Shortstop ... or Bust!: The Traveling Tales of Youth Baseball

by Linda Padilla-Diaz

Overview

Under the attentive guidance of a volunteer manager passionate about baseball, a group of boys assembled as the “B” team to play travel baseball for their town team. In Shortstop … or Bust!, author Linda Padilla-Diaz shares a compilation of stories covering the journey through the five years her two sons played competitive traveling youth baseball—from her perspective as both a mother and the manager’s wife.

Shortstop … or Bust! describes Padilla-Diaz’s love of the game and delves into parents’ fixation for their children’s extracurricular activities, seeking the glorified shortstop position. The humorous, touching chronicle of lefty Derek and manager Harry provides firsthand insight into the growing revolution and competitiveness of youth travel baseball. The story begins with the modest commencement of the team with overzealous coaches and dads and describes their winning transformation through several seasons. Padilla-Diaz offers an entertaining play-by-play account of events and provides an up-close view of the games the team played.

Offering a personal account into the harried nature of youth baseball, Shortstop … or Bust! presents an informative, amusing, and bittersweet story about the five-year journey of a group of boys who worked hard and played hard to win.

Product Details

ISBN-13:	9781475965025
Publisher:	iUniverse, Incorporated
Publication date:	01/10/2013
Sold by:	Barnes & Noble
Format:	eBook
Pages:	132
File size:	1 MB

Read an Excerpt

SHORTSTOP ... OR BUST!

The Traveling Tales of Youth Baseball

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By Linda Padilla-Diaz

iUniverse, Inc.

Copyright © 2013 Linda Padilla-Diaz
All right reserved.
ISBN: 978-1-4759-6501-8

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Chapter One

Summer 2005-8U

Prelude with Preston

After a spring season of getting their feet wet, the 8U town travel team entered a local popular tournament, Lincoln Tournament. What would become the norm would be to play several tournaments and juggle many games. They participated in the 8U NJ American Amateur Baseball Congress (AABC) tournament and the Durham Summer tournament, and classic rivalries emerged. Our summer roster consisted of fifteen kids and many coaches, and the squad set out to play many games.

While it seems atypical for seven- and eight-year-olds to play competitively, this group did. In the first game, we were scheduled to play Preston, but were missing four regular players, away on vacation. After the introductory year, the parents hadn't learned the silent rule—you do not go on vacation until summer baseball is over.

Harry (officially manager) and his coaching staff of three coaches (unofficially—seven overzealous dads who wanted to oversee) were ready to compete. After the requisite coin flip, we were designated the visiting team, meaning the other team had the last at bat. I had a bad feeling because I like the last attempt to bat up and score. Tension was high, and nerves were rattled; if you lost, you went into the loser's bracket, and it was really tough to get out of that. Not to mention that the league board of directors had suggested to Harry that it would be nice to win because it had been nine years since the town had won. This was a must win.

The kids played defense like professionals and not the seven- and eight-year-olds they were. Sonny's son, Stefon, pitched three innings, and while parents were a mess, he was calmly blowing bubbles. In the earlier innings, no runs to score had been made on either side. Derek, seven and one of the smallest on the team, played centerfield. Derek and Harry are not tall in stature, but their baseball hearts and guts are the size of any seven-footer. Derek threw a frozen rope from centerfield to second base for the last out in the fifth inning, which did not allow their run to score when the other kid ran from third base.

Harry, who normally showed no emotion, was banging the fence with probable pride (which he would never admit). The games are supposed to be six innings, but by the bottom of the sixth, the game was still scoreless—0–0—requiring extra innings. Frazzled nerves, cursing coaches who were being warned to calm down by the umpire, and yelling parents filled the stands, and I felt like I could pee in my pants; my already weakened bladder couldn't handle the pressure. Our kids cried if they struck out or didn't make it on base, but it was the kind of game where both sides were making plays and ensuring that the other side didn't score first. Spectators heard about the 0–0 game and stopped by to watch.

At the top of the seventh, we score, and I have to do everything in my power not to have an accident because my bladder is weak and my heart is racing. As the home team, Preston bats last. Harry brings in a pitcher, Marty, and after two outs, he walks a batter, so the bases are loaded. Harry calls timeout and walks to the mound. The infield joins him, and Harry states, "Get mad; these kids are ready to take your game away."

