FENCE!!!

I was fortunate enough last Sunday to see the hockey team from my alma mater, West Genesee, win the state championship. The person I was happiest for was Coach Colabufo, because once upon a time, not so long ago, he was my baseball coach, and it all got me thinking about those old salad days in the spring of '96 when I was a high school senior on West Genny's varsity baseball team.

OK, first I need to clear something up. Before you all go thinking I was some sort of small-time high school sports hero, let me note that I was THE MANAGER. Still, I got a uniform and a varsity letter (my only one, cuz it's not like I have any athletic ability), so I was definitely a part of the team. I had given up playing baseball in 8th grade after I got beaned in a Little League game and the coach feared for my safety (true story). I was already writing up the team for the local paper, so I knew the coach and after my junior year, I figured if anyone could be the manager it should certainly be me; hell, I had earned it by that point. So, I put the thought in Coach's head and basically kept needling the point home until practice began and I got the gig.

And I like I said, I got a uniform, which was the best part of it, except for the fact that I'm so damn skinny, they didn't have any uniform pants that fit me so I had to wear generic gray pants from the local sporting goods store. That and the fact that I didn't get the number I wanted. I wanted to be #14, it had been my favorite number since it had been the first uniform number I was given in Little League, but a sophomore got it. I had seniority of course, but since I wasn't actually a player, I wasn't going to win this one. I wound up asking for #7, and everyone started saying, "Oh, Mickey Mantle, right?" to which I replied, "Nope, it's half of 14." That was probably generous, thinking I had even half as much ability at playing baseball as these guys.

Of course, there were times that I tried to prove I had at least some ability at playing baseball. I used to shag fly balls in the outfield during batting practice, and for those of you who think there's some kind of obscene Austin Powers reference there, I mean I would try to make like I could actually catch a fly ball and throw it back to the infield on less than five hops. I wasn't too bad at it, but I wanted to make it look like I was as all-out and aggressive as anyone else on the team. So, one time I'm standing out in right field and Shawn Layo crushes one over my head, but I'm convinced I can run it down, so I turn and with my head up I'm running at full speed: "I GOT IT, I GOT IT, I GOT IT..."

WHAM!!!

This was not a time that I should have forgotten that we have a right field fence at West Genesee High School. They tell me I went down in slow motion. I wouldn't know, all I remember is I'm running after the ball, I hit the fence and the next thing I know, I'm on the ground and my right thumb is killing me cuz I jammed it into fence when I hit it. The ball, by the way, cleared the football bleachers, a good 50 feet beyond the fence. After that, every time I even took a step back to go for a fly ball, the entire team would yell, "FENCE!!!"

Ah, but I would get my comeuppance. We scrimmaged ourselves often in practice, and when the teams weren't even, I got to play. And here I am, one day in practice staring down the barrel of our ace pitcher, who throws a 90mph fastball (I know, I clocked it). Now, considering I hadn't faced much live pitching in four years and even then it wasn't anything like this, that's not too good a situation for me to be in. Well, lo and behold, I smacked the second or third pitch right back up the middle for a base hit. As soon as I got to first base, I exclaimed, "I can now die happy!" Steve maintains to this day it wasn't a fastball; I prefer to think he just doesn't want to feel embarrassed.

I wasn't the only "interesting" type on that team, we had a pitcher who insisted on doing the "Noonan" bit from "Caddyshack" every time someone was up for the other team. And we had a first base coach who was bigger and more imposing than most NFL defensive ends, which was kinda nutty compared to Coach, who to put it nicely isn't the tallest person on the planet. We also were very annoying. For one road game, we had to sit in some old box-ed in dugout that had chicken wire on the front of it. So, we started grabbing at it and hooting and hollering like caged animals. This was also the game where our "Noonan" guy made the mistake of doing his bit against a team whose catcher's last name actually WAS Noonan. Our catcher had to explain it to the guy. Also, our team had the unusual habit of swiping things from every place where we played. One time, we stole home plate (literally); there just happened to be one hanging on the wall of the dugout, so one of our guys (Gabes, had to be Gabes) just dropped it in the bag with the rest of our stuff when it was time to go.

That was pretty much the "Wonder Years" episode in my life, if you will. It was the first time in my life that I felt like I was one of the guys and I'll never forget that. I still have the trainers tape with "DC #7" written on it that went above my locker, it's on the wall in my room back at home, right above my varsity letter and the certificate for being on the 1996 OHSL champs. And considering I never did get that elusive Susquehanna University Co-Ed Softball League championship while I was there, I'm proud of the one title I was a part of. Of course, now Coach has a more important one.

Congrats, Coach.