Miracle in Center Field

Dear Boo and Bubble,

You may or may not know that one of baseball’s greatest ended his career this season.  Derek Jeter, shortstop for the New York Yankees, played that position for twenty years.  Not only did he excel in the sport (a five-time World Series champion, the Yankees' all-time career leader in hits (3,465), doubles (544), games played (2,747), stolen bases (358), times on base (4,716), plate appearances (12,602), at bats(11,195), sixth all-time in career hits and the all-time MLB leader in hits by a shortstop), but his exemplary actions off the field served as a positive counterweight to many of the high-profile professional athletes in the news regularly.

I read an article the other day in Sports Illustrated about him.  One quote really jumped out at me and could perhaps explain one of the reasons for his success.

“At times probably a lot of the media gets frustrated with me. But for me the only way I’m able to operate here for this long is I don’t like negativity. I don’t like to talk about it. I don’t like to answer questions about it. I always hear people say I give the same answers or I don’t you give you much. No, I just don’t give you much negativity.”

(Great Granddaddy Schaefer expressed the same disdain for negativity this way – “I hate sourpusses, the ones always rummaging around hunting something unpleasant and doomed-shaped for a topic of conversation, who see no beauty in a magnificent red sunrise, but want to talk about the unwanted rain it portends.”)

This has me reminiscing a little. In several previous posts, I’ve shared with you stories about how baseball was an integral part of our family’s culture, especially for your Great Mamaw Mary. (November, 2012, “The World Series” and August 2013, “1974-#755”)  I’ve also told you how, as a child, my greatest desire was to be included in great Uncle Bryant’s activities.  (October, 2012, “Cowboys and Indians”)  This story intertwines both.

In 1951, when I was four and Bryant six, we lived at University Ridge Apartments in Greenville.  Right next to our building was a large grass field where almost every day during the summer, the boys from the complex gathered to play a pick up game of baseball.  Bryant was no exception.  He would gather up his glove, bat and ball to head out the door and join in the fun. 

One day, I whined so about being excluded, Mamaw Mary insisted that he take me along.  He fretted at first – the games were very competitive and he hated to lose.  Finally, he acquiesced. 

“Okay, Beth,” he said.  “You can be on our team, but you must do exactly what I tell you.  Is that a deal?”

“Yes!” I replied enthusiastically.  “Whatever you say.”

We walked over to the field.  The boys on Bryant’s team saw me tagging along and their collective expression of displeasure was apparent.

“Don’t worry, guys,” Bryant reassured them.  “I’ve got the perfect spot for Beth to play. She will definitely not get in our way.”

He turned his attention to me.

“All right, Beth, start running out to the center of the field and keep running until I tell you to stop.”

I gladly did as I was told and ran for what I thought was a considerable distance.  I turned around.

“Keep going,” Bryant instructed. 

I did.

“Keep going,” he shouted.  “Just a little further.”

By this time, I was pretty much at the end of the field almost to the parking lot for the complex.

“Okay, that’s good.  Now be ready, head’s up, in case someone hits a ball to you.”

“Okay!!!” I yelled back as loudly as I could. 

I bent my knees and covered them with my gloveless hands, squinting hard to focus on home plate and the batter up.  All of the action seemed to be in the infield, but I guarded my spot relentlessly.  When it was our turn to bat, Bryant would whistle me in.  Somehow, I was always replaced with a “designated hitter” or some other such excuse.  But, that was all lost on me.  I was part of the team. 

It came down to the bottom of the final inning.  Our team held a slim one-run lead with two outs, but there were runners on second and third.   Out in the hinterlands, I took my position, the back aching a little now, and watched our pitcher wind up for the toss.  The batter swung.

KEEE------RAAAAACK!!!

The sound rattled the earth as the ball came off the bat.  Up, up, up it went – high over the heads of anyone in the infield, over the heads of the first battery of outfielders officially on the team – out, out, towards the parking lot………and me.

I watched the ball and kept watching.  It seemed like a missile coming straight at me.  There was nothing to do but throw my hands up in self-protection, my eyes closed, my head turned away to keep from getting smacked in the face. Bryant and his teammates looked on in horror as they grasped that I was the only thing between them and defeat. 

Don’t ask me how, but that ball landed in the palms of my hands.  My fingers instinctively curled around it as if embracing a baby bird.  I opened my eyes to confirm that I had made the miraculous catch.  IT WAS REAL!

I began to run towards the infield where everybody stood in various stages of disbelief – from ecstasy to mortification.  Bryant led the way in greeting me between second and third bases.  You would have thought I was a hero or something!

When I saw the pride in my older brother’s eyes – honestly it was one of my finest moments!!