I just found one of my score books from scoring my son's games. One was his first varsity start from his freshman year. My wife scored since I was at a conference. My son took the book from me, pointed to a double in the first and said, "That was my first curve ball in my career. It didn't break." He handed the book back to me with a smile.
He had been taught the curve ball in the bullpen warming up for the game. Fun memories.
Great memories indeed. It drudged up a memory of mine. I was mopping up in a midweek game where we were getting the shit kicked out of us. They were hitting me too, but there was no one up in the bully. This game was mine to finish, and there wasn't any pitch count consideration. I used to clown around in the bully iimitating Gene Garber throwing "the thing," as his out pitch was known.
As you may recall, Garber had a very unusual delivery and really was sidearm. Garber was the pitcher who ended Pete Rose's 45 game hitting streak. Wellsir, I had a guy down 0-2, and the catcher called for my forkball/splitter down, which was my out pitch in that situation. But what did I do but throw a Garber like pitch that the hitter hit into the next parish for a three run homer. The coach called time and came running out to the mound. He beat the catcher to the mound, so I was all alone. His words were "what in the holy name of God was that?" He'd never seen it, but the pitching coach knew about it. His next words were priceless: " well, it sucked a hind tit, son. Don't throw it again." To which I mumbled yessir.
I indeed finished the game, which we lost 17-5. Unlike Duman's son, my line that day was not pretty (something like 3.1 innings, five hits, four earnies but six strikeouts (four swinging)), but I saved our bully, which didn't mean much because we really were terrible.
Memories indeed.
