I just want to have a catch. I’m 68 and I haven’t tossed a baseball or softball since my kids were much younger. Probably 21 years now. That’s just absurd to me now. I mean, I was gonna be roaming centerfield for the New York Yankees when I was thinking about my baseball future back when I was playing Little League in the early 1960s. Mickey Mantle was my hero then – of course, we didn’t know about him coming up to the plate drunk or all the women he was chasing right up to game time. Yet. That all came out later in biographies and magazine articles.

No, I’m talking about love of the game, love of playing the game. It’s a great equalizer, playing the game. Just when you might think the game is slow, a ball is hit toward you like a shot, and you better be quick in getting to the ball, you better be accurate in your throw and, God forbid, you better not make an error. Oh Lord! It’s not a team sport at that moment – it’s all on you if you mess it up. But if you make the big play and turn it into an out or better yet, a double play, you’re the hero – for a few seconds. And then the game continues. No one is slamming the ball through the uprights in triumph or dancing on the field – the game continues its inexorable path toward the final out.

Like I said, I just wanted to have a catch, not play an entire game or even an inning. Toss the ball, then throw a bit harder, that sweet feeling of not aiming your throw, just throwing right to the glove of your teammate or whomever you are having a catch with. The satisfaction of a well-thrown ball. The pop you hear in the glove. The rotation of your shoulder and then your arm as it arcs from over your shoulder to swinging forward as you release the ball and watch it land where you intended. The more you throw – not hard, not with blazing speed – the better it feels as you find your partner’s glove.

Your arm and your shoulder loosen up as you throw more and more. You begin to feel it in your side too. Not pain, just usage. Muscles being used and exercised that are not quite the same as all the exercise machines at Planet Fitness. I now love going to the gym but sometimes, it feels it is just a substitute for the thrill of having an honest catch.

The last time I had a catch was age 47; how in God’s name am I going to play Center Field for the New York Yankees if I haven’t thrown in 21 years? I guess I’ve let that dream go, by now. But I’m not trying out for any team right now, just like I’m not worried about interviewing for my next big career move – I’m retired now (phew). No, the emphasis is only on the ball, the precision, the feeling. For me now. I don’t need to worry about a team sport, I only have to concern myself about my own performance and goals – which are to throw accurately to a friend or one of my adult kids. Oh, and I need to be cautious I do not pull a muscle. But that’s another story and it doesn’t fit into this soliloquy.

Yes, I have seen Kevin Costner in Field of Dreams and I’ve not seen it in 10-plus years so this isn’t just some sort of nostalgic rip. Lately, I’ve caught myself staring at a baseball I always keep in my bedroom, or the championship trophy won in 1969 with my Senior Babe Ruth team I still keep in my den. I did not understand why until I picked up my pen to write this piece. That baseball has been calling to me for years now. Just to be held, rotated in my hand along the seams, and then go out and free my arm and toss that damn ball to someone. The freedom, the ecstasy. After a few throws, it all comes rushing back to me – the games played, the seasons, the crack of the bat, the home runs, the catches made, the runners thrown out. OMG, why did I ever stop playing this game?

Yes, career took over and then kids came along and suddenly it didn’t seem right to be spending my precious weekends on a baseball diamond. But even before kids appeared, road trips beckoned, business trips got longer and weekend partying became more extensive. In short, there was less time and after all, “you gotta grow up,” right? So you did grow up, we all did, and after a while no one’s tossing the ball around anymore. Instead, all we are doing is watching others toss the ball around as we spent more time watching baseball or football on TV, or, having more disposable income, spending time attending MLB or NFL games on our precious weekends. So we drifted apart from the little white orb with red stitches that once captured our attention and our dreams. And now that ball is calling me back again saying, “Hey, remember me? I was once so important to you – why the hell are you ignoring me all these years?”

So I’m going out with my daughter to have a catch – she was on her high school softball team. That will be April 18 – spring training for me – so let’s see what I’ve got. I’m gonna warm up, then gently throw, then gradually throw just a bit harder until I reach that sweet spot where the ball pops as it is caught in the webbing of my daughter’s glove. I might not make the Yankees anymore, but I will find glory in the fine art of just having a catch.

Chris Ebel
4/14/2022

Image credit: @manata