My Trip to Alabama - Part 4: Hot Summer Nights and Baseball

I once confessed to Mitch that I've never understood football (my own college SCU closed the football program back in the 80s) and--this little fact really stunned him--I didn't really care for sports at all.  By contrast, Mitch LOVES sports (almost all of them) and is an avidly "hard-core" baseball player and fan.  I once joked with him that when I came to Alabama, we'd have to go to an Alabama football game, and he could "explain" the game to me as we watched.  His response was something akin to "Oh, lord, I can just see it now...Grace, that pointy thing is the ball and our team is the one in red..." followed by uproarious laughter as he contemplated other things he might have to explain to me about football if I attended a game with him ("What's that thing with the upright bars?"  "Why are they trying to pile on top of that one person?" "Kick it?  Why didn't they keep it and run?" Oh, he was on a "roll" once he started!)

My lack of fondness for sports seems to be only for the "live" stuff.  I love ALL sports movies. "Field of Dreams" (baseball) and "The Greatest Game Ever Played" (golf) are two of my favorite movies of all time.  I also enjoy movies about football, basketball, soccer, tennis and ice skating.  I am a huge fan of books and short stories in which a sport plays the major role, but somehow, when it comes to "watching" sports, I'm not able to become enthused about any of it...well...make that "most of the time."

Truth be told, one of the few sports I DO enjoy watching is and has always been baseball.  I was a fan of the Oakland A's way back when I was a kid and they sported some of the biggest mustaches and beards on the field.  When my friend and actor, Terry McGovern, got a job at the radio station KSFO here in San Francisco and he gave me tickets to every A's home game for one year, it was some of the best and happiest days of summer spent with my pal Jeff.  Then, when our San Francisco Giants took the pennant not once, but TWICE, well, it just made me love the sport with even greater ferocity.

(Mitch at the mound - June 25, 2015)

So when I learned that my trip to Alabama coincided with being able to watch Mitch pitch a baseball game and to watch him in "his house" (the pitcher's mound), well, THAT was icing on the cake.  I remember telling Mitch on the phone, "oh I get to see you pitch a game when I arrive...and, pal, I actually understand baseball so I won't root for the wrong team or call out something that will embarrass you."  Mitch laughed and then said he hoped he wouldn't be nervous with me (and a scout from a local college) there at the game.

With a couple hours of sleep at the hotel and a brief nosh, it was soon time to head over to the ball park to see Mitch.  He called me an hour before game time to give me last minute instructions on how to get to the park, and I assured him that I would find it with my GPS. 

Now I have to admit that Mitch was not the only person excited and nervous that evening. Although Mitch and I are best friends, and we've spent hundreds of hours talking on the phone or texting, have worked together on projects, and have experienced a lot of things together, we've actually never seen one another or been together personally. Yes, we have exchanged pics, but, frankly, we've never met, and it was about this time that I wondered if seeing and being together would change or ruin the friendship we'd so carefully cultivated on the phone.  In fact, I'll admit I was worried about disappointing Mitch right up to the second I arrived at the ballpark--after all, seeing someone in person can shatter illusions and I wasn't sure how Mitch would feel once we saw one another.

As I walked toward the ballpark with other spectators, I looked for the team with white shirts and stripes--the uniform that Mitch said he would be wearing. It only took a few seconds to find the team, and even less time to see where the players were gathered with their backs facing the walkway.  Even from the distance, I knew which one was Mitch...the hair, his height and build, and, oh yeah, the prominent "22" (his numbers) plastered on his shirt. It was truth time--time to see if our friendship was real or an internet based "illusion."  I need not have worried about any of this, because the minute Mitch turned around in the "dugout" where the players were waiting for the start of the game, a huge, unforgettable smile spread across his face as he saw me.  He quickly exited the enclosed pen and came over to me.  "I'm sweaty...sorry..." he said as he gave me a big hug, "it's so good to have you here!"  "Good to be here...finally" I remember telling him.  We talked for a few minutes before he had to hurry back to the game, which was just starting.  His parents--who I also knew only through phone conversations--were not yet at the park, but he assured me they would be arriving soon.

