memories #8

                                                               POGO STICK  

     Most small towns have some sort of baseball organization for youths such as Little League, Babe Ruth, or Sandy Koufax.   Our town 6 to 7000 population has the Old timers Association for ages 6 to 15, with three divisions based on age.  Each team had 10 or 12 members and would play twice a week during the summer.  Each team had one pitcher, one catcher, one first baseman followed by the rest of the positions and players.

      After a few years in baseball, my coach decided to make me a pitcher.  After all I was left handed and he was the local high school coach building team after team.  Left handers are special in baseball has pitchers.  There aren't many of them.  Their pitches do strange things with curveballs that go opposite directions and most batters are right handed and not used to seeing a curveball break in on their hands.   My first year as a pitcher was a disaster.  We lost every game. 

     The next year was better.  We actually won a few games.  Not many, but a few.  I still didn't know how to throw a curve ball and my coach didn't want me to either.  He said it would hurt my arm.  No problem.  I didn't want to hurt my arm either.

     In the middle of the season, on a hot July afternoon, I got dressed several hours before the game that day.  I was always dressed and ready on game day and usually several hours before the game.  That's just part of my nature to prepare ahead of time in case I forgot something.  I never forgot anything but I did the routine anyway.  I had time to spare so I got out a pogo stick I had gotten for Christmas.  I had become fairly proficient at jumping on that thing and had worn off the rubber tip on the bottom of the stick.  I began my routine and our neighbor’s driveway.

     Across the street was a telephone repair man who had climbed to the top of the telephone pole for what ever telephone repairman climb to the top of telephone poles do.  I began jumping on my stick.  My mother was in our house doing what ever mothers do inside of houses.  Our neighbors were not at home.  The driveway had a slight slant to it and I kept having to adjust my weight and angle to stay straight up and down as I jumped.  Not having the rubber tip proved to be my own undoing.  The stick slipped out from underneath me and I went down hard on my head.  Out cold!  

do not use without a rubber
(tip)

     I don't remember anything until I was almost to our front step.  I was being carried to my house by the telephone repair man.  My mother quickly thanked him and took me to the doctor.  He diagnosed me as having a concussion and I was to stay in bed for the next 24 hours.  I pleaded my case.  He refused to budge.  At 10 years old you never win any arguments.

     My team had to use another player to pitch instead of me.  We lost the game 20 to 0!  It ended in three innings, well short of the five innings our age group usually played.

     The next day, in the sports page of the local newspaper, appeared the headline about the local action from the previous day's play by all the teams.  In bold, black letters it read:  “POGO STICK, EXTRA INNINGS MARK PLAY IN OLD TIMER’S GAMES.”  I found my name next to an explanation as to why a pogo stick was involved in our nation’s past time.  Since I was the only pitcher my team had, we used everyone else on the team and no one could get the other team out.

     Several weeks later we played that same team again.  This time I was there.  By golly things would be different!  They were.  We still lost but the score wasn't near as one-sided as the one before.  I was still learning to be a pitcher.  The final score, in five innings, was 5 - 3.  I never did get back on that pogo stick.  As a matter of fact, that pogo stick simply disappeared.  My mother says that our coach asked to see it and it never was returned.  My coach said he returned it and my mrother must have done something with it.  Funny how neither of them admitted to what had happened.  I found out years later that my father had thrown it away.  I really didn't care.