Little League Nightmare by Keith Guernsey

Little League Nightmare

Growing up 12 miles from Fenway, baseball was a very big deal in Lexington. And I was determined to give it my best shot. Little league opening day was a major event with a parade through the center of town and players from all the teams lining both baselines. Think opening day at Fenway for all its pomp and circumstance and you wouldn’t be far off.

That is where it went from bad to worse.

My shiny, new all-white uniform had arrived in the mail. I was so excited to try it on and then so sad when the pants did not fit. My late mother, in her infinite wisdom, decided (glad you are not here to read this Ma) she could fix them. So I let her give it a shot, but all she had was gray material to use.

So what ended up happening was that 100 Little League baseball players lined the first and third baselines at the Center Field in Lexington, and 99 had perfectly pressed sparkling white uniform pants. I had white pants with a large gray patch directly in the center of the posterior. With a last name of Guernsey (rhymes with cow) and being rotund in places where I shouldn’t have been, the laughter and humiliation were complete.

This was my most embarrassing moment, but surprisingly not by that much. In little league baseball there was a rule that everyone had to play. This made the coaches unhappy, but the players (especially the lousy ones like me) ecstatic.

My coach sent me out to right field (told you I was the best bench warmer money can buy) with a great deal of trepidation and the sincere hope that no one would actually hit the ball to me. If you are unfamiliar with LL ball, it is where the coaches put their worst players in hopes nothing too awful will take place.

Unfortunately for him it did.

One of the first batters that came up to bat after I went in the game lined one way over my head and hilarity ensued. I ran (waddled?) back after the ball when my cap flew off. Instead of continuing to pursue the ball, I stopped and went back after my lid. Only after retrieving my hat did I resume my pursuit of the ball. Suffice to say that by the time I retrieved the ball, my opponent had long since circled the bases and I was unceremoniously yanked from the game.

The only saving grace is that there was no AFV or YouTube to record this monumental faux pas.

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