I COULD HAVE BEEN A HERO - Book 1

Book 1 – THIS COULD BE THE START OF SOMETHING BIG…OR NOT.

Have you ever seen one of those war type movies, where it appears that everyone is in trouble, and the future looks hopeless?  It seems as though there is always a John Wayne type guy who suddenly emerges from nowhere to save the world.  As a general rule, he has not slept in three days, hasn’t had anything substantial to eat in eons, yet has the strength to singlehandedly fight off the entire Japanese Navy, disregarding his hunger and fatigue, and delights in the fact that his reward is the opportunity to carry the beautiful helpless maiden to safety.

Well, my name is John Hill, and for some reason, I have always pictured myself as that kind of person.  I am a big burly sort of guy, and even though it looks as if I’ve had a few too many helpings of mashed potatoes, I still see myself as the “here I come to save the day” character when the chips are down.

I have had numerous opportunities throughout my life to be a hero to some degree, but it always seemed that I would fall short of the mark, as was the case when I was in the sixth grade, and on the school baseball team.

I grew up in a quiet neighborhood just across the river from Bakersfield in the golden state of California.  My father played farmer when he wasn’t driving a truck for Standard Oil Company, which was almost always.  Needless to say, that left the farming to my mom, my younger sister, Mary and my little brother, Kenny, and I, who at the grand old age of ten, wasn’t worth a tick in a haystack when it came to farming.  As a result, my mother soon had had her fill of “Green Acres” and suggested to my dad that perhaps it was time to move back to town.  I think I recall her saying something like “enough is enough” or close to it.  A short time later we moved back to the big city.

I was a little apprehensive about switching schools in the middle of the year.  I was comfortable with a pretty set routine at Beardsley Elementary School, and I didn’t know anyone at Highland Elementary School.  I’m not sure why I was so nervous.  I was probably afraid that the high falutin’ kids at Highland would discover cow dung on the bottom of my shoes, or even worse.  Whatever the reason, I knew that the only way I could get in good with the new kids was to do something extraordinary, and I had to do it quick.  I decided that the fastest and easiest way to accomplish this was to join the school baseball team.  I knew the tryouts had already taken place, but didn’t really worry, because I knew as soon as the coach saw me in action, I would be on the team.

I considered myself a pretty good ball player.  At least I thought I was good enough to turn a few heads, and figured it would be just a matter of time before I had a fairly impressive following.  I was pretty surprised when Coach Thompson informed me that the sixth grade “A” team was pretty well set, but I would be able to play on the sixth grade “B” team.  At first, I was devastated.  “How could I not make the first team?” I asked myself.  However, the more I thought about it, the more I realized that it was the middle of the season, and how was the coach supposed to explain to some kids’ parents that he was going to have to kick their kid off the team because this super star stud had just moved in.  So, I decided to go along with the coach, for now, so the poor kid could stay on the team.

Aztec Junior High School is a tiny little school way out of town in the middle of some oil slick.  They were to be my first victims.

“Hill!” the coach yelled at Thursday’s practice.

“Finally,” I thought, “the “A” team can’t make it without me, and the coach is pulling me up to the big leagues.”  I kind of felt bad for the third string outfielder that was obviously being sent to the “B” team to make room for me.

“I have been watching you this week.” He started.  “You’ve been real impressive.”

“Here it comes.”  I thought as I tried to look humble…but it was hard.

“So…I want you to start tomorrow…as the pitcher…for the “B” squad.”

I just about choked as the B rang in my ears.  I felt like a bush-leaguer…a big bozo.  I was bewildered, morally busted and betrayed.  A total boob.

I watched him walk back to the dugout where his elite team was waiting in respectful anticipation.

Sure, I was disappointed, as I recall, but I was grateful at the same time.  At least I was playing.  “I’ll have a chance to prove to Coach Thompson what a great player he was passing up.” I thought.

When we arrived at the ball field, which was nothing more than a glorified pasture surrounded by oil derricks, we immediately grabbed our gloves, searched for the old army duffle bag for a ball and headed for the diamond to get warmed up.  After a few practice pitches, I caught sight of Coach Thompson heading our way.

“Hey fella’s!” he called us together.  “Their coach has just informed me that they have but one sixth grade team this year, so we are going to have to make some changes.”

“Oh great!” I thought, “I’ll get to sit and watch and hope that the first, second, and third string pitchers all blow out their arms and then maybe I’ll be able to play.”

“So,” Coach Thompson started, “we have agreed that you guys will play their combined fifth/sixth grade team, and our “A” team will play their combined seventh/eighth grade team.”

“You’ve got to be kidding!” I protested.  “We gotta play a bunch of little…”  That was as far as I got in my tirade when I noticed an intense glare in my direction from Coach Thompson.  I wisely decided to leave well enough alone.  But, as I walked away, I could feel the bitter disappointment of having to play a team with a bunch of little fifth graders on it.

The game was going pretty well, much to my silent surprise, and even though it was hard to admit, the reason for our success was the rag-tag bunch of guys playing behind me.  Most of the batters I faced were hitting the ball, but usually right at one of our players.  And, to my amazement, they were catching them.

