I remember the day my dad placed a glove and a baseball in my left hand and a bat in the other hand and declared that I was now equipped to play baseball. I had just turned 7 years of age. Ever since that time, many of my baseball memories have been related to that day.
When I turned 11, I played in a game that I’ll remember forever. It was my first game on a nine-player team. The team we faced was called the Bull Dogs, and our team was the Tigers, and we had a great team.
The nicknames of some of the players were “Fireball Eddie,” “Hot Glove,” “Speed,” and “Mickey M,” and they were earned by playing in an outstanding way. I, of course, had not yet earned a nickname.
Nine starters took the field on a warm June afternoon at Ridgeland Common, and the small crowd that had gathered was noisy.
For most of the game, the two teams were evenly matched, but in the last inning, Pat “Speed” Evans, playing third base, was injured when one of the Bull Dogs accidentally rammed Pat’s ankle sliding into third base. Pat came out of the game.
Our coach motioned to me and told me to take over at third.
He told me I could do it, but I had my doubts since I was the youngest and most inexperienced guy on the team, but this was my chance to play.
I trotted out to third base, pounded my mitt a few times, and positioned myself about 4 feet to the left of the base. My teammates encouraged me from their places on the field as I nervously eyed the Bull Dog team.
The score was tied with two outs, and the batter hit a grounder that took a sharp bounce toward me. I ran forward and gloved the ball awkwardly, followed by an even more awkward throw to first base. Amazingly, my throw beat the runner.
The game was tied when we came to bat in the bottom of the ninth. Our first batter took two strikes, fouled off a couple of pitches, and then flied out to center field — one out.
Our second batter, Richie Schu, fouled off three or four pitches and then popped up to the Bull Dog first baseman — two out.
I was the third batter, and the coach told me to bunt. I took the first pitch for a ball, took a called strike on the next pitch, and then dropped a bunt to the left of the plate, ran like crazy, and just beat the catcher’s throw to first base — one on, two out.
The next batter was “Big Jim” Van Zant. He homered over the left field fence on the first pitch — game over.
As my team was leaving the field, one of my teammates said loudly that I had come through in the clutch.
From that day forward, my team nickname was “Johnny Clutch.”