We call it The Blue Bomber.Every bat my grandson uses gets its own name, from Orange Crush to Thunder Bat. We also leave each one outside at least one night in the middle of a thunderstorm. Yes, I watched The Natural, baby. After that, we decorate. On some, my grandson will just scratch something. Others get dragon or other goofy decals. Before even thinking of swinging at a baseball, the bat is tested on one of our homemade balls (superball covered by string inserted into a cut wiffle ball and taped over and over with duct tape). After that the bat is tested against my supply of plastic eyeballs, which I pick up at a store in P-burg. Each bat has to be able to shatter that eyeball with one mighty swing.
You don't just go out and buy a bat. You have to give it some magic, too. As anyone who really knows baseball will tell you, magic is very important.
The Blue Bomber is by far my grandson's luckiest bat to date. Unlike the others, I picked this one up at a yard sale for $4. All of the manufacturer inscriptions had long since worn off. Only its royal blue color remained.
It's heavy, hard to swing. But last season, my grandson had two home runs, six triples and never struck out. It wasn't long before everyone on his team was using The Blue Bomber, and that bat was kind to one and all. Even the worst hitter could somehow get on base. The kids were all convinced this bat was magic. The parents condescendingly smiled.
The kids were right.
On Saturday, my grandson went to a baseball clinic in Bethlehem, and a coach recommended he use a much lighter and slightly longer bat. He used it, and still hit the ball, even without the magic. But halfway through, he returned to the Blue Bomber, and put quite a few dents inside that long Bethlehem quonset hut.
It's magic time, baby.
Soon, I will begin my quest for a new bat. All the necessary rituals will be performed. Will it be as lucky as The Blue Bomber? That's hard to say. But the real magic of baseball comes alive when it's played by kids who love the game. It's not those organized games, but the pick up games on a baseball field with fake bases, endless arguments and the occasional stray shot that might go through your window.
Can you feel it? It's magic time.
9 comments:
Great story, Bernie! I miss the days of playing Little League.
By the way, there is a bat called "Crush" and it is orange, but it's for softball (the ones we sell anyway.)
AJ, I won't tell you what we do about the gloves. That's a whole separate post.
I hope no farm animals are involved...
Human sacrifice works best.
Got my first hit in Easton peewees with a real wood (no kidding) Louisville Slugger with Rocky Colavito's signature burned in it. Sullivan Park field on College Hill. It was a bloop past third that felt like Thompson going deep on Branca.
"The Rock" hadn't another hit in it as I cracked it two at bats later on a high hard one (at least 37 mph) fouled of the handle. I kept the cracked bat for several years but lost track of it when I grew up and left home.
I love a good bat story. Good luck in your quest.
"And hear comes Jorge Orta - a good looking Spaniard from East Moline." - Harry Caray
I used a wood bat once and it broke my first time up. I never used wood again...
Great little story, BO. You may like the politics but these stories are always your best stuff.
Now that was an awesome entry. I remember my uncle teaching me to switch hit when I was six. I thought it was the coolest thing in the world to be able to pick which side of the plate to bat from.
Thanks for the nice words.
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