I grew up a baseball fanatic. As a kid, baseball occupied my life 24-hours a day. I played baseball, I read books about baseball, I talked non-stop about baseball.
I devised little games for myself that I played from my early single-digit years through high school. We had a ball field near my house, and when there was nobody to play with, I’d take a bat and ball across the street and toss the ball up and whack it as far as I could. Usually it took three or four hits to get from home plate to the end of center field. When it took fewer, I was jubilant.
We had a garage made of concrete in the back and I’d spend hours throwing golf balls(!) against the garage wall and pretending to field the ricochets like a middle infielder corralling hot smashes and throwing runners out at first base. When a ball got by me and carried into the back yard, I’d shag it down and try to cut down the runner at “home plate.”
People wondered how I became such a great first baseman with lightning reflexes on batted balls. Golf balls thrown with force against concrete will do the trick.
My baseball career was undermined by my father’s insistence that, as a hitter, I was to be purely left-handed, just like he was. Of course he was an all-state player with stupid stats, whereas I couldn’t hit a lefty curve ball for the life of me. Plus, I was mandated to play first base, just like he did.
Big mistake.
If you have a son, never let him learn his natural side. Teach him to hit from both sides of the plate from birth. And have him (or her, for fledgling softballers) learn every position on the field. The more options you give the coach, the more innings you’ll play.
I was never a superstar ballplayer like my dad who could insist on a single side in a batter’s box and a specific position in the field. But I could’ve gone a lot farther and hit a lot higher if I had developed more versatility both on the field and at bat.
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