Little League Comes to to Moss Point

I've always claimed that the best form of youth baseball possible was one that eliminated all form of parental participation. I stand by that position when the object of the game is to have fun.

But I would be less than truthful if I failed to admit that organized youth baseball did come with some significant benefits…and some of them are experienced by the kids.

You got to play with better equipment and you got better instruction. And, most importantly, you met kids from outside your neighborhood. I was eleven years old. Little League baseball came to Moss Point.

It seems like yesterday when I set foot on the property that housed the first real baseball field that I’d ever seen. In fact, it WAS yesterday. The property is now a restaurant. And the one small original Little League field long ago moved to a property where an entire complex of baseball fields could co-exist, each feeding the needs of specific age groups. A good friend and I had eaten lunch and were talking about our children and grandchildren and the subject of baseball had come up.

Unbelievable! Standing there leaning against my truck, not fifty feet from where the old home plate was. Looking at cars parked where the small set of bleachers sat along the first base line. Seeing the small rise in the earth where the right field fence had terminated and remembering that if someone, usually batting left-handed, really crushed one, that little hill was what usually stopped the ball. At least I can use being right-handed as my excuse for never introducing a baseball to that hill or the old service station that was at its apex.

It all began with four teams in Moss Point and four more in the neighboring community of Pascagoula. The regularly scheduled games would be within your city but there would be an all-star game at the completion of the season between the best the two cities had to offer.

There were two primary assets to be chosen to one of the teams. Today, Little League teams (or equivalent programs) are basically regulated on the basis of the participant’s age. Eleven and twelve year olds were Little Leaguers and when they became teenagers, they moved on to Babe Ruth League. But in the fifties, there was another criteria. Talent. There weren’t enough kids in Moss Point (that played baseball) to fill the rosters of four teams that first year. So tryouts were held for kids younger than eleven and if they played at an acceptable level, they made a roster. It’s pretty humbling to be one of the wizened age-eligible players and to be on the same team as your eight year-old brother. And you immediately become concerned at the possible scenarios of all-star selection.

Fortunately, my experience in the neighborhood pickup games stood me in good stead. I had learned that if you were willing to play catcher, you were likely to play. And in this league, there was protective equipment! Our coach was Leon Hammond and he knew everything there was to know about baseball. And he shared it all with us. It never occurred to us that his age wasn’t a lot older than ours. He was a adult that we owed our attention and respect. And we had parents that insured that he got it.

Wilkerson Freight Lines, EMBA, Monroe-Woods, and PMP Bank were the team sponsors and team members immediately developed an affinity for their benefactors. Member of opposing teams become your enemies….at least on game night.

I don’t remember the outcome of the regular season that first year, but it must not have been too good for Monroe-Woods or I probably would have complete recall. And no one named Shields made any all-star teams. But we learned one of the most important things that any baseball player can learn; how to say, “Wait until next year!”.

In those days, you actually played baseball during the summer instead of the current practice of insuring that baseball is over by the close of school so that it doesn’t interfere with summer vