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David Mitchell
Speaking of Steve Hodges, I am reminded of some baseball lore that will help fill in some of the blanks of your vast baseball knowledge. And all too appropriate for this time of our annual "fall classic".
(NOTE: some of this fascinating detail has escaped even the historians in Cooperstown.)
During the approximate 473 times that I found myself playing catch with Tom Litzinger, I had fooled around and taught myself to throw a really nasty curve ball by about 7th grade. It was so good that it surprised even the two of us, and we decided to show it off on the playground at OLP one day at recess. Kevin Ryan couldn't hit it, nor Joe Royce nor Mike Haggerty nor Tommy Swain nor Kieth Groff. So Ryan and Litzinger decided to go round up an unimpeachable "jury" of 8th graders to put me to the test. Jeff Doone, Dave Monfort and Jim Shannahan tried but could'nt hit it - or even beleive it. And standing nearby watching was the ultimate judge, a tall, handsome young blonde adult in a long black casscock with buttons all the way down to his ankles, who had played (and later coached) the game. (My mother affectionately called him "Kenny"). He pronounced my curve ball worthy, and his opinion carried the authority of a guy who spent his Sunday morning's pouring water into wine, so it was confirmed that I "might just have something there."
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The spring of 8th grade then brought us back to baseball season and I was to open the season as the "starter" on the mound. Our first game was a week night after school down at Whetstone park against those feared houligan's from Immaculate Conception School. Their batting lineup read like the annals of war. Doyle, Croyle, Cull, Nielson, McGreevy, Strange - and help me here, Jim - wasn't there a Hamilton in that group? (forgive me if I cannot remember all of them).
The game began about 5:00 and a huge crowd of perhaps - oh, maybe 26 were on hand (mostly dads). I was a nervous wreck!!! (OLP'ers will recall that this was normal for the kid who was so afraid of everything that his nervous fear caused me to faint on the altar while serving morning mass - over 20 times! )
I proceeded to walk, and or hit, so many batters that we could hardly get through the first inning. My curve ball had completely abandoned me. Somehow we got out of that inning but it started again in the next inning. I was finaly shown mercy by the coach when he brought Kevin Ryan in from the outfileld to replace me. And so too, Kevin proceeded to walk, and or hit batter after batter. Finally they replaced him with Joe Royce and miraciulously we ended that inning. As I.C. was preparing to come up for the bottom of the second inning, a conference was going on on the sideline including umpires, coaches, and even a few of the dads. It was decided that the game would be called due to darkness. The score was, as I recall, 18 to 0. (as in zero).
But a week later, I was still the "starter" and we traveled to far off Arlington to face those "rich kids" from St. Agatha. They not only had their own diamond, but they had full iniforms --- with pants (we only had shirts and hats). I was able to get through the game with a degree of control (my "curve" was still not fully with me), but we still lost by ONLY about 10 or 12 to 1.
But noteworthy about this game was the opposing pitcher. This tall, lanky blonde kid with glasses. He worked methodically, with almost machine-like precison. Every pitch was the exact same pitch. Evey pitch was a fast ball that we could barely see, let alone hit. It literally hummed as it came across the plate and popped into Bill Fisher's catcher's mit. And every pitch was a perfect strike - straight over the heart of the plate - no deviation what so ever! The kid's name was Hodges. And we would soon become great friends.
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We played several more games that I did not start (Same James the Less and St. MIke's, but I have no memory of those). And one at Whetsone park against St. Andrews in which I had my only hit - ever! I closed my eyes, swung with all my might, and hit a triple over somebody's head (maybe Al Morse??).
Our final game was down in some place just north of St. John's Arena in a park that was down in a recessd area close to the Olentangy again -- (Maybe Tuttle Park - help me Fred). We were facing Sacred Heart, so it was another tough crew - mainly, little (but tough as nails) Mike Kaylor, and Sonny Carroll, Ron Kovaks, etc. This was the only game my dad had time to come to and he stood by with Father Grimes in another large crowd of maybe 30.
But miracle of miracles - my "hook" was with me. I had them swinging at balls that blew a foot off the plate or had them leaning back afraid of being hit as it bent right over the heart of the plate. I was having fuuuuun! We had a lead of 1 to 0 in the final inning, but after they got a couple of runners on, Tom Litzinger made two throwing errors and we lost the game 2 to 1. He felt sick about it and I kept trying to console him, but it felt good for the rest of my life that I had "it" that one time.
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Come spring of freshman year, I was coming out of Mass one Sunday at OLP. Father Grimes yelled, "David, come here." He asked me why I was not out for baseball and I told him I didn't think I had a chance. In a stern voice not to be argued with he said, "I want to see you out there for tryouts Monday afternoon. Do you understand me?" Yes father! So that following Monday, I showed up for freshman baseball, coached by Dick Amorose, who never even had me throw a single pitch. The pitching job was all Gene Rodger's, and everybody knew it. A week later, walking out onto the practice field, Coach Amorose came up from behind me and put his arm around my shoulder. "I forgot I was going to make one more cut, and they already cashed the insurance checks" (health insurance for athletics that we had to turn in before playing). "Do you want to stay anyway?" I was humiliated! But I stayed out of sheer embarrassment and watched every single inning of every single game from the bench, including a game when we were down 13 runs in the last inning at Arlington.
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Also there is a lot of discussion about Football, Baseball, and golf for the guys. It was really sad that there was only cheerleading and in those days. I really wouldn't consider it a sport as we didn't go any gymnastics. We had competitive basketball and baseball in grade school and competed throughout the Catholic School Systerm. The fiercest team we played in 8th grade was St. Agatha's with the beautiful long blonde ponytailed haired Coleen Cotter, Marylynne Walters and Diane Sweeny. We could only play half court---imagine that. It was terrible that girls did not have team sports in their high school years I would have loved them.
