Out Of The Junkyard
Love Of The Game Comes First
By Guy Junker

It's hard to believe 38 springs have come and gone since the first time I tugged on that Little League uniform.

We had already played a thousand games of pick-up baseball and a thousand more of whiffle ball in the yard by the time I got the official white flannel. All the uniforms were the same with only the color of the hats, socks and piping separating the teams. I was lucky to get picked by the Yankees. They had black trim which was much better than the lime green of the Pirates or the lemon yellow of the Cubs.

Each team was sponsored by a local business whose name appeared above the number on the back. There were cool sponsors like Koontz's Boron and McGinnis Market and Brentwood Hardware. But we Yankees were sponsored by Jamal's Bar and Lounge. It was an establishment on Brownsville Road that, like most things from my youth, no longer exists. And it wasn't long before the jokes started about how we played like we had just come from the bar. We stunk.

Our first game was against the Red Sox. They had a pitcher who was a year ahead of me in school and always a wise-guy bully. He eventually became a lawyer. Draw any conclusion you like. But I remember stepping into the box and someone on their bench said something derogatory about my skills and he got a punkish grin on his face and quickly had me swing and miss twice. But on the third one I connected and ripped one to deep center. We were playing on a large field with an unreachable fence so there was a home run line painted in the grass. As I rounded first I saw the umpire circling his finger with the home run sign and I thought I was going to explode. My mom and dad were at the game and the future counselor stood on the mound with his hands on his hips as I rounded the bases. It would have been impossible for life to be any sweeter at age nine.

It proved to be short lived. We lost that game. And the next 18. I didn't hit another home run until years later in Pony League. By July Fourth, we were 0-19 with only a rained out game left to make up against the Braves. They were 19-0 and had clinched the league championship already. There really was no point in playing. But the Braves were coached by a maniac who thought he was Danny Murtaugh and he insisted. Apparently he wanted to further his glory with our humiliation. So we showed up on a hot, humid, overcast summer night. It looked like it would pour any second and most of us were hoping it would. We had experienced just about enough of our first year of Little League. Several of my friends from school played on the Braves but oddly, none of them were there. Too bad. Because somehow, someway, we won. I played second base and had little to do with it. We had a tall, awkward kid named Tom who wore thick glasses with a black strap attached to the back and all year he threw hard but walked nearly every other batter. Somehow that night, he found his control. Coach maniac was heard to utter several profanities as the evening wore on.

Afterwards, our coach took us to Page's Dairy for ice cream and a celebration as delicious as any in my entire life since. The Braves still got the trophies but we were the blemish on their 19-1 record. When I called my friends afterwards to brag about beating them, I found out that they didn't even know about the game. It seems the Braves coach had only called his nine best players so that he wouldn't have to play his less-skilled kids the required innings.

So if you think we've cornered the market today with over-zealous parents and out-of-control coaches, forget it. That stuff was happening in 1965. But the Yankees beat the system. If only for one night. Of the 15 kids on that team, I was the only one who went on to play baseball in high school. Some of them weren't very good players but I'm sure others were turned off by the politics and shenanigans of misguided adults.

Funny, we couldn't wait to get those uniforms, yet we had much more fun without them. Or umpires. Or coaches. So if you are involved in youth sports, especially with the real young kids, think about that. Teach them to love the game first. And let them play. They have the rest of their lives to count wins and losses.

Guy Junker is co-host of Sports Beat and the 11 p.m. Regional Sports Report with Fox Sports Pittsburgh.