Wiffle Ball Dreams
01/06/10 08:52 AM Filed in: Inside the Book | Inspiration
It is January 5, 2010. The current temp is 32 degrees, and Falmouth is covered in icy, dirty, old snow that will taunt me in some variation for the next six weeks making this the boringest place on earth to live. I know I’m being a little dramatic, and I also know that boringest isn’t the proper use of “boring” in the English language, but it sure as hell is when it comes to the Cape Cod vernacular.
When dealing with this process, the Patriots will help me a bit since they’re in the playoffs. At least for this week, I can grab a cup of Midnight Rebel from Coffee O, park at Trunk River, turn the heat up in my car, and listen to Dale and Holley (followed by The Big Show) dissect the upcoming game against the Ravens. But, God forbid, if they lose it will be a long winter.
As I write this, I have just changed that thought. The Sox have just signed Adrian Beltre, and Dale and Holley’s heated discussion on WEEI about signing him has just ignited the hot stove! I have hope now that the news segment of the Red Sox equipment truck being loaded and then heading to Florida is not that far away. I will survive another winter on lonely, Cape Cod.
As in The Running Waves, baseball has always played a big part in my life. Like most New Englanders, my Dad raised Seton (my brother and co-author) and me to root for the Red Sox and love the beauty of the game.
Being a drama director, Dad would always tell us that, “Baseball is the best theater around.”
At early age, I agreed with him and how I would act my baseball dreams was playing wiffle ball games with Seton in our backyard. Of course, Seton was much younger than me (7 year difference) so I would always let him gain a big lead before I tried for my last inning heroics. After I sent him in tears stomping off our field a few too many times, I realized I was being a cruel big brother and decided to pick on someone my own size.
Enter my best summer buddy Mark Penta (http://MarkPenta.com)
Penta (who years later would go on to be my cover illustrator for The Belltown Mystery Series, and then write his own entertaining books, but his biggest claim to fame in my opinion was he played at Framingham South with major league utility great Lou Merloni) had a very small backyard so the style of wiffle ball we played was fast pitch. So the games didn’t end on towering home runs. They ended usually with the pitcher pumping his fist in celebration and pointing at the batter. It was on this field, Penta dubbed me, “The Strikeout King”, a nickname that haunted me for several years until we were able to move to the Heights’ ballpark.
It was at the Heights’ field we changed our rules. More space meant it to strictly become slow pitch wiffle ball. It was also homerun derby. No singles, doubles, or triples. Hits only slowed down the game and by this time in my wiffle ball career the whole neighborhood was lined up to take on the winner. There was only one other way to get on base. We used a beach chair for the strike zone. 8 balls was a walk and if you hit any part of the chair with your pitch it was a called strike. That gave that added tension of 7 and 2 counts. Why did we play eight balls and not four? The field was across the street from the beach, and as you’ll read in The Running Waves at times the winds were tough to deal with.
Anyway, after being embarrassed by Penta by playing his “small ball” (interesting description), I found my game and began to dominate the Heights’ field. Well, at least I can say that when I discuss Penta. There were some visiting teams that fared pretty well. John Gagnon who came from the land of Greengate and Sean Keating who’d journey from Fisherman’s Cove are certainly a couple of names that come to mind.
Occasionally, I would go on the road to play at other friend’s houses. Every house had different obstacles so that meant different home team rules (“If you hit the third level of the house it’s a grand slam” or “If you hit it in the thorn bush it’s an automatic two outs because it’s a pain-in-the-ass to get the ball”).
But one of the most interesting obstacles was at Harding’s house. Anyone who played wiffle ball in Falmouth in the eighties and early nineties will remember Ethan Harding’s Park. Ethan had an actual moving foul pole. Yes, a moving foul pole. When he was up at bat it was in one place – the place that allowed his ball to be fair for a home run. When I would hit the ball in that same area (sometimes the following inning) it always seemed to move –
“No, it’s not that tree.” He’d bark and point, “It’s that one!”
“But when you were up it was that tree.”
“No, man. You’re looking at the wrong tree. That’s a foul, man!”
Ethan is now a Major in the Marines and whenever we get a chance to talk we still argue about our wiffle ball games. We instantly go back to that time.
And that is the greatest part of playing wiffle ball in the summer -having memories that will keep you warm on a 32 degree day.
