Classic uniforms tailored to exact specifications, classic music from yesteryear being pumped throughout the ballpark and good old-fashioned baseball in its most pure form.
The evening began with all of the participants gathering at the park just before 5 o'clock in the evening. Once we all got our respective uniforms adjusted, it was time for all of the logistics to get worked out.
We took pictures with the 2004 and 2007 Commissioners' Trophies, then we received our marching orders on where to stand during the opening ceremonies. Immediately following the instructional period, we loosened up and took a much-needed infield warmup session (maybe it wasn't much-needed for everyone, but for me, it was very necessary).
After that, it was time for the introductions. Everything went off without a hitch, which is a credit to Mr. Steve Buckley's attention to detail. The intros got the crowd ready for the moment they were all waiting for, which was signified by every baseball fan's favorite phrase: "Play Ball."
I was a member of the home team (wearing Josh Gibson's Homestead Grays uniform) and the visitors wasted no time in taking advantage of their first at-bats. Before we could even blink, we were on the receiving end of a 5-0 deficit. But being the team of competitors that we are, we battled back and put up a fight throughout the evening.
The bulk of the talent consisted of college guys, and boy oh boy did those fellas make me feel old!
Finally, the sixth inning rolled around, and it was my time to take to the hill. Prior to checking into the game, I threw a short bullpen session just to make sure my "stuff" hadn't left me since the last time I was on a mound. While I was warming up, one of the spectators gave me some inspiration to pitch well when he said, "Hey Cole, I saw you at the Oldtime Baseball Game media day and you didn't look too good."
I immediately informed him that I was without the proper footwear. Then he told me that I would be given the benefit of the doubt. So the bottom of the fifth concluded and it was go time!
I never really liked throwing to lefties back when I was a "real" pitcher — so of course, on cue, my first opponent was a lefty. My catcher signaled for a first-pitch fastball inside to announce my presence with authority (Nuke LaLoosh style). And just like Ebby Calvin LaLoosh, I caught the inside of the batter's jersey instead of the plate.
Just like that, I'm already in a jam.
I started the next batter off with another inside fastball, and once again, this guy was a lefty. However, this go-round, I managed to get one past him. With an 0-1 count, I decided to see if Ol' Uncle Charlie wanted to do his job on a Thursday evening, and much to my surprise, I got it to follow that 12-to-6 break just like my JUCO coach taught me (keep in mind, that was when I was 18 years old). Now it was 0-2 and I had a runner on and a guy at the plate, not knowing what was next. That's when it was time to climb the ladder with a fastball. Strike three!
OK, so I felt decent enough. My arm was still in the socket — no tingling yet — and I hadn't made a complete fool of myself, so things were OK. For the time being.
The next batter was the game's eventual MVP and son of former Red Sox Rich Gedman (who, by the way, was 3-for-3 at that point with a home run, a double and a base knock). So my game plan was to just keep the ball in the park. I tested out my split-finger fastball, which is more like a weak changeup that drops slightly. Once again, to my surprise, I got Gedman to put it on the ground. It came right back to me, but 31-year-old reflexes that have to go to work the next day aren't as sharp as they used to be, so it tipped off my glove and there was no chance of making a play.
So the scenario was one out with runners on first and second. I lost sight of home plate with the next batter — I walked him on four straight pitches, if my memory serves me correctly — so that brought up bases loaded with just one out.
Back in my younger days, I would have thrown a fit out on the mound at the thought of hitting a batter and walking another to load the bases, but with age comes knowledge. All I wanted to do was get back into the windup, which is where I had the most control of my limited arsenal.
So with the bases juiced, I poured in a fastball to the next opponent and, like clockwork, he rolled one to third. I must commend my guy on the hot corner for shooting home for the force out!
Whew.
I still had bases loaded, but this time with two outs. I knew I needed another ground ball, or a fly ball, at least. With that in mind, I reared back and threw another curveball for a strike. The next pitch was a fastball that the lefty turned on and stroked down the first-base line. Our first baseman knocked the ball down (always the right thing to do, especially if it's too hot too handle). There was a slight bobble on the transfer — however, my baseball instincts kicked in and I promptly covered first base to end the inning.
In the end we came out on the losing end of the ballgame, but the real winners were the fans who came out and supported the cause. I am paying dearly for my day on the mound. As soon as I went home, I had a nice plate of ibuprofen for dinner, and the next day — I'm not even going to start to explain!
Despite the pain, it was a great day for a great cause and I was honored to be a part of the festivities.
I can't wait until next year's game!
