Nemesis: The Hom Hom Homers

Ah, the joys of baseball; it's long season draws out every emotion but in April, everyone is hopeful. Baseball can bring out joy and agony and if you are a teenaged kid playing, it may bring out fear.
I always liked playing the game and was good at it especially tracking down fly balls but something about our first organized games versus other teams made me very nervous. 

My older friend Anthony had organized our crew at 30th Avenue ("Winslow's Giants) to face, in a series of games, George Hom's Hom Hom Homers.  Great name really but scary team.  For the life of me I can not remember any of their players except one- and because I am most likely not going to ever meet him again, I will refer to George's brother as Behometh. The Behometh was a very large boy- definitely older and looked like Jose Canseco in all his glory.  He hit the ball as you might expect a Behometh to hit a ball. The Behometh would crush a pitch every time and my eight teammates would all turn and watch the flight of the baseball as it traveled to Saturn. Probably a little glad that none of us had to get in front of the leather missile.

In later games Winslow's Giants would compensate by pulling in Coach Aveson's friends (John's older brothers and their circle) but these first games I remember batting and hoping to get walked.  Fortunately being on the tiny side, I had a small strike zone and didn't swing the bat very often.  Also our batting helmet (fits all but me) seemed to ride on my head like Darth Vader's mask.

During this series my proudest moment occurred when playing the outfield,  the Behometh ripped a line drive which I didn't let get by me- it crashed into my chest and bounced back to where I could toss it back in.  I suspect that what actually happened is that he hit the ball so hard I didn't have time to get out of the way.  Caught between deciding to dodge left or right, I did neither.  Bruised and sore I ran back to our dugout area after the third out,  and Coach made a point of celebrating my effort and courage.  If being too stupid to get out of the way = courage and effort, well then I was happy to contribute.   The why and the how no longer matters- only the perception of the was that is, and how it still makes me feel today (and a malleable memory). 

We won our series with the Hom Hom Homers with a loaded (unfair) lineup. Today with nostalgic affection I sometimes think about George's team and how I'd still like to kick their butts- but I'd get out of the way this time.