Put me in coach....I'm ready to play...

After sophomore year of high school, I "retired" from baseball to the world of Hawthorne High School golf. (Watching Todd Delaney & Sean Garner mercilessly compete for that 4th spot, defeating Bergen County Sheriff's Officers during Hooters trivia night, and many a trip to the Wendy's on Hamburg Tpke are some of my fondest memories) I never thought I'd be back on the diamond, playing the "hot-corner" and stealing second. Especially for a team called the Blue Jays, in which I am stuck wearing the jersey of a bird from the home of Molson XXX and crappy socialized medicine.

This whole year (and a few months) has truly been a "fantasy camp": saw the Giants win the NFC Championship in -30 degree weather, I started grad school at Notre Dame (aka fat camp because I lost 25 lbs when I was there), joined the ULC, spent the rest of the summer in good ole' Sea Girt, and wake up every day truly enjoying what I love to do. Continuing with that "new Ryan" theme, after not much thought, I decided that being I can get myself around the bases, why not come out of my "retirement" and play ball?

Baseball has been a big part of my life for as long as I can remember. The first Met game my father took me to, as a 5 year old in 1988, we sat behind home plate, right next to a woman named Bo, who regailed us with stories from that magical 1986 season. "Nails" aka Lenny Dykstra was (and still is) my favorite player, the man to hold the distinction of the ultimate training regimen, which individuals noticed Spring Training 1987 when he showed up with 30 extra pounds of muscle mass.....and the worst day of my young life was 2 years later when he and Roger McDowell were traded for Juan Samuel......Exactly.

I still remember the first glove my father had gotten me. It was a Mizzuno and I remember not being able to touch it for 3 days as the glove sat, bathed in oil, so my Costanza-hand would be able to clench the ball. My brother and I would play home-run derby in the backyard. In Hawthorne, baseball (and softball too) are the first organized sports that kids were able to join. In the 2nd grade, they gave all the kids numbers, packed them in the Roosevelt School gymnasium, and went through hitting and fielding rotations as if it were a MLB combine. You were drafted and there in lied your identity for the next 2 years, as you proceeded to face off 18 times a year on the fields of Wagaraw and the "Pumphouse". Some kids were concerned about winning, some about "batting averages" that were somehow always inflated, and yes, some about the Cheetos and Ssips juice packs at the end of the game. While it was about having fun, it was also about earning that jacket at the end of the year. Winners always got jackets...unless the sponsor was cheap. And in a small-town, no member of the chamber of commerce could afford that reputation.

As I went to little league and my father started coaching my brother's teams (the epic moment coming in the 6th grade when during a regular season little league game, the pitcher was taken out and replaced with my brother so he would be able to face me....For the record, I did get a hitI played on a team known as Paul's Motors. Of all the organized sports I've played during my youth, those three years during 4th and 6th grade. It was nice because kids were treated fairly. There were no father's coaching their own son's on this team. It was fair. It was fun. And it was because of those 5 men.

The last game of my little league career ended in the championship game. It was Paul's Motors vs. Hawthorne Travel. (Its one of those things that has been rehashed on so many occassions by my former coach and tailgating maven, Al, that nobody forgets it...and the story never changes) The series was a "best of 3" and tied at 1-1. We were up 9-8 in the bottom of the 6th. I was having a career game (4-5 with 6 RBI, including the one that put us up going into the bottom of the 6th...Didn't I say personal statistics were for losers?) Turano flied out and we were 2 outs away....Then Mike Phillips hit a double, Casapulla hit a error-forced triple and during the obligatory visit to the mound to calm him down, our pitcher complained of arm pain. This is little league. Runner on 3rd, 1 out. What do you do? While intentionally walking was banned from the rules of the Hawthorne Baseball & Softball association, it's what had to be done.

So they bring in the righty, who really hadn't pitched all year, but they had faith. My job was to give them nothing to hit. Don't throw a strike. I remember parents complaining that that wasn't baseball...So I walk the first guy. To make it look like I was intentionally walking, I'd throw balls. Some of those balls took bad hops. One of them took an especially bad one, and Mike Casapulla stole home to win the game, ala Benny the Jet Rodriguez in the most underrated sports movie ever created, The Sandlot.

You would think that this particular event would fade from people's perception. "We're just kids." Well, like many before me, everybody remembers Hawthorne Little League. You remember who played for what team. You remember the colors of the uniforms. You remember that during "All-Stars" the pitcher from Long Hill with a hyper-active pituitary gland which i'm sure caused him to shave at the age of 12. Whether win, lose, or heartbreak, they're all cherished memories that somehow always come up when a bunch of us get together.

So, yeah. I'm back on the field. Playing 2nd base. For a guy who's taken 10 years off, forgone performance enhancing drugs and showed up at camp 30 lbs lighter than he was a year ago, I think I'm doing just fine.