After only watching half of the Sandlot kids DVD that Bondy had brought over Friday arvo, I decided to finish it before going to bed that night. I must say I enjoyed it just as much as I did in 2nd grade when we rented it out from the now non-existent block buster down the road; old school VHS for a buck (7 weekly's for seven bucks).
I can't believe that even after so many years, I can still remember most of what happen; mind you, I probably watched that movie at least a hundred times. I remember the first baseball glove dad brought home from the flea market a few weeks later after realizing how much I loved baseball. Growing up in Australia didn't give me much of a chance to really get into it considering most of the neighborhood kids grew up with cricket but I still loved it. I loved it so much that when dad finally did bring home that baseball mitt, I begged and pleaded him to bring home a helmet. When he brought a cricket helmet home, I took off the grills on the front and wore it everywhere.
My sister and I would take turns wearing the mitt while throwing tennis balls at each other. It always gave mum grief when she found our pant knees stained green with little holes in them, (usually from slide practice) but I guess she was more relieved that we didn't have knee grazes stained red (she just didn't see them). I always dreamed to be like Benny back then. I loved baseball and even though I had never played a single game in my entire life, I knew I was good at it. It became life, it wasn't just a game anymore.
Every afternoon after getting home from school I would unpack my bag and take my baseball mitt out. Even though I never played with it when I was at school, it always gave me joy to just put it on and feel it for a few seconds, whenever I missed it. The smell of real leather and the weird smell it put on my hands when I took the glove off are ones I'll remember forever. When I put the glove on, I was Benny.
So when I got home, still in my uniform I pulled her out and put her on. No after school supper, no shower, no nintendo, there was just no time. I'd run out to the back yard to find 'the ball', one of many dozens of tennis ball lying around (the bouncy one with plenty of fur on it) to throw as high as I could in the air and attempt to catch it first go. The majority of the time the ball would land dead straight centre inside the glove, I mean, how hard is it to catch a ball that's thrown straight up in the air. But the days where the ball was let go just a little too late and ended up on the roof or an attempted slide missed the ball upon its contact with a surrounding obstacle, or nothing seemed too right, I would make sure I practiced that little bit harder because I knew if I wanted to be as good as Benny, I couldn't miss any catch.
I remember the day when I trialed for my first softball team at school. Even though it was softball and only minor differences were observed compared to baseball, it was as close as I would get to playing baseball. I had been waiting for so long for the chance to show what my practice had transformed me into. I stepped up to the plate, bat in hand and at full swing I hit my first home run. I did the dummy back to third after attempting to run to home which fooled those who hadn't played the game before. After the many years between then and now, I still cannot think of a time were I actually fulfilled the phrase 'step up to the plate' as much as I did that softball trial.
I remember as I grew older, the passion for baseball slowly died and became more and more a game to me. Although I can't pinpoint the exact time I started to lose interest, I think it was when life started to become a little clearer to me. When you start learning more about the world, it starts to disappoint you. I was no longer Benny when I hopped onto the softball ring with bat in hand because at every base there was another Benny, trying to become the best. Even though I hit a hat trick one game against serviceton state school, my dream was swallowed when we got smashed 30 runs to 1 against the murray school which was coincidentally, the first time I was actually scared to bat.
Although I learned of disappointment early, I guess I understand how important it is to try your hardest at everything you do. And if its not meant to be, then it's not meant to be; and you can at least admit that you tried your best.
Man I miss being young. I need to learn from my old self and get back on track.
Come back and teach me 14 year old Ly :|
0 comments:
