In my “Lessons from Little League,” I wrote that I love baseball because it is a thinking person’s game. Let me elaborate with some personal examples.
I grew up in Hackensack, New Jersey, where I played organized baseball from the age of eight: Pee Wee League (ages 8-9), Little League (ages 10-12), Babe Ruth League (ages 13-15), and Connie Mack League (ages 16-18).
“I always knew in advance what I was going to do with the ball if it was hit to me.” (personal photo)
I also played baseball in the school system, beginning in eighth grade on the junior high team. The team consisted of eighth- and ninth-graders. Our coach, Richard Buckelew had a philosophy of playing only ninth graders, so I never played an inning that whole season. However, I learned to make myself useful as the first base coach.
During one game, I realized that I could see the opposing catcher’s signs from the first-base coaching box. I soon figured out which fingers he put down for fastball and curve, which were the pitcher’s only two pitches.
I told Coach Buckelew, and he let the team know that if they wanted my help, they could look down the line at me in the coaching box and I would give them my signals (I forget what they were, but it wasn’t banging trash cans!) for a fastball or curve.
Gene Roman, our shortstop, came to bat, and I saw the catcher signal for a curveball. I signaled to Gene, and he clobbered the next pitch to deep right-center field for a home run—the hit that helped us win the close game.
The pitch seemed to come in harder than a curve, so I wondered if I had gotten the sign correctly. I asked Gene after the game, and he assured me that yes, it was a curve, just a little faster than the pitcher’s usual curveball.
I advanced up the ranks of high school baseball, making the varsity my senior year. I tell that story in Listen to Your Coach, a tribute to my varsity coach, Dave Seddon, who passed away recently.
Among other things, Coach Seddon convinced me to change my stance before my senior year, which I was reluctant to do. But it made all the difference in my hitting once I took his suggestion.
In his final months before passing, Theresa Jones, a Hackensack High alumna and his caregiver, discovered the article online. Coach Seddon read the article, and Jones conveyed to me how Coach responded:
“Not only was he moved to tears by what you wrote, but he was so proud of you for your successful career as a sports writer. He told me what your stance looked like, the advice he gave you, and that you ‘were a typical 17 year old’ because ‘he thought he knew everything because it had worked for him before, but after his initial resistance, he started to make the adjustments, and he became a much better ballplayer.’ Matty was a smart, astute, and analytical kind of kid. He was never gonna be a Major Leaguer, but he was a decent ball player. I loved working with kids like him. Give me one ‘coachable kid,’ over 10 naturally athletic kids who aren’t, ANY day.’
Another thing Coach Seddon taught me was to run down pop fly balls on the tips of my toes, not on the heels of my feet. When you run on your heels, the ball looks like it is jumping around, making it difficult to catch.
In a key game toward the end of the season against Teaneck High, when I was playing second base, the batter lofted a soft fly into right-center field with two outs and the runner in motion (or runners, I can’t remember), so a potential scoring threat. I realized that neither the center fielder nor the right fielder could reach the ball, so I sprinted back, on my tiptoes. Just as the ball was around the level of my knees, I made a backhanded running catch to end the inning.
I was always an infielder – shortstop, second base, third base. When I was 18, I played third base for our Connie Mack League team. In addition to always being in a ready fielding stance as the pitch came in, I always knew in advance what I was going to do with the ball if it was hit to me.
In one game, with men on first and second and less than two outs, I knew what I would do if a ground ball were hit to my left. Sure enough, here it came. I grabbed it, tagged the runner coming from second, then did a 360 spin and fired to first for the double play.
When the same situation arose in another game, I had an alternate plan. Again, the ball was hit to my left. This time, I scooped it up, tagged the runner coming from second, and still had time to fire to the second baseman for the force out on the runner from first. Double play!
Speaking of double plays, during the North Atlantic Regional Connie Mack tournament that summer (which we won and advanced to the World Series in Albuquerque, New Mexico), our ace lefthander Rich Toscano was on the mound. Rich had a great curveball, which right-handed batters tended to beat into the ground toward third.
In one of the games, with men on first and second and one out, I played parallel and close to the third base bag. Right on cue, the batter bounced one to me. I stepped on third and threw to first for the inning-ending double play. The identical situation arose in another game in the tournament – same positioning by me, same result!
Later in the tournament, when I was playing shortstop with a runner on second, he committed the cardinal sin of trying to advance to third on a ground ball hit in front of him. I scooped up the ball and fired to our third baseman, who tagged him out.
Not everyone is a baseball superstar. But we all have a brain. Use it!
Well written and brings back memories
Hey Matt, I’m going to get My Father in law Gene Roman to read your article. Funny enough, my wife, Gene’s oldest daughter was a stud softball player and Dave Seddon gave her the same advice about running on your toes after a fly ball over your head. She told him her dad taught her that when she was a kid playing for him. Great Stories, keep em coming!