Base Brawl

I lay in bed listening to a radio station this morning. The show - based in the USA - was mentioning how Barry Bonds was being indicted for perjury for lying about his use of steroids. Bonds is a successful baseball player having made history this past Summer after breaking the home run record in the sport.

Thinking about baseball at that early time in the morning made me chuckle because it led to me reminiscing about my time playing it.


There are three moments that stand out to me and it involves a lot of pain. For me and them.

The first memory I have is when someone broke my nose in a game. What made it even worse was this 'injury' didn't even occur during play.

While we were waiting to bat a kid from my school called Craig was kicking a football about. The ball fell in my direction and I was warned that if I kicked the ball I was going to get 'fucked up.'

This guy, Craig, was all mouth. Or so I thought. I kicked the ball back in his direction and lo and behold he ran for me throwing fists in my direction.

My nose exploded.

But it wasn't only my nose that blew up during a game. A year later I was in the school playground playing during a P.E. lesson.

As there were girls playing and it was a non-competitive game; we were using a tennis ball. I was bowled a good ball and I swung with all my might. Then, everything seemed to go in slow motion as I ran the bases. By the time I got to second base I saw that the ball had landed in the face of the person on base three.

That player happened to be one of the kids in the year above me who was known to be a bit of a nutcase.

He went for treatment and for the rest of the lesson I was worrying for my safety once school ended. When we got changed I saw him and walked up to him and apologised.

I was nine years old, he was ten. Looking back there really wasn't much of a difference but back then in 1989 it was a big difference. He looked me up and down and then shook my hand saying 'nah, you shouldn't worry. I thought it was a good hit!'

Phew.

The third and final remembrance involves a game I was playing at my local youth club. I started going to the club in the Summer of '88 and I met this girl called Emma, or maybe Lisa. She was two or three years older than me and I fancied her. We hung out for a few days and one day the group decided on having a game of indoor baseball.

Emma (maybe Lisa!) was on the opposing team and was playing in back-stop when it was my turn to bat. The bowler threw the ball and I swung, hit the ball, let go of the bat and it hit Emma (maybe Lisa) in the face.

Everyone rushed to her and I felt so guilty looking on as the people running the club nursed her. She ended up having a black eye and never spoke to me for the rest of the evening.

In fact, I don't think I ever saw her again.