Legal Eagles

Legal Eagles

Manuel, Mike, Loretta, Louise, Dan, Gen,

Rufina, Linda, Augie, Erlinda, Jim, Greg,

Jeannie, and Jeff 

Some players I have forgotten

their names.

Now that the Colorado Rockies are getting ready for another season of baseball, I couldn't help but remember a team of misfits representing the Legal Aid Society of Metropolitan Denver. Some of the players were excellent softball players, those wannabees who dreamed of playing on a "real" team.
Another group was the non-athletic types who just wanted to belong to the team.  The third group was the willing to learn, sometimes good and sometimes bad, but always trying.

I don't know where I fit in, probably in the third group. Sometimes I could hit a ball over the outfielder's head but usually, if I hit the ball it rolled directly to one of the base persons or the pitcher.  I could not run very fast and once when I was running as fast as I could, I heard, "Come on, run!"  I wanted to stop and tell the yeller, what did he think I was doing! Another time, when I got a base hit and made it to first base I was so excited and happy that I went over to our line umpire and hugged him.  I was told my run could have been disqualified because you never touch the umpires! Later in the season, a rule was found that someone else could run for you.  After I took my turn at batting, and if I got a hit, another player ran for me. This worked out fine for all concerned!

My position was first base and if the ball came straight to me, I prided myself in catching those balls.  If the ball veered and I had to bend, jump or move away from the base, I missed the ball. I held that position until an attorney nun joined the team.  She could leap, sling herself sideways on the ground, and twist  her body any which way to catch the ball.  She became our first base person! 

I became a left outfielder and I heard whispers that very rarely did batters hit the ball to left field.  One game a player happened to bat the ball to the left side of the field. I saw the ball sailing up high and as it began its descent I ran to get under it.  What a great play this was going to be, I thought.  Keeping my eye on the ball I did not see the puddle of muddy water where my foot landed and sent me sliding across the field about four feet from where the ball landed.  In my muddy and wet uniform my pride was hurt and the laughter floating over to me was embarrassing.

The wannabees were very competitive.  They wanted to win regardless of feelings they hurt.  One even asked me what language I spoke just because he told me to stay on third and I thought I could make it home. I didn't make it. Another wanted to pick up a runner struggling to make it to home base on her short legs. He later told the team he wanted to pick her up and carry her to home base because he wanted to make a home run.  They looked like a dance team with him syncronizing his steps right behind her.

Once, both teams watched a foul ball go flying into a street into moving traffic.  Everyone watched as the ball and a Volkswagen seemed to move in slow motion toward each other.  It was a perfect hit but I don't remember if the car stopped or not.  Practicing on a dirt field, I was ready to catch a rolled ball and it hit a rock and spun out of control right into my face. The ball struck me giving me a large cut on my lower lip and a purple blotch on my upper lip. 

Yet, what I remember the most was getting together after practice or a game.  Depending on what part of Denver we were playing, we ended up in a neighborhood bar reliving the game. We became a team of friends at the bar and the tales told were always better than the games played!