While researching vintage baseball, which is hardball played by 19th-century rules, I landed an invitation to play with the New York Gothams. I accepted. Here’s what happened.
Hardball vintage style is truly hardball. Vintage ballers play without gloves. I repeat: They play without gloves.
In the very first inning of my debut, I desperately needed one. I was playing second, and someone was attempting to steal. I ran over to cover the bag, and the catcher whipped the ball to me. Promptly, I became paralyzed.
Photo courtesy MIC
It’s one thing when the hardball is soft-tossed somewhat delicately like an egg. It’s entirely another when someone is chucking it at you with everything they got, especially to a muffin, which is the unfortunate nickname vintage players assign to rookies such as myself. As the ball came towards me, I saw the runner charging towards the bag – and me.
I panicked. I flinched. I froze.
At the crucial moment of convergence, I snaked my arm around the runner, managing to get one measly finger on the ball. Of course, I didn’t catch it. Unfortunately, my pinky hurt like hell. It was broken, but no one offered that diagnosis at the time. In not so many words, the message from my fellow Gothams: “It’s swollen. Walk it off.”
For my debut double header, I scored one broken pinky and no hits.
During my lowest of low lights at the plate, I was desperately trying to keep a rally going. At the plate, I usually had a succinct conversation with myself that went something like this: “Watch the ball come off the pitcher’s fingertips, wait, and swing.”
Photo courtesy Vintage Baseball Association
Just as I was preparing to swing away, a Gotham broke my concentration. “C’mon, muffin!” he yelled repeatedly. Distracted, I over swung and wound up hitting a hard chopper up the middle, which somehow bounced off the pitcher’s fingertips and onto his head. I ran hard up the line. In vintage ball, they play 90-foot base paths – none of this 60-foot beer league, softball fluff.
I beat the throw, but overran the bag. Unfortunately, overrunning first is forbidden in vintage ball. After running past first, the Gothams yelled at me to return to the bag, and I did, diving headfirst into the bag, barely beating the first baseman’s foot. I’m ecstatic!
I got my first hit in vintage ball! Perhaps they won’t call me a muffin anymore! My euphoria is short-lived. The umpire – who was dressed in 19th-century garb – called me out for my base-running blunder. Sadly, he refused to cut a muffin a break.
Part 2 is coming soon….
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Jon Hart is the author of Unfortunately, I was available, the undeserved sequel to Man versus Ball: One Ordinary Guy and His Extraordinary Sports Adventures.
This is great! Good job, muffin.