Playing Hardball



I watch as my friends children are now starting to get ready for baseball. It was just as important for me when I was young as well. I think although for maybe the wrong reason. Baseball on my mothers side of the family was religion. All of my mothers brothers were incredible players, long and lean, they could run, hit and they could throw.

One of them had been sparked by the Yankees until he joined the army in WWII. He was injured as grenade fragments entered his legs during the war. He struggled health wise for the rest of his life.

My cousins and I were expected to continue the tradition. My cousins and I had been made ultra competitive by our parents and so sports were a big deal to the entire Benson clan. Baseball was suppose to be the love thou, and it was for many of my cousins and their children.

As for me I struggled with baseball. My eye sight was bad, and so I was lucky to hit my weight in high school. My senior year I graduated at about135 pounds. I know I did not hit that well. Then there was my arm. I threw like a Russian shot putter. My arm always hurt me and the coach worked with me to change it, but I would always revert back to my Russian ways.

As far as the field. My hands were not quick enough, but I had a little foot speed so they put me in the outfield. Remember I could not hit because my eyes were so bad, now they put me 300 feet away from the ball. Each fly ball was an adventure when ever it was hit toward me, then there was the matter of the throw back to the infield.

Thank God I had no options with baseball after high school. I loved basketball for many reasons and that became my passion, thou the main reason may have been I could see what was going to hit me.