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I
may be biased about my very good mate and business partner Adrian
Dunn, but I reckon that this is one of the great stories in Waverley
Baseball Club history. Adrian has, in my view, been the OUTSTANDING
baseball journalist in Australia over the past three decades but,
like me, he never got to play the sport he has enjoyed watching for
so long. Those of us who were brought up in Australia's 1960's
didn't often have any opportunity to gain exposure to baseball in a
football and cricket dominated society. At least this self described
"baseball tragic" grabbed a chance to fulfill a lifetime dream, JUST
before it became too late for him. It took some guts to have a go,
but I know he's delighted that he did!
Here is AD's readable transcript from the above article:
SOMETIMES once-in-a-lifetime opportunities sneak upon you like a cat
burglar. Like last Sunday afternoon.
After trekking out to Kirby Field, home of the Sunshine Eagles, to
watch Waverley Baseball Club thirds, featuring son Jack endure a
16-3 shellacking, my modus operandum was to high tail it out of the
joint. ASAP. That’s when for this self confessed baseball tragic a
once-in-a-life-time opportunity came at me like a Roger Clemens’ 90
mph fast ball (not steroid induced). Craig Reval, who manages the
club’s top-of-the-table fourths, an eclectic mix of guys, some of
whom have climbed baseball’s Everest in Australia and others who
love the game and the cameradie it provides, sought me out.
Reval had a proposition from left field: given the club was one
short would I like a game?
For all my unabashed passion for the sport, here I am fast closing
in on a half-century, not as nimble as I can once remember and
despite having covered the sport for the paper for nearly 20 years,
I’d never before played a game. It had been a regret, one that
continually grew as time marched on. Okay, I’ve pretended to be
Barry Bonds or Ken Griffey Jnr as I’ve beaten up on Jack and his
not-so-enthusiastic sisters Louise and Steffi in backyard scratch
matches, but hey that was years ago.
But, as ‘Rev’ (Craig Reval) read through the line-up the featured
Mark Murphy, a former Australian Under 19 pitcher, Tony Page, a guy
with nearly 500 games for Woodville and more than 200 games for
Waverley, John Makeham, a one-time US College player, and Richard
Mason, whose father Dick was an ABC commentator and institution in
Victorian baseball, there I was. Playing rightfield and batting nine
(you can’t bat any lower) was the oldest rookie since who knows
when.
All my excitement was tempered by some logistic humps: I had no
uniform or gear. Hastily, I climbed into Jack’s pants and after
several (very) deep breaths, I managed to squeeze into them. It
would be fair to say the pants looked as if they were painted on. No
such luck with the Waverley Wildcats top. Buttons embarrassing
continually popped open like champagne corks as my, ahem, more than
ample midriff proved too big an obstacle.
Fortunately, I was able to borrow the top of Brad Spencer, who
managed the thirds. Jack’s cleats seemed a perfect fit although his
batting gloves and helmet were ooh-so-snug. Now game time. ‘Rev’
tells me he’s protecting me by playing me in rightfield, but as
destiny would have it the ball followed me like a tracer bullet.
Excitement turned to despair. My vulture-like impersonation when
attempting to snag a routine fly was downright laughable and then I
overran a ball. Oh my god, I thought, can it get any worse.
Perhaps this was the baseball gods way of letting me know it’s much
easier playing the game from the press box. I’m sure I saw Jack
rolling on the ground laughing, but maybe not. Everything became
blurred. I was huffing and puffing like the Big Bad Wolf. Next, came
my first at bat. All the sage words of wisdom vanished as I thrashed
around like a windmill. Somehow, I drew a walk and eventually scored
a run.
But, those glad tidings were forgotten as I made the first of two
bone-head base-running blunders. Mercifully, the ball stopped
chasing me in the outfield and Waverley took an early lead. Before
my third at bat – my second resulted in a fielder’s choice - ‘Mako’
(John Makeham) suggested I lay down a bunt, ‘Pagey’ (Tony Page) told
me to keep my hands back and ‘Rev’ told me to be selective. Perhaps
‘Mako’ was confusing me with Jose Reyes, but I didn’t fancy my
chances of legging out an infield hit or for that matter laying down
a bunt.
The latter two pieces of advice proved telling as I dunked a single
into left field to the raucous cheers from my teammates, but again
my base running was woeful and we didn’t add to our scoreline. As
time ticked by with Waverley holding the lead late in the game, a
fly ball came twirling towards me, but the faster I ran towards it,
the further away it seemed.
More in desperation than anything else, I threw out my glove in hope
and fortuitously the ball somehow landed in it. ‘Murph’, ever
economical with words, uttered a ‘good job’ and my spirits soared to
newfound heights.
Sunshine was unable to make any inroads into the lead as we ran out
comfortable 9-3 winners. All my newly made teammates were over me
like a cheap suit as we gathered for the post mortem, but I didn’t
mind. My tell-tale smile told the story. What a buzz, what a rush.
Now, I’m a committed subscriber to the ‘never give up on your
dreams’ fraternity.
I’d achieved a lifetime ambition, my afternoon at Kirby Field will
forever be etched in my memory.
Now, all I have to do is convince ‘Rev’ to move me up the order! |