In the many months that we've talked, I've learned how very much baseball means to Mitch--it's like "breath" to him since baseball and all of its various mechanics and physical intricacies flow through him like life-sustaining air.  Mitch likens the game to one played in inches or even millimeters, where the tiniest corrections, when amplified, for example, in the swing of his arm as he pitches can grow exponentially and "release" its energy in a ball that appears to be coming at you, but then drops away at the exact time the batter attempts to strike it.

I stood behind third base on a grassy berm overlooking the field, which afforded me an unobstructed (chain link fence free) view of the field.  I watched as Mitch strode out to the center of the field to the pitcher's mound.  He threw a couple of pitches to the catcher as they prepared to start the game, I heard the familiar "thwack" of the ball as it hit the catcher's mitt--its a sound that, if you like baseball, is one of the most satisfying and significant sounds at the game.  Mitch was throwing the ball hard and fast for it to make that solid sound in the mitt.

As the game started, Mitch proceeded to kick the dirt around on the mound to (he later informed me) loosen it as it affected his pitch.  The first batter from the other team came onto the field to take his position at home plate, and that's when I saw "it"--Mitch had the "laser-like" focus that you often see portrayed with lots of digital wizardry in a sports movie or read about with certain level of awe and reverence (and, yes, jealousy) in a sports novel.  That night in Alabama, I watched as my pal Mitch was transformed by the "it" of sports "focus" that started in his head and caused every muscle and fiber of his being to be totally and completely under his unflinching control.  The "it" was an awesome thing to behold, but it was made even more visceral and real because I knew Mitch so well and could see how completely he metamorphosed to be in complete synch with the sheer physics of hurtling the ball across the plate.  In what seemed like one fluid motion, he pulled back, and then released the ball in a stunning blast of power that culminated in a "thwack" as the ball collided with the catcher's mitt. I was so impressed with Mitch's display of control that I don't think I registered if the pitch was a strike or a ball. 

The baseball was tossed back to Mitch and, for a brief second, he turned to look straight at me, a smile on his face as we stared at one another.  I told him recently that, aside from the first time we saw one another, THIS was a memorable moment for me because at that split second when we locked gazes, I knew EXACTLY how this game, and that place on the mound made him feel--and it was awesome!  I acknowledged his feelings by giving him two thumbs up.  He smiled more broadly and went back to his "job" of pitching the game.  The entire bit took less than four seconds, but it thoroughly captured for me his love and his intensity for this game.

Mitch at bat (June 28, 2015)

Mitch's parents arrived at the park a few minutes later, and I joined them on the little set of aluminum bleachers to watch the game. Sitting there in the warm, slightly dewy Alabama evening as the sun went down and the lights in the ballpark came up, I was living my own dream of experiencing baseball in the Deep South.  I wanted to remember every single thing about that night and that game.  As I chatted with Mitch's mom (a fantastically wonderful woman named Jennifer--we both agreed we would have been very naughty together if were friends in our 20s) and coerced his father, Jabe, and his mother both to do a three man "wave" with me from the stands, I watched my pal Mitch thoroughly at home and on fire pitching from the mound.

As the night ended with a tied score, I remembered how much I had enjoyed this game and my first event with Mitch--which was, by the way, the PERFECT way to meet him.  I watched him walk away with his parents by his side, and it was a memorable picture of my best friend and my first night in Alabama!!

Next up Part 5 - Mischief, Merriment and Mitch

Singers in this Blog:

Mitch @wlm_mitch22_sf is my best friend, baseball player extraordinaire and one of the nicest people you'll ever have the privilege to know.  You can go to his site for some crazy fantastic duets! 

Me, I'm Grace and go by the Smule tag @pokeypal, and these are my adventures in Alabama!  Join me for some duets and follow me to be alerted to crazy activities and events that we host here on Smule.