Marty strikes out the next batter; we win and are in the revered winner's bracket! When you win 1–0 in extra innings, as the visiting team missing four regular players, props are in order.

Derek gets the game ball for his play, which prevents a run from scoring. Nice beginning to the tournament!

Edgy with Eastchester

As we moved forward in the winner's bracket, we faced Eastchester. The first game was at a field where spectators sat on opposing bleachers. This game was at another field with one bleacher, which means spectators for both teams sat together! This was not an accommodating setup; every time one of Eastchester's kids was up, the Eastchester spectators were yelling at our kids and vice versa. I almost cursed at a dad who was out of control. Instead, I did the next right thing, and whenever we got a hit or strike out, I yelled, stood up, and waved both arms in the air to block his view. I tried reminding myself not to turn into a psycho mom.

We started with Stefon, the kid blowing bubbles when he was up pitching in the 0–0 game. Harry nicknamed him Steady Stefon. Kids were only allowed to pitch three innings in this tournament, and I'm happy to say that, after three innings, Eastchester had zero, and we'd managed to score three runs in the first three innings. Derek hit a line drive and managed to get to second base. This made up for the bobble to him in the first inning while at second base, which had allowed a kid to get on base but thankfully not to score.

In the fourth inning, we bring in Sosa who was away all week and possibly rusty. A couple of sloppy plays, and Eastchester scores two runs, bringing the score to 3–2. Since I have no more nails to bite, I start with sunflower seeds, and the sodium is running through my body. I feel my fingers swell. However, we get through that inning and are ahead.

At the top of the fifth, they bring in "Mikey." His dad is behind me, and I hear "C'mon, Mikey, give them what you got; they can't hit you!" We hit and score four runs, bringing the score to 7–2.

In the bottom fifth, our hero from the Preston game is pitching. Marty walks a couple, and they score. Another kid scores, although Derek throws a laser from second base to the catcher, who catches it, but stands with it and forgets to tag the runner. 7–4.

During the top sixth, we don't score. One of our moms is on the phone asking for updates and makes me stay on the phone to do a play-by-play. Marty comes back to pitch the bottom of the sixth, but it's evident he doesn't have it. In comes Wamcash, whom I affectionately call our Mariano. In my mind, all that is needed is the introductory music! Harry gives him the ball, says something magical, and off he goes. Strikes out two right away. Mikey's dad is in front of me in the first row of the bleachers (probably moved because I stood too many times), and Wamcash does it—he strikes out the third batter, and we win 7–4. The mothers start yelling and clapping; Derek sees us and smiles from the field and suggests we stand up! What a game. Not as pretty as the first one but effective.

Next up: last year's champion—Oxford!

Outstanding versus Oxford

Let me put in perspective how big this game was. I forfeited my own women's softball game, sat for two hours with Luis (with combined smells of chlorine and sunscreen from camp) because he took a nap and was cranky when I woke him up, and had PMS but still sat with the spectators from the other team, although I walked away when I didn't know if I was going to yell, cry, or do both.

My family had arrived early, so I'd seen the Oxford team practice for about forty minutes, and I was nervous (I'm not sure if it was the PMS hormones or the smell of chlorine penetrating my brain cells). They looked like the champions they were (last year's). I told one of the moms they looked good, and she went pale.

With the coin toss, we are the visiting team and bat up first. In the first inning, Jack earns a walk from the pitcher, who looks like the mean kid in Leave it to Beaver and has the weirdest pitching stance. Derek smacks a line drive, but the second baseman snatches it (I said they were good), and Jack stays on first. Marty strikes out, and Stefon earns a walk. Two outs, runners on first and second, and up comes Wamcash. He smacks the ball to the outfield, and the kids run. Harry (whom I nicknamed "the mad waver" since he's always waving the players to home plate) waves Wamcash home. Beaver stands on the white line in front of the catcher, and Wamcash goes around him and slides home. The pitcher is called with interference, and we're up 3–0 in the bottom of the first inning.

Stefon is pitching at the bottom of the first but is giving up walks. Harry later tells me this kid gave him six straight shutout innings of baseball the first two days, and even Roger Clemens has bad outings. They score two in the first inning, and we are leading 3–2.

