I was never a huge baseball fan when growing up in East Brunswick. I played all through the farms league, little league and pony league but mostly because my friends all played and I wanted to be with them. I played first base because you got to handle the ball a lot and other than the pitcher and catcher other players may not get the ball the entire game. I was better than average but not by much. I was a decent batter which I liked as it felt like that’s where all the action was. I have to admit most of my friends like Gary, Tom, James and Larry were better players and definitely had more passion. I did enjoy the comradery especially all the trash talking on the field like, “no batter, no batter” or “this guy sucks”, “throw it by him”, “he couldn’t hit the side of the barn”, etc. All this name calling was encouraged by the coaches and parents. Today they’d call it bullying? I thought it was cool. It was almost like you were allowed to swear. No one really took it seriously. It was just all part of the game. Even when your side was up at bat your players would encourage you by yelling out how bad the pitcher was. So comments like “he’s lucky he can lob the ball and if he throws it any slower it will be moving backwards” were meant to cheer on your batter.
Many of my friends Dads were the coaches: Dads like Mr. Selvaggio, Mr. Watson, Mr. Gibbard, Mr. Burnett, Mr. Young, Mr. Dietrick, Mr. Roth, and Mr. Moongie. Most of the Dads were good players like Mr. Selvaggio could really hit and Mr. Watson was a southpaw and was an awesome pitcher. And then there were Dads that were there to make sure their son got the opportunity to play. Mr. Roth definitely fell in this category. You could just tell by some of the things he’d shout out that he never played the game himself but he was there for every practice encouraging the team. He son, Stephen, was not what you’d call a skilled player. I think the expression “butter fingers” must have started with poor Stephen. It was pretty obvious that his Dad never played catch with him and he didn’t have any brothers. On top of that his Dad was a little embarrassing. I remember his instructions for Stephen to take the field was to “get there on there on the base, on there Stephen”. No one ever knew what that actually meant especially poor Stephen and many laughed or chuckled when he said that, including me. We all felt a little sorry for Stephen.
John Pardie was on our team which helped kick up my interest in playing not so much because John was such a good player, even though he was, but his sister Marsha came to the games and I thought she was smoking hot. She had long brown hair that she’d wear in this high pony tail similar to the “I Dream of Jeanie Pony Tail”. I could hardly focus when she was at our game but I totally didn’t care. I’d play ball just because she was there.
We played at a number of fields in and around our neighborhood, Lois Park. Fields like Central School, Memorial School, Welch Park, Birchwood Park and a field by Dave Choma and Carol Mickett’s house called Stratford Park if my memory serves me right. That was the closest field to Marsha Pardie’s house on Milltown Road. I’ll always remember that field not just because Marsha would attend our games there but I broke my arm on that field when I was put in as a relief pitcher for John Pardie. Matty Sarus (one of the biggest guys in school and a good athlete) was at bat with a Rocky Colavito Bat. Rocky played for the Cleveland Indians and had a lifetime batting average of 374. His bat had the largest head and skinniest handle imaginable. So here is Big Matty with his Colavito weapon up at bat with a runner on and no strikes. The catcher, Tom Selvaggio (one of my good friends) signals me to throw a fastball inside. Not knowing any better I serve up this pitch only to have it slammed directly back at me at what seemed to be 100 miles per hour. I tried to catch it but noticed the head of the bat was behind the ball and I couldn’t catch both. Needless to say the ball and the bat hit me and I fell to the ground in pain. Matty didn’t even run to first base but came out to the mound to see if I was alright. Ironically this was one of the few games my Dad attended and he too came out to see if I was OK. My best friend, Gary, was playing for the opposing team, the Amvets, and came off the bench to see if he could help but the Dad’s decided I needed to go to the hospital. So my Dad took me to Saint Peters in New Brunswick and the docs determined it was broken in 2 places and needed to be put in a cast. I was out for the entire summer. The Lackys Chrysler Team had to do without me. I still went to the games to cheer on my team but mostly hoping Marsha would be there.
I don’t know how the Little League worked in East Brunswick because some years you were on the same team as you friends and some you weren’t. Gary,Tom and Larry seemed always to be on the same team and I was the odd man out with maybe being on the same team as them every other year. This one year we were all on the Colonial Diner Team (the power house of Central Jersey Little League). There seemed to be more coaches on that team than players including the Dad that ran the League, Mr. Moongie. Tom always played catcher and Gary honed in on Center Field because he was so fast and was the only one that could reach home plate from center field. Not to mention Willie Mays was his favorite player. Gary had an arm like a cannon and he knew it. He decided that between Tom’s ability to throw a dude trying to steal second out from his knees and Gary’s speed they could throw out a runner on second base before he knew what hit him. They would practice this ingenious play over and over again until they had perfection. Dudes that made it to second base were never safe taking a lead. If fact they were prey to Gary. There are actually three players involved in this scheme. The pitcher would never look back at the runner on second base he would take signals from the catcher, Tom. Tom would be eying Gary as he capriciously moved closer and closer to second base casually dropping his cap to signal Tom he was ready. That was the sign for Tom to signal Larry to pitch it now and outside so the batter couldn’t hit it. Tom could catch it and fire it into second base on the third base side all the while our player Gary is running like a Cheetah and dives to the spot Tom is throwing to so he can tag the runner out trying to get back to second base. Gary was so fast that even when other teams knew he was going to attempt it, they couldn’t stop him. Our Willie Mays know by all as Gary Watson was unstoppable.
I never continued playing baseball in high school even though Gary, Tom, Larry and James did. I decided to pole vault but I could still watch them all play after I practiced vaulting. There weren’t a lot of guys watching freshman baseball but there was one with a 12 foot pole that kept watching.
