In August of 2013, Ichiro Suzuki manufactured
his 4000th professional hit. Based on my rough
calculations, Ichiro, as a professional baseball player (in Japan and
the U.S.), has had well over something like 13,500 plate appearances as a professional
– over 13,500 trips into the batter's box. Who knows how many he had before he turned pro.
I'm not sure how many plate appearances
I had, but it was a bunch. I started playing baseball in 1962 as an
eight-year-old, and finished when I was a 19-year old sophomore in
College in the spring of 1974. I played 10 years of Summer ball, four
years in High School and two years of JV ball in College. The year I
was 14, I played in two City of Detroit
Summer Leagues (on the same team in both leagues), and also played on a team in a
much more informal City of Detroit Parks and Recreation league. That
summer, I averaged playing in 6-7 games a week. In 1970, I played on a
team of mostly 16-year-olds that won the City of Detroit title, and
subsequently lost the in the National Championship game to a team
from Cincinnati, OH, in Buffalo, NY. I hit about .275 that year, and
actually hit .333 in the national tournament (1 for 3, but hey, .333 is .333). I had a few good years
at the plate; other than that I was a simply a
dime-a-dozen-good-glove-not-much-hit middle infielder that could play
some outfield and fill in behind the plate when needed. So, story be
told, I had a bunch of plate appearances.
There is no other place in all of sports as magical as the batter’s box. When you step in, you have the exclusive right to that space, and anyone who is paying attention to the game has a serious interest in what you do. Sure, in baseball, it all comes down to pitching, but pitchers face all batters all game long; batters only get a handful of shots a game against whomsoever is pitching. When you step to the plate you take center stage at that moment, and everybody that is watching or listening is hoping you either succeed greatly or fail miserably – there is no in-between. It's pretty heady stuff.
There is no other place in all of sports as magical as the batter’s box. When you step in, you have the exclusive right to that space, and anyone who is paying attention to the game has a serious interest in what you do. Sure, in baseball, it all comes down to pitching, but pitchers face all batters all game long; batters only get a handful of shots a game against whomsoever is pitching. When you step to the plate you take center stage at that moment, and everybody that is watching or listening is hoping you either succeed greatly or fail miserably – there is no in-between. It's pretty heady stuff.
My best year, my last year in Little
League when I was 12, I hit .455, and was only the third best hitter
on my team. Based on that one stellar year (I just did that math), I
would have had to have been a 12-year-old for 154 years to collect
4000 hits. Most of my career I was a lead-off hitter – so has been
the case for Ichiro. To say I am jealous of the of the man would be
an understatement.
It's been over 40 years now since I
last stepped to the plate in a baseball game, into the batter's box,
and I still remember my last time; a clean line-drive into right (not
smoked, but a decent line drive) for a single. I know I didn't
realize it at the time, but that was my last time ever. I played a
couple of years of softball after that, but as anyone who has ever
played hardball knows, softball just isn't the same game.
So, my confession here is simple, and I
believe I can honestly speak for anyone who has ever played the game
the way it should be played (and you know who you are), I miss
stepping to the plate.
I miss the batter's box.