During the second inning, neither team scores. Beaver and Stefon are still pitchers of record. I notice Derek doing something new as he walks out of the dugout to bat (making the sign of the cross), and I wonder whether he's watching too many ESPN highlights. At the bottom of the third, Oxford bats, and Stefon allows a run; the game is tied. I take Luis for his first trip to the canteen (it's about 8:30, and he tells me, "I think I'm awake now") and see Derek warming up with Harry in the dugout, and my heart falls. I can't believe he's bringing in the Little Unit (Derek), and I worry the game may get out of hand because, during the warm-up pitches, he's throwing a lot of balls. I call out, "Are you serious?" But Harry doesn't hear me (or more likely ignores me). Luis gets his hot dog. My heart is aflutter. I head back to my bleacher seat and don't tell the spectators what I think is going to happen. This is a tied ball game; why not bring in Mariano? The announcement is made about the pitching change, and it's Jack (whew!). Jack strikes out the batter; the game remains tied.

In the top fourth, we don't score, and the dreaded feeling of the possibility of another tie looms, which my nerves and bladder can't handle (although this time I brought extra panty liners). Jack is still pitching, and an error by the first baseman allows the kid to get to second base. The second batter hits another double and brings in the runner. They're leading 3–4. Their parents (and they had a lot more people there) were wild. Harry calls time and brings in Wamcash. Although they have a runner on second, he strikes out three in a row to End the inning 3–4.

It's the top fifth, and before the kids come out to bat, Harry stops them and yells, "This is your inning!"

They respond with many hits. Oxford's new pitcher is throwing hard but a little wild. We score five runs in the top of the fifth with a smashing single by Stan, which should have been a double, but he's not known for his speed. His dad, the quietest guy on the bleachers, goes ballistic yelling. The inning's over, and we lead 8–4.

I and another mom start calling out to any baseball god for help. Another vacation mom is calling with her son for updates, and the mom and absent player want to stay on the phone for a play-by-play (I wonder about my cell phone bill!). During the top sixth, we don't score. The score remains 8–4.

Wamcash allows a runner on first but then strikes out three. The inning's over; we win. We're not as obnoxious with our chants (they did outnumber us), but we share in a lot of high-fiving and hugging. The out-of-town player hears the announcement of a Sunday game, and I'm assured he'll be back in time!

Routed by Riverhead

I'm a firm believer in superstition, and on the day we were scheduled to play Riverhead, things seemed like they were going wrong. Harry never spoke to his coaches on game day. Out in the backyard, no sooner did I remind Harry of this than Coach John called. How bad could it be? Let them talk.

Twenty minutes later, Coach Alan called to say he'd landed safely and would be at the game with his son. I thought about saying, "Okay, I'll tell him," but instead said, "Let me put Harry on the phone."

To top it off, I usually bought a big pack of Juicy Fruit gum to give to each kid, telling them it was "hitting gum" (that always brought a smile). Pathmark didn't have Juicy Fruit, and I forgot to get it elsewhere! We had also been the visiting team the past three (successful) games but now were home. I had a yucky feeling before the game started.

Plain and simple, the Riverhead team was good. This team played in last year's championship game and lost. I believe they wanted it. Their pitcher was a youthful combination of Clemens/Johnson/Schilling and pitched fast—not to mention our kids weren't chewing hitting gum, which put a damper on everything!

The bases are loaded in the second inning; their batter hits to our shortstop, who catches it but throws it pretty high to the second baseman. And although the latter has it, it falls out of his glove. One runner scores. Their next batter hits a shot that scores three more, moving the score to 0–4. We even have hornets, bees, or some other bug buzzing in right field that sent Stan running out because he thought he would get stung. He sat out of the dugout until it was time for him to hit.

Not even our own Mariano can stop the scoring machine that is Riverhead. The final score, 0–8. Yep, we were shut out. One of our siblings previously coined the phrase "give them the medicine," and that night was our turn to get some.

However, it's not over. Riverhead goes to the championship, and we have to play Oxford, whom we'd previously beaten 8–4. The winner of that game plays Riverhead. Out of fourteen teams, three are left. If nothing else, our kids have displayed dedication, persistence, and outright guts in this quest. Harry says all he's going to do is tell them do their best and have fun. Just in case, I plan to have the Juicy Fruit with my sunflower seeds.

End of Superstition?

