The Tryout

Baseball was life back then. I played every day in every spare moment I had. I always had a glove and ball with me and can remember my mom making me remove them from the dinner table almost every evening.

When I was about 10 or 11 I decided that I would try out for the Little League. This would be my first attempt at organized baseball in any form.

I knew I could play and I knew I was good; and much better than all the kids in the neighborhood. However, I never thought about what position I would play. As a lefthander, I was limited to first base, the three outfield positions, and pitching.

As tryout day approached I grew apprehensive and somewhat on edge. I arrived at the park an hour before anyone else and walked around until the adults showed up to run the tryout. I produced my birth certificate and signed all the papers and gave them my phone number and address.

There were hundreds of kids all looking for spots on a team and a chance to play their favorite game.

As the action started, I was instructed to go to left field with a bunch of other kids. They lined us up and one by one they hit us fly balls and groundballs to test our fielding abilities. I booted my share of ground balls and misjudged a few fly balls in my efforts. I remember feeling less than confident with each ball that came my way. As the hours passed it was time for the team selections. These were the days when not everyone got to play you either got picked or you didn't play in the Little League.

So when I was left standing there with a bunch of others without a team I was devastated. I just wanted to play baseball.

They announced that this year there was another league that had been started called the Pony League for those of us who did not make a team. If we returned the following weekend we could try out for that league.

I made the walk home, one that I didn't know I would make many times to and from the park over the years; always crossing the tracks at the same spot.

When I finally reached my house I headed straight for my safe haven; the space underneath the front porch where I could sit and no one would see my devastation. When I emerged from my "cave" I knew the questions were inevitable. I was asked how the tryout went and my only reply was that I had to return next weekend. Not a lie, but not the full truth either. Nobody needed to know I had failed.

The next weekend I made my walk and showed up early once again. Kids and adults began to arrive a little later and I could feel the apprehension building again.

As luck would have it or perhaps it was fate; one team from the Little League did not have enough players and needed a few more. The coach, Mr. DeMarco, looked at the players and checked the list of names he had. He asked, "Where's Roy?" I was caught off guard but raised my hand. He came over to me and asked, "Are you Tom's brother?" Now, my brother Tom was ten years older than me and had a reputation as a great ballplayer and actually was still playing in a local semi-pro league for a team that he and a friend started. Mr.DeMarco smiled when I answered "Yes" and said "You are on my team", no tryout, no questions; "you are on my team."

As Mr. DeMarco completed his roster we headed for the field at the other end of the park for a scrimmage game. I ended up playing first base because I was one of two left-handers on the team. As the game progressed, Mr. Seeback, the assistant coach and father of the other left-hander told Mr. DeMarco to try me out on the mound. As they say. The rest is history. From that day on I never left the mound.

Practice ended and the uniforms were handed out. When I received mine I was ecstatic; #14!!!! I think I made that walk home in record time. When I got there I was wearing my hat and showing everyone my new uniform. I hadn't even taken the time to find out the name of the team and didn't know until I unfolded the uniform; the OLD TIMERS; a strange name for a kids team I thought; finding out later that the Old Timers Club was an organization much like the Elks and Moose Lodges that sponsored little league baseball. Ironically, it was the same team my brother played for ten years earlier.

We were pretty good, but not good enough to win a championship. I did make the All-Star team each year and began accumulating my trophy collection. Coaches at the next level couldn't wait to get their hands on me. Once I moved on to the Babe Ruth league I was a pretty confident pitcher and it showed in my performance; barely losing out to a friend for Rookie of the Year. As the first year came to a close my brother decided that he would become a coach in the league. The rules said that he could put me on his team.

However, he asked what I thought. After a year with my team, I felt an obligation to stick it out and not leave them. So, twice a season it would be brother against brother and I relished the competition. I even got a big hit with the bases loaded against my brother's team, driving one to deep rightfield and hitting the steps there on one bounce. I never told him that I saw him the signal to his pitcher to pitch the ball high and inside. I was ready for the pitch and almost put it out of the park.

I went on and made a name for myself as the most promising pitcher in the area and was known in baseball circles throughout the state.

We can argue who was better me or Tom but that doesn't matter.

If it wasn't for Tom's reputation and previous successes, I may not have gotten that chance to play organized baseball at all. I don't even think he knows how I got picked for the Old Timers.

So, thank you my brother for paving the way and for the chance to experience a game that I still love; a game that holds so many good memories for me and has provided me with many good friends along the way.