Today I was remembering back to my 5th grade year. I had missed tryouts for our Waite Phillips little league baseball team. I wanted to play baseball so bad, that my father told me if I could find enough players, he would coach the second team. It took some effort, but after a week or so, I had convinced enough classmates, some who had never played baseball before, to join the team. We were called the Waite Phillip Peppers after the great Pepper Martin. We never won a game and most were stopped on account of darkness. We had pitchers who couldnt throw a strike and outfielders who were afraid of being hit by fly balls. On more than one occasion, the other team would round the bases on an infield hit. We made the Bad News Bears look like a professional little league team. I remember during one game, one of the mothers drove up and yelled out the window to her son. He dropped the bat, ran to the car and they drove off. Guess it was time for dinner. During another game, our left fielder ran away from a fly ball. After it hit the ground, he slowly walked over to pick it up, then held it looking confused on who to throw it to. We were consistently laughed at and ridiculed. I am happy to say that the next year I made the first team and I not only got to play these same teams again, but we beat them all. It was sweet revenge. Still, I will never forget the sacrifice my Dad made for me, so I could play baseball. Its a season I will never forget. I have forgotten the name of our 6th grade winning team and most of the kids who were on it, but I will always remember the Waite Phillip Peppers. Thanks Dad.
Posted on: Thu, 15 Jan 2015 05:32:44 +0000
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