I tried my darndest to keep the superstition going—had the Juicy Fruit, kept the coaches from speaking—but it was tough. Wives were calling each other to determine which shirts the coaches should wear. When Coach John called and I told him he couldn't speak to Harry, he laughed but told me they needed to discuss the lineup. "Okay," I said hesitantly (while cursing under my breath) and decided to hell with the same outfit I had been continuously wearing (cleaned of course).

The team wore white T-shirts under their vests for home games and red T-shirts under the vests for away games. Some heard Harry say white for this game, but others arrived in red shirts; some of our coaches wore black shirts, and some wore white shirts. We were uncoordinated. I questioned Harry about it, and he replied, "I don't give a damn what they're wearing, so long as they play baseball." He's not a man of many words.

We arrived at the bleachers, and the Oxford families (the nicest group of fans encountered) were in the front row with pom-poms! They outnumbered us, but the moms took the same seats, pulled out sunflower seeds, and awaited the game. I realized I still had the gum(!), panicked, and ran to the dugout with Luis. I tried to hide that I was giving out the "hitting gum" before the coordinator threw me and Luis out. I told Edgar to give out the gum and make sure he called it "hitting gum." As we were running out, Luis said, "Edgar's probably gonna eat all the gum, right?" And my heart sank.

Coin toss done, we are the visiting team. Jack strikes out, and Derek walks. Marty gets a hit, and third-base coach Harry is yelling at Derek to stay at second. Derek doesn't listen, runs, and slides into third but is tagged out. Two outs, Marty on first, and Stefon hits an infield grounder ending the inning. We take the field, and I don't see Derek at second because he's in the dugout crying and blaming Harry for getting tagged out! Jason, on return from his vacation, is set to pitch; he walks a batter and gives up a couple of hits. The score is 0–2. Pom-poms are soaring, making me want to throw a match in the air. Not again.

At the top of the second, Wamcash walks. Edgar (the gum recipient) is up and gets a nice hit to the outfield (it worked!). Wamcash makes it to third. Jacob strikes out, and Stan whacks the ball to the outfield, bringing Wamcash in and the score to 2–2.

With our pitching at the bottom second and bottom third and fantastic defense, we hold them at 2. We get another run, courtesy of Stefon, who brings a batter in, and the score is 3–2. We're not getting any more runs because the defensive plays are phenomenal. At the top of the fourth, we earn another run, bringing the score to 4–2.

The Oxford moms start singing, "Here we go, Oxford, here we go," and we're yelling on top of them, "Defense! Defense!" Marty comes in to pitch and does not allow a run. We're up to bat, it's the bottom fourth, and we start singing, "Here we go, Tayneck, here we go!"

The dad in the stand behind us yells, "Don't let them take your song!" They start waving pom-poms.

No runs, and we go to the top of the fifth, leaving bases loaded without scoring a run. In the bottom five, Marty does the job, assisted by a fantastic play at second from Derek (who's no longer crying but has assumed his position at second) to shortstop Wamcash for an out at second. Wamcash attempts to convert to a double play at first, but the runner is called safe.

At the top of the sixth, I'm nervous and seeds are spit all over the place. After a parent observes my spit fest, I promise to attend Sunflower Seeds Anonymous. Soon, it's the bottom sixth, and up to bat is the top of the lineup. Mariano Wamcash comes in (in my mind, I hear the entrance music) and strikes out the first batter. Wamcash's mom, sitting next to me, starts doing her happy dance, and an Oxford dad yells, "Hey, you can't do the happy dance!" I ask her to sit before we get jinxed. The second batter walks; I told her not to dance! The third batter hits a shot to left field, but our defender makes the catch. With two outs and a runner on first, batter number four strikes out. We win, 4–2. We're hugging and high-fiving, and the classy parents at Oxford tell us, "Good job. Go all the way and win."

(Continues...)

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Excerpted from SHORTSTOP ... OR BUST! by Linda Padilla-Diaz Copyright © 2013 by Linda Padilla-Diaz. Excerpted by permission of iUniverse, Inc.. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the publisher.
Excerpts are provided by Dial-A-Book Inc. solely for the personal use of visitors to this web site.

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Table of Contents

Contents

Foreward....................ix
Introduction....................xi
Summer 2005-8U....................1
Fall 2005-8U....................19
Spring 2006-9U....................39
Summer and Fall 2006-9U....................53
Winter Tournament 2006-9U....................73
2007-10U....................87
Summer and FALL 2008-11U....................95
2009 Season-12U....................105
Conclusion....................115