At one point in the game, I think it was about the third or fourth inning, I had already walked a couple of batters, and another was safe on an error, which loaded the bases.  Much to my horror, I glanced over at the on-deck circle, and there, smiling like a Cheshire cat, was the shortstop.  Now this guy had been a thorn in my side all afternoon.  The score at the time was 5 – 2 our favor.  It should have been 5 – 0, but the shortstop, the guy who was pointing his bat at me as he walked to the plate, had already hit two solo homeruns earlier in the game.  I had to admit, I was a little nervous.  That shortstop could flat out hit that ball.  He walked slowly to the plate, stopping only to knock the mud off his cleats with the bottom of his bat.  Stepping to the plate, he peered down at me with a grin that said, “throw me the ball…I dare ya.”

Now, I’ve never been one to back down from a challenge, but at that moment, I was secretly praying for a freak hail storm, or tornado, or something.  It didn’t come.  I tried to put a little something extra on my fastball, but despite all my anxieties, he blasted that ball clean out of sight.  I mean that thing stayed in the air for what seemed like an hour.  Our outfielders didn’t even chase after it.  They just turned around and watched it go over their heads, and threw down their mitts.  The score was now 6 – 5, their favor.  One pitch and a three run lead was gone.  And, to make things worse, Coach Thompson had left the “A” game to see how we were doing, and got there just in time to watch the ball as it sailed into outer-space.

We finally got them out without anymore runs being scored.  Now the pressure was on us.  We had to score at least one more run in that half inning or the game would be over.  As fate would have it, I had the opportunity to redeem myself.  We had a runner on third and first with just one out.  I stepped to the plate.  I felt as if all eyes at the ball park were on me.  I was feeling the pressure, especially because I hadn’t done very well at bat thus far in the game.  In fact, I had been up three different times, and each time I had either grounded out, or flied out to none other…the shortstop.

I was determined.  The balance of the game was on my shoulders.  I understood how Atlas must have felt.  The pitcher looked down at his catcher, as I bounced the bat on my shoulder.  I could actually see the ball in my mind flying off into orbit.  The whole team would be on the field carrying me back to the dugout.  Finally, the pitch.  It was right down the middle of the plate.  I gripped the bat and took a mighty Casey swing.  Crack!  I hit a line drive right between the third baseman and the shortstop.  “All right, the run from third will score and the game will be tied.  I finally came through.” 

All of a sudden, the sky fell.  It was the shortstop.  He dove for the ball and knocked it down.  “I can’t believe it!”  I bellowed.  I put my head down and started tearing up the base path.  As I started moving down the line, I looked up just in time to see the shortstop throw the ball to the second baseman getting the force out at second.  That was when it hit me.  They were trying to get a double play.  The second baseman would throw the ball to first and if the throw beat me the game would be over…OVER!  “It might me close,” I thought, “but they could never get me, I mean this is the sixth grade, for crying outloud, nobody gets double plays in the sixth grade.”

No sooner had I dismissed that thought, when God pulled the rug out from under me, or the ground to be more precise.  Even now, I don’t really know what happened, except that I still remember the laughs coming from the few spectators that had stuck around to watch their team play.

There I was, face down in the dirt about ten yards from the base, chalk stuck to my face.  “What happened?” I thought, as I lifted my head from off the turf.

The celebration had already started on the field.  It was their shortstop who was being carried to the dugout, not me.  I slowly rolled over and looked up into the faces of 12 dazed teammates lost in disbelief.

“I caught my cleats on something!”  I tried to find an excuse.  “Really!” I explained.  I watched them walk away mournfully shaking their heads. 

“Really!”  I begged.

I was quietly making my way back to the bus trying desperately to figure out how I ended up face first in the dirt halfway down the first base line, when all of a sudden, I looked up and saw Coach Thompson coming my way.  He wasn’t alone.  Walking beside him, as if he had just signed a contract with the Yankees was the Aztec shortstop and their coach.

“John!” Coach Thompson said.  “I’d like to introduce you to Aztec’s coach, Bob Franklin and their shortstop, whose name is also John.  They want to meet you and congratulate you on a good game.

“Congratulate!” I mumbled, assuming they wanted to rub my nose in it, or at least the shortstop.  “Yeah?” I answered in my regular voice.  “Well, just because we got the same name doesn’t mean you’re anything special.”

“Jonathan!” Coach Thompson snapped.  “Sportsmanship makes an athlete.  And I do not allow anyone on my teams who are not athletes.”

He was right, I knew.  I just didn’t want to admit it, especially with Johnny Super Star standing there.  But, I was also smart enough to know that Coach Thompson had the upper hand.  If I wanted to remain on the team, I was going to have to swallow some pride, stand tall and take some ridicule.

“Sorry Coach.” I finally said, and stuck out my hand.  “Nice game.”

“Thanks.” He responded.  And HE took off HIS hat, and HER hair fell to HER waist. 

“Actually,” she said, “my name is really Johanna.  Everyone just calls me John.

I was absolutely mortified.  I just stood there with my bottom lip on the ground.  I heard the coach mumble something about the confusion.  I didn’t know what I felt.  Finally, I just screamed in frustration.  “You’re...a…girl!”  I threw down my mitt and kicked it halfway to centerfield.  All the guys on the team were standing around and after the initial shock, they started laughing.

I don’t know whatever happened to Johanna.  But one thing I do know.  At that particular moment, I felt that she had ruined my chance to be a hero.