Back in Grade School, there was a year in which me and a friend of mine were bat boys for the Indiana University Baseball Team. The playing field was across the road from his house, and only about six or seven from my house. They would give us for free all of their cracked bats and we would wrap wire around them and then tape and they were good. We played a lot of sandlot baseball in the summer. I could hit. I couldn't do anything else and never got on Little League because I threw lousy. During the year when one of my bears played Little League and we would go to the batting cages, I could still knock them out. Anyhow, those were the best bats I ever owned.
Just a few years ago, when my little sister died, I was talking to a guy at her service and he knew our home town and had played baseball for IU. We figured out that I must have ran after his bat a few times.
Did he remember the kid that was promoted to put up the scores on the manual scoreboard out at the end of the field and how he got mixed up and they had to send a runner out to get the score fixed in the middle of the game? He did. That was the last time I got that job.
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