I Was a Recreational Athelete
MARS Softball 1968

This is a story from my youth. I was a recreational athlete. That means that I loved to compete but knew I was never going to be The Champion. In 1968 I was 20 years old and a member of the Muddywater Aristocratic Racing Society, or MARS car club (drag racing) in Watertown, Massachusetts. As a club, we joined the local slow-pitch softball league. They even provided an umpire to call balls & strikes and other such calls that he could see from his place behind home plate. This is not about that season, that game or how I hit the ball, or not. This is about the short time that it takes to run the 65 feet from third base to home plate. I was the catcher in this story, not the runner. There was one out in some unimportant and unmemorable mid-game inning. They had a runner on third, awaiting his opportunity.

Slow-pitch softball rules in those days required that the pitched ball have an arc of more than 3 feet as it traveled the 50 feet from the pitcher to home. This makes it pretty easy to hit the ball. Strikeouts and walks were rare. When I pitched, which I usually did, the arc was much greater. My goal was to have the ball travel through the strike zone from top to bottom, rather than the usual front to back most baseball viewers are familiar with. At the time this occurred, I was the other half of the battery, the catcher.

Action: The batter hit an average fly ball to right field. The right fielder, Al True (MARS president), was positioned at the right spot. The runner easily analyzed the situation and knew that with only one out, it was a classic tag-up and was ready to run for home the instant the ball was caught. He knew the umpire was watching and could not leave early. Al caught the ball and made a mighty throw to home. I expected that much. As he did, I saw the anonymous runner take off. Now it was time to analyze my possible actions. It looks like a great throw from Al. I knew a decent runner had an excellent chance of beating the ball to home, so I had to do something, anything to slow him down.

In slow pitch softball, the catcher can not obstruct a runner from reaching home. We all knew that. So, I stepped directly into his path, showing him that I was an obstruction and blocking his path. Meanwhile, I was slamming my fist into my glove in preparation for the ball's arrival. I heard the runner coming at top speed, heading directly at me. It will take about 4 seconds for the ball and runner to arrive. I can hear him getting closer. The fielder's throw looked dead on target. Just before the ball arrived, I stepped forward about one foot getting out of the runner's path and removing myself as an obstruction. My hope was that my action had perplexed him and slowed him a millisecond or two while he considered the rules. I never looked at the runner as he approached, keeping my eye on the ball, locating my glove at its target.

As the ball arrived, I swept my glove back. Essentially, simply placing my glove between the arriving ball and the runner's leg I hoped was there. He slid into home just behind me. I had no idea if he was there or not, but then, my glove hit him somewhere. Still, I did not know if his foot had made it home in time. When the umpire shouted ''OUT'' I was so bewildered that I never even turned around to enjoy the scene. I just trotted to our bench next to first and rolled the ball to the pitcher's mound for their pitcher to use next inning. It was a double play, the inning was over. The only thing I recall hearing was Al saying ''What was that!''. I don't recall answering.

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