HERE’S SOME WIFFLE BALL INFORMATION YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wiffle_Ball
http://www.newazone.com/xnationallinks.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxVjDz1uFqw
-Ted
When dealing with this process, the Patriots will help me a bit since they’re in the playoffs. At least for this week, I can grab a cup of Midnight Rebel from Coffee O, park at Trunk River, turn the heat up in my car, and listen to Dale and Holley (followed by The Big Show) dissect the upcoming game against the Ravens. But, God forbid, if they lose it will be a long winter.
As I write this, I have just changed that thought. The Sox have just signed Adrian Beltre, and Dale and Holley’s heated discussion on WEEI about signing him has just ignited the hot stove! I have hope now that the news segment of the Red Sox equipment truck being loaded and then heading to Florida is not that far away. I will survive another winter on lonely, Cape Cod.
As in The Running Waves, baseball has always played a big part in my life. Like most New Englanders, my Dad raised Seton (my brother and co-author) and me to root for the Red Sox and love the beauty of the game.
Being a drama director, Dad would always tell us that, “Baseball is the best theater around.”
At early age, I agreed with him and how I would act my baseball dreams was playing wiffle ball games with Seton in our backyard. Of course, Seton was much younger than me (7 year difference) so I would always let him gain a big lead before I tried for my last inning heroics. After I sent him in tears stomping off our field a few too many times, I realized I was being a cruel big brother and decided to pick on someone my own size.
Enter my best summer buddy Mark Penta (http://MarkPenta.com)
Penta (who years later would go on to be my cover illustrator for The Belltown Mystery Series, and then write his own entertaining books, but his biggest claim to fame in my opinion was he played at Framingham South with major league utility great Lou Merloni) had a very small backyard so the style of wiffle ball we played was fast pitch. So the games didn’t end on towering home runs. They ended usually with the pitcher pumping his fist in celebration and pointing at the batter. It was on this field, Penta dubbed me, “The Strikeout King”, a nickname that haunted me for several years until we were able to move to the Heights’ ballpark.
It was at the Heights’ field we changed our rules. More space meant it to strictly become slow pitch wiffle ball. It was also homerun derby. No singles, doubles, or triples. Hits only slowed down the game and by this time in my wiffle ball career the whole neighborhood was lined up to take on the winner. There was only one other way to get on base. We used a beach chair for the strike zone. 8 balls was a walk and if you hit any part of the chair with your pitch it was a called strike. That gave that added tension of 7 and 2 counts. Why did we play eight balls and not four? The field was across the street from the beach, and as you’ll read in The Running Waves at times the winds were tough to deal with.
Anyway, after being embarrassed by Penta by playing his “small ball” (interesting description), I found my game and began to dominate the Heights’ field. Well, at least I can say that when I discuss Penta. There were some visiting teams that fared pretty well. John Gagnon who came from the land of Greengate and Sean Keating who’d journey from Fisherman’s Cove are certainly a couple of names that come to mind.
Occasionally, I would go on the road to play at other friend’s houses. Every house had different obstacles so that meant different home team rules (“If you hit the third level of the house it’s a grand slam” or “If you hit it in the thorn bush it’s an automatic two outs because it’s a pain-in-the-ass to get the ball”).
But one of the most interesting obstacles was at Harding’s house. Anyone who played wiffle ball in Falmouth in the eighties and early nineties will remember Ethan Harding’s Park. Ethan had an actual moving foul pole. Yes, a moving foul pole. When he was up at bat it was in one place – the place that allowed his ball to be fair for a home run. When I would hit the ball in that same area (sometimes the following inning) it always seemed to move –
“No, it’s not that tree.” He’d bark and point, “It’s that one!”
“But when you were up it was that tree.”
“No, man. You’re looking at the wrong tree. That’s a foul, man!”
Ethan is now a Major in the Marines and whenever we get a chance to talk we still argue about our wiffle ball games. We instantly go back to that time.
And that is the greatest part of playing wiffle ball in the summer -having memories that will keep you warm on a 32 degree day.
HERE’S SOME WIFFLE BALL INFORMATION YOU MIGHT BE INTERESTED IN
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wiffle_Ball
http://www.newazone.com/xnationallinks.htm
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=BxVjDz1uFqw
-Ted
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