the bargain of the century.

Another Major League Baseball season is upon us. I still get a thrill out of “Opening Day.” There are no better words in the English language than a home plate umpire yelling out, “Play Ball!”

Sure, there is another side of the coin (pun slightly intended) in baseball today. It deals with 500-million-dollar contracts, salary arbitration, slow play, pitch counts, instant replay interruptions….

Many say baseball has taken a back seat to football, March madness, and political boxing. I worry about the “State of America’s Pastime.” It’s like an attack on motherhood, apple pie, Chevrolet, the Fourth of July….

Then, at five-thirty in the morning, I stick my aging fingers into my Mickey Mantle XPG6. I step to the middle of the locker room, and slowly bend my knees and drop into a good, balanced fielding position. I was ready for that two-hop shot whistling towards me.

All is right with the world.

I dug through a pile of gloves and found the two-dollar Revelation Daddy bought from Western Auto. For two dollars you didn’t get Mickey Mantle’s endorsement. Nor did you get a triple action web, much padding in the palm, or leather lacing to hold the fingers together.

I hadn’t even started to school yet when Leon helped me break that glove in. He didn’t begin with two-hop shots. He tossed the ball in the air until I could comfortably catch it. Then he started backing up….and backing up….and backing up!

Leon had absolutely no patience with his bothersome little brother, unless a baseball was involved. He carefully taught me how to get my little fingers across the seams before I threw it. We graduated to ground balls and hitting drills.

“Care for your glove means everything,” he’d say as he judiciously put just a drop of Neatsfoot oil in the palm on my Revelation, and let me gently rub it in. Leon was a different person when it came to baseball!

I noticed it from the get-go. It transformed him. And I’m telling you, there could only be one explanation…. there is magic in the game of baseball!

I wondered in the predawn morning about other brother combinations I had played with over the years. Did Jackie Burns teach Glen how to throw? And was it the same with Nicky Joe and Ricky Gene Stafford? Bobby C. and Don Melton? Dennis and Keith Coleman? Ralph and Sammy Fisher?

I saw Ralph (second base) and Sammy (shortstop) turn the most unbelievable double play I’ve ever seen at the old field across from the pajama factory. Ricky Gene could keep up the on-field baseball chatter all day long. Bobby C. and Don could both explain baseball to you while they were playing it.

Keith and I played on the old town team. He struck out the side down at Dyer one inning on maybe ten pitches. As we trotted to the dugout I commented, “Gosh Keith, that’s great pitching!”

He shrugged his shoulders, “It was ok.” Keith took the game like a guy ought to. It was serious business to the end. We could relax and celebrate when the game is won….

They can’t mess baseball up today. No power on earth can. We need to set all the “eye wash” aside and get ready to enjoy another year of somebody pitching it, someone hitting it, and some lucky soul out there chasing it down. I can’t wait!

I ran my hand across the jersey I was wearing at that long ago game “down at Dyer.” It, as you can well imagine, has a hallowed spot in the locker room.

As do the memories….

Respectfully,
Kes