Like most young boys, I joined a little league baseball team when I was in elementary school. I had some good years, but then when I was in 6th grade, my eyesight suffered and my skills went downhill.
I had perhaps the dorkiest glasses in the land, complete with the brown smoker's lounge tint in the lenses, so I refused to wear them in public. I was what you might call "not cool" during my school years and the glasses, in my opinion, were the reason for this. During baseball, I was seen as an equal and was never made fun of. So, I didn't want to experience the torture I felt during school while I was on the baseball diamond. It was more important to me that I fit in and play poorly rather than get made fun of and play well. As an adult, it makes no sense to me, but as an impressionable preteen, you couldn't convince me otherwise.
There was a rule in our league that every player had to participate for one plate appearance and two innings in the field as a minimum. So, there were several games where I would strike out and play my two innings in right field where no one ever hit the ball.
One such game, I was lucky enough to play the entire game in right field. As I mentioned, rare was the day when a ball was hit to right field, so for the majority of the time the right fielder had some time to collect their thoughts. Our field was unique in that there wasn't a fence around the outfield. If you hit the ball in the right spot, it just kept right on going and you could run all the way around the bases. During this game, there was a batter on the opposing team who liked to hit to right field and got to test this theory of running around the bases. In both of his first two plate appearances, he hit the ball about as high and as far as I had ever seen. There were some trees that separated the diamond from a small children's play area. Well, both of these shots screamed through the trees and kept going. If I had to estimate, I would say that the ball came to a stop about 300-400 feet from home plate, which was a very rare feat for a ball batted to right field. To say that the batter ran all the way around the bases was probably a stretch. Trotted or strolled might be a more appropriate term. I'm pretty sure he could have fallen to the earth and backstroked his way around the diamond before I retrieved the ball and threw it back in. There is a distinct memory that I have of looking up on both occasions as the ball soared over my head like a condor.
Despite these mammoth shots, our team was leading going into the last inning when my good buddy came to the plate again. I decided that no matter what I wasn't going to let the ball go over my head again. I positioned myself right in front of the trees that were so far back I needed binoculars just to make out the players at the plate. It was at this point that I noticed that a friend of our family, Father Dimitri, came to see me play. I have no idea why. I'm pretty sure my parents weren't even at this game.
Father Dimitri was a priest at the hospital where my mom worked and he came over to visit at our home on several occasions. I recall one year that he made a big statement about turning over a new leaf and sending out Christmas cards, which he apparently had not done in the past. We received at least 4, each of which was numbered 1, 2, 3, 4, etc. We called Father Dimitri and asked him what the numbers represented and he replied that he numbered his cards as he mailed them out. We found this unusual because there were several days that lapsed between our receipt of each card, so we asked how many he sent out and the answer was that our cards were the only ones he sent out. He had to purchase a package of cards, though, so he just kept sending all of them to us.
Father Dimitri saw that I was playing right field and started calling out to me. I tried to acknowledge him, while paying attention to what little of the game I could see. He told me to move in and stop playing so deep. As he reasoned, there was no way this boy was going to hit this ball that far. I yelled back that he had just scorched back-to-back shots over my head. Father Dimitri didn't want to hear any of it. In part to have him stop drawing attention towards me, and in part because I trusted him, I took a few cautious steps in. Father Dimitri was now screaming louder than ever. "JEFFREY! COME ON IN! YOU'RE WAY TOO FAR OUT! THERE'S NO WAY HE CAN HIT IT THAT FAR!" At that point, I thought about it. If he hit the ball as hard as he did in the first two at bats, there was little chance I would catch it, even if I was playing at the edge of the trees, so what did it matter where I was lined up. So, I moved in. I moved in and I moved in some more. Father Dimitri continued to egg me on the whole way. Eventually, I was standing about 10-15 feet off the infield dirt. The coaches didn't say anything to me while I was moving in. I'm pretty sure they thought the same thing as I did about not being able to catch the ball regardless of where I was standing. I never got to complete this thought, however. There was a loud "PING" that disrupted my thoughts. I looked up and the batter had hit the pitch that was coming in and the ball was screeching towards right field. Time seemed to stop for a second. The din of the crowd was now silent. The seconds took minutes to go bye. My eyes widened to the size of melons and my mouth dropped open. The ball was coming right to me. I didn't have enough time to over think the matter. I took 2-3 steps in and stuck my glove up and heard the sound of the ball slamming into the rawhide. A puff of smoke flew up into the air out of my glove and the pain seared down my hand and arm like someone had just lit a match on my hand. I looked into my glove and the ball was in there, like someone had put some glue on my glove and the ball and they just stuck together. I did it! I saved the game! My teammates were jumping up and down running toward me and then off the field. For some reason, I didn't realize the magnitude of this event, probably because I was asleep for most of the game. I threw the ball into the infield and calmly jogged off the field.
In what was probably one of the proudest moments of my childhood, Coach got us all into a circle behind the dugout after the game and he praised all of our efforts. Then, in what was a complete surprise to me, Coach told the team that one person saved the game for us and without this person's efforts we would not have won. "...and that person is Jeff," coach called out to the group. He had a huge smile on his face as he walked over and handed me the baseball, explaining that the game ball was going to me today. I felt like I was a winner for one of the few times in my baseball career. I didn't have to go home and talk about how I need to work on my swing, or take some ground balls, or get hit in the head because I couldn't catch pop flies correctly. For this one day, I was a winner, period.
After the game, Father Dimitri came over and said, "I told you, Jeffrey! I told you!" I asked Father Dimitri how he knew where to position me. I don't recall his answer but I'm pretty sure God was involved. He brought this wonderful human being into my life and had him watch over me during a time when I felt like I didn't belong anywhere. Sadly, Father Dimitri would pass away a short time after this. I really miss him and wish that he was still a part of my life. I know that he is watching down on me from heaven, but I wish that I could listen to him tell me a story. Whenever we went to Mass, he would always tell a story during the homily that would be meaningful. I remember my parents always bragging to their friends about what a good priest he was. I only wish there were more people in this world like Father Dimitri. He believed in me when no one else did. I can't thank him enough. I just hope God is taking care of him as well as Father Dimitri took care of me that one day on the ball field when I was #1 for a night.
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