A Boys' Game

By Charles Byrum

"A remarkable book. The story of Hank Branson and his teammates captures what senior softball is all about." 

-Terry Hennessy, Chief Executive Officer Senior Softball USA

Hank Branson, 58, has no intention of giving in t

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jurnal Press
• Release date: Nov 9, 2021
• ISBN: 9781956854060

Charles Byrum

Charles Byrum is an American author, as well as a lawyer and Arbitrator, who lives in the Chicago area. Throughout his life, he has been involved in team sports as a player, a coach, and manager of baseball and softball teams at all levels, including youth programs, park district teams, high school, and college. He has experienced a constant awareness of the physical, social, and psychological benefits the team experience can provide to the individuals who participate, particularly seniors who continue to do so after their peak physical years and has written A Boys' Game, a book about a team of senior softball players who challenge the aging process which has set into their lives. This book is an uplifting story about how a valuable segment of our society faces and overcomes the situations and challenges that confront them.

Book preview

A Boys’ Game

Charles Byrum

A Boys’ Game by Charles Byrum

This book is written to provide information and motivation to readers. Its purpose isn’t to render any type of psychological, legal, or professional advice of any kind. The content is the sole opinion and expression of the author, and not necessarily that of the publisher.

Copyright © 2021 by Charles Byrum

Library of Congress Control Number: 2010912444

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced, transmitted, or distributed in any form by any means, including, but not limited to, recording, photocopying, or taking screenshots of parts of the book, without prior written permission from the author or the publisher. Brief quotations for non-commercial purposes, such as book reviews, permitted by Fair Use of the U.S. Copyright Law, are allowed without written permissions, as long as such quotations do not cause damage to the book’s commercial value. For permissions, write to the publisher, whose address is stated below.

First Published, 2010

Printed in the United States of America

ISBN: 978-1-956854-06-0 (E-book)

ISBN: 978-1-956854-07-7 (Paperback)

Published by Jurnal Press LLC

30 N Gould St. Ste R Sheridan, WY 82801

https://www.jurnalpress.com/

It ain’t over till it’s over.

Yogi Berra

This book is dedicated to my wife, Bonnie, and daughters, Julie and Molly, who encouraged me all the way and made me run out everything I hit.

Cover photo by Mark McMahon

Contents

CHAPTER 1: Little League Championship

CHAPTER 2: It’s Time to Grow Up

CHAPTER 3: Death of a Contemporary

CHAPTER 4: Rich Wilson Introduces Hank to Senior Softball

CHAPTER 5: Tryouts

CHAPTER 6: The Wife’s Permission

CHAPTER 7: Uniforms

CHAPTER 8: Indianapolis

CHAPTER 9: Breaking With The Routine

CHAPTER 10: Demoted

CHAPTER 11: Things Can Get Tough In Middle Age

CHAPTER 12: Quad Cities

CHAPTER 13: Ex-Athlete

CHAPTER 14: Between Games In Oshkosh

CHAPTER 15: Grandfatherhood

CHAPTER 16: St. Louis

CHAPTER 17: Why Do Some Men Continue to Play Ball?

CHAPTER 18: The Midwest Regionals

CHAPTER 19: World Championship/Las Vegas

CHAPTER 20: World Championship – The First Day Games

CHAPTER 21: World Championship – The Second Day Games

CHAPTER 22: World Championship – The Third Day Games

CHAPTER 23: Putting it in Perspective

CHAPTER 24: World Championship – The Fourth Day Games

CHAPTER 25: Thanksgiving

Biography – Charles Byrum

Charles Byrum is an American author, as well as a lawyer and Arbitrator, who lives in the Chicago area.

Throughout his life, he has been involved in team sports as a player, a coach, and manager of baseball and softball teams at all levels, including youth programs, park district teams, high school, and college.

He has experienced a constant awareness of the physical, social, and psychological benefits the team experience can provide to the individuals who participate, particularly seniors who continue to do so after their peak physical years, and has written A Boys’ Game, a book about a team of senior softball players who challenge the aging process which has set into their lives.

This book is an uplifting story about hoe a valuable segment of our society faces and overcomes the situations and challenges that confront them.

CHAPTER 1: Little League Championship

The sun finally came up, although he thought it never would. This was the biggest day of his life so far, which had spanned all of 11 years on this earth. Hank Branson would be playing in the Wilmette Little League Championship game today.

This was the game for all the marbles. After three months of the regular season, then three play-off games, it now came to this, the Championship Game.

Hank figured the whole world would be there, so he told his Mom she should get there at least two hours early so she could get a seat. It would be tough to get one since there were only 250 seats at Roemer Park, the Little League Field. Mom would be bringing Hank’s brother and sisters, John, Barbie, Nancy and Liz and, if Dad go back in time from his sales trip, he would be there too. They better get there real early. He would remind them of that.

Two nights a week and one day a weekend he had been playing ball all Summer, the greatest Summer he had ever known, the greatest Summer a kid could have. Playing baseball. Not just baseball, but official Little League Baseball. Uniforms, sponsors, full dress uniforms with numbers and real umpires. What more could a kid want. How much better could it get?

Hank had only been playing organized baseball for three years, but here he was at the pinnacle at the tender age of 11. He was the starting left fielder on the Salerno Cookies team, a big accomplishment for an 11 year old, since the league allowed 12 year olds to play and most of the good players in the league were 12. Hank could run, though, and could catch the ball, so he played in left field, a pressure position because a lot of balls were hit there. He could hit, too, so he batted third in the order. This was also a big deal for an 11 year old and he was proud of himself, even thought he would never brag out loud to anyone. This was not done. He had hit well all year, but had been particularly effective in the recently completed play-offs. Eight hits in eleven at bats. Of the three outs he had made, one was a liner to the third baseman and one was a long fly ball that drove the left fielder back to the fence before he caught it, so with a little luck, he would have been 10 for 11 going into the Championship Game. Hank was brimming with confidence. The game was at 6:30 p.m. that night. It was 6:00 a.m. now. How could he wait 12 and 1/2 hours? It would be an eternity.

Hank went down to breakfast. Mom usually started in the kitchen at 7:00 a.m. and stayed there until 8:30 a.m., performing routine tasks while the kids rolled out of bed and came down to eat, usually one at a time. She would fix anything you wanted so long as it was cereal or eggs. Hank and his younger brother, John, would eat a big breakfast. This pleased their mother. The girls, however, would pick at their meals, even at an early age. Mom was constantly imploring them to take at least a few more bites than the amounts they ate.

When Hank got down to the kitchen, his middle sister, Nancy, was already seated at the table. Everyone else was still in bed. I figured. Nancy was the hyper kid in the family. She possessed a lot of nervous energy that would not permit her to sleep late in the morning or to have a calm deliberate conversation with any of her siblings.

She looked up from her bowl of cereal. What are you so excited about? she asked, her eyebrow arching in disapproval.

Today’s the Little League Championship and I’m playing in it replied Hank.

What’s the big deal? She shot back Nobody really cares who wins or even who plays.

I care said Hank, a little bit hurt by her assessment. Nancy really was a pain in the butt.

I suppose this means that I have to go because Mom will go and won’t leave me alone. Nancy whined.

Yeah, grinned Hank, or else maybe Mrs. Baumgartner can come over. He knew this would scare her to death. Mrs. Baumgartner was a big, burly babysitter who smelled like garlic and who took no guff from anyone, particularly, Nancy. Mrs. Baumgartner saw right through her. Nancy was trapped.

I’ll go she complained, but maybe it will be a short game. Don’t they call the games off when somebody’s getting clobbered? She was referring to the mercy rule when a game was ended early if a team was ahead by more than 15 runs after 4 innings. It happened sometimes, but not a lot.

Yeah, they do, but I don’t think it will happen tonight, it’s the Championship Game. The two best teams in the league. Nobody’s going to clobber anybody. It felt good to say that.

Nancy looked crestfallen. She would go and she would be there for the whole game, doubtlessly the regulation 7 innings, and she knew it. What the heck, she might even get into the flow of it and enjoy the experience, but probably not.

After breakfast, Hank got on his bike and rode down the street to his friend Ralph White’s house. Hank hung around with Ralph over the years and they had been close friends, at least as far as boys go. Ralph was not much of an athlete and did not have a great deal of interest in sports. He had only played Little League for a year at one of the lower levels and then quit. Hank was not surprised when this happened, but was disappointed. After all, how could someone voluntarily put baseball out of his life? But Ralph did. What’s more, he had started to sneak cigarettes. Not a lot, but he smoked from time to time.

Hank rode into Ralph’s driveway. Ralph was sitting on the front stoop cleaning his nails with a penknife.

How ya’ doin’ Ralphie, Hank shouted. Real good Ralph shot back. We are going on vacation tomorrow and I am ready. I need a break.

Ralph and his family, which consisted of Mom, Dad and 3 boys between the ages of 12 and 17, took the same trip every Summer. Ten straight days on a lake in central Wisconsin with Mrs. White’s sister, her husband and their 4 kids. Ralph told him last year that things had not gone smoothly. That was pretty obvious because they came home 3 days early with everyone in a foul mood. Hank remembered when they pulled their station wagon in the driveway and everyone got out of the car with cranky looks on their faces and slammed the doors, even Mrs. White, who was the kindest person Hank had ever met.

But pre-teenage boys were not likeable or agreeable, particularly in large numbers and in close confinement, so the Whites probably would be coming home early this year, too.

You’ll have a great time Hank said, and he hoped Ralph would.

Yeah replied Ralph. This place has become pretty boring. I think I need a change.

Hank felt bad for Ralph. He was too young to go out with girls and he didn’t do sports anymore. In other words, he had too much time, which did not lead to good things.

It will be fun to see how much Susie has grown since last year. Ralph was referring to his cousin who was two years older and lived in Indianapolis. She had developed quite a set of breasts last Summer, which gave the boys a lot to talk about during their idle time, of which there was plenty. He was looking forward to seeing how things had come along for Susie since last Summer.

I’ll say Hank encouraged him. It takes the boredom out of being with your cousin if she has big ones. He really felt sorry for Ralph and hoped he would have more to do this year besides staring at Susie.

You know the Championship Game is tonight and I thought you might want to see it. We’re playing Porter’s Pharmacy and it will be a good game. Maybe afterwards we can go get pizza.

Nah, said Ralph. I’m really not into baseball. Not much of a player. Wasn’t interested, so I don’t think I would care to watch.

Hank understood. He did not want to press the issue. Ok. The season’s over tonight and I will not be playing any more this Summer. Maybe I can come over tomorrow and hang around before you leave. It was a 4 hour trip, so the Whites usually left at Noon when they took their annual journey north.

Yeah, I’d like that replied Ralph. He was now throwing his penknife into the ground. About half the time it stuck.

Hank got on his bike and started to waive goodbye. As he got out of the driveway, Ralph shouted Hank Yeah?

Where are you hitting tonight?

Third Hank said.

Wow exclaimed Ralph. Even with all the older guys on your team, they’ve got you hitting third?

Yeah. Hank was a little embarrassed.

Well, just go get ‘em. I hope you win. I don’t like those Porter’s Pharmacy guys, particularly their pitcher, Jim Harper.

He doesn’t scare me, he is just big Hank shot back.

Good luck Ralph said, Just watch out for his fastball.

Hank felt funny. Ralph proclaimed disinterest in baseball, but he somehow knew about Hank’s opponents that night and made sure Hank was prepared for their pitcher’s best pitch. Maybe he likes the game more than he lets on Hank thought.

It was not hard to think about Porter’s Pharmacy. This was the team that won the regular season title, with only one loss. That was to the Bicycle Sports Shop, which had finished second. Hank’s team, Salerno Cookies, finished third in the regular season, but had lost to Porter’s Pharmacy twice in the regular season. The second game was close. Real close, but a loss nonetheless. Salerno had beaten the Bicycle Sports Shop in the play-offs and had earned the right to redeem themselves in the Championship Game. Another shot at Porter’s Pharmacy. It was justice.

The Porter’s Pharmacy team was mostly made up of guys that went to St. Joseph’s parochial school. They were all good athletes and seemed bigger than the rest of the teams. Hank knew a lot of their players through day camp or from Church. He was Catholic himself, but he went to the Public School. The St. Joseph guys had all played on a number of teams together, particularly baseball and basketball, all the way through grade school, and knew how to play as a team.

Hank’s team, on the other hand, was an amalgamation of players from the Public School. There were a lot of good players from the Public School, but they were at a disadvantage because the teams were reshuffled year to year and there was no consistency. Hank had only played previously with his shortstop, Rich Adams, and his pitcher/first baseman, Gordie Johnson for the past two years. The rest of the Salerno team was new to him this year. They were a good team, however, and went unbeaten during the second half of the season, except for the loss to Porter’s Pharmacy.

Hank kind of hung around the house, read some comic books and worked on an airplane model for the rest of the afternoon. The day took forever, but at last it was 4:00 o’clock. Time to get ready for the game, which started at 6:30 p.m.

Mom had washed his uniform, Number 16, and it was ready for the game. Uniforms were passed out at the beginning of the year, along with hats. The uniforms had to be turned back in at the end of the season for re-use next year by someone else, but the hats could be kept. One look at a hat at the end of a season and you know why. Players had to buy their own shoes and mitts.

Although he really didn’t do this often, Hank checked himself out in the mirror when he finished dressing. This was the Championship game and he wanted to make sure he looked just right. No shirttails hanging out or wrinkled knees. Nothing that made him looked sloppy or careless would do. He looked just right, so he hopped on his bike and started for the ball field. The family would come in the car to watch him later, but only just before game time, despite his nagging to get there early. That’s how it worked with young kids.

He pedaled over the hill and saw the baseball park. It was named Roemer Park. He had seen it dozens of times before and had played on it all summer, but this was a special night. The vision was breathtaking and almost made his heart stop when he saw it.

Every kid who ever plays ball has a favorite field. The one he remembers best. The one where special things happened. For Hank, this was Roemer Park in Wilmette. He didn’t know who it was named after. Maybe a local war hero, maybe a retired Physical Education teacher, or maybe a recently defeated Trustee on the Village Board. It didn’t matter. Only the park mattered.

The park was built behind a new housing development. It was not part of a larger park complex. It was there alone, except for a parking lot and a refreshment stand behind home plate. There was a wooden fence circling the outfield exactly 200 feet from home plate in center, left and right. Perfect dimensions. There were dugouts on the first and third base sides of the diamond. They had woven rope screens to protect the occupants from foul balls and were actually dug out 8 to 12 inches below grade with concrete floors. Real dugouts, like the Major Leagues, Hank thought. The fields were perfectly manicured thanks to the Park District. No ruts or stones. Tonight, just like the first game of any evening, fresh powdered chalk lines had been spread along the foul lines as well as in the batter’s box, creating the rectangles in which the hitters would stand when they bat, on both the left hand and right hand side of the plate, although the batter’s box was usually obliterated by the 4th inning. To Hank, the field was beautiful.

The most striking thing about Roemer Park, however, was the refreshment stand. It was a frame building, two stories high. On the first floor were the bathrooms, an equipment room and a refreshment area located behind a walk-up counter facing the field. At that counter, the best hot dogs in the world were served with whatever you wanted on them, so long as it was ketchup, mustard, pickle, relish, onion or tomatoes. There was also popcorn served from a corn popper, candy bars and coke from an honest to goodness coke dispensing machine with levers.

Upstairs, where the official scorer sat all on the weekend games and special evening games like tonight’s Championship Game, there was a public address system where the scorer could announce the score, the number of outs and most importantly, the name of each batter as he came to the plate. It is impossible to describe the thrill experienced by a boy as he walked to the plate and heard his name announced over the P.A. to his family, his friends and to the whole free world. There was nothing quite like it and no player ever got tired of it.

About 45 minutes before game time, the coaches held infield and outfield practices. Batting practice was not allowed because the home plate area had been fixed up with the newly laid lines of the batter’s box. Hank practiced with the outfielders and shagged down a few fly balls. As was his custom, Mr. Parker, the Manager, wrote down the starting line-up on the clipboard and hung it on the dugout. As soon as the clipboard went up, players would find excuses to meander by the dugout and take a peek. You could almost tell by the body language of a player who looked at the clipboard whether he was starting or not. A kid who saw he was not starting would let his shoulders droop, perhaps look up or down and shuffle slowly from the clipboard. A kid who was starting would usually punch his glove with his fist and run away from the clipboard area with an extra spring in his step.

Jimmy Richards, an outfielder who played sparingly, was one of the players who pretended he had to go to the bathroom so that he could look at the clipboard. He took his look and shuffled back to the outfield.

What’s the word Jimmy? Hank asked. He was glad Jimmy had looked so he could find out that and would not have to find some reason to go in and look for himself.

I’m on the bench, as usual, but you’re in left field and batting third, Jimmy moaned.

Hank could hardly contain his excitement, but he commiserated with Jimmy. Tough break, but you’ll get in. Jimmy looked up and said It’s ok, this is the Championship Game, so we have to go with our best guys. If any of the rest of us gets in, it will be good, but it is not important. Winning the game is important.

Hank was almost giddy. Left field and batting third. One of the critical positions and one of the critical spots in the batting order. Sure, he had played well all year and had played real well in the second half of the season, but he was 11 years old. Ten or so guys on the team were 12 years old, including Jimmy, and these guys had played an extra year. They could handle the pressure where many 11 year olds could not. There was also a big physical difference between 11 year olds and 12 year olds. A lot of strength, speed and agility can be gained in the year. Almost every star in the league was a 12 year old.

Nonetheless, he, Hank Branson, 11 years old, was starting in left field and batting third in the biggest game of the year.

The starting line-ups were announced, the teams lined up on the first and third base foul lines for the National Anthem, which was played on a record over the Public Address System, and the game was on.

Porter’s Pharmacy was the home team, since they were the league champions, so Salerno Cookies batted first. They caught a break because Jim Harper, Porter’s monster right hander, had pitched the semi-final game and was now playing first base for this game rather than pitching. Al Wilson, a good left handed pitcher, was on the mound for Porter’s, but no matter how good he was, he did not have the overpowering, intimidating stuff that Harper possessed.

Salerno Cookies got a run in the first inning driven in by Mike Grossman, the third baseman who batted fourth. Hank had done his part by hitting a single with a man on first, moving him to third so Mike could drive him in, but Hank died on second base.

Salerno’s pitcher, a gritty kid named Louie Scolo, threw a great game. The only trouble came in the third inning when Porter’s pushed across two runs, thanks in large to a couple of walks and an error, but all in all, Louie pitched great.

Hank was 2 for 3 after 6 innings. A single, a double and a ground ball to short. Not bad for an 11 year old, but the rest of the team was not getting hits and before he knew it, Salerno was facing its last bats in the top of the seventh, behind 2 to 1. In Little League, the games only went seven innings.

Hank was due to hit 5th that inning and he felt good about his prospects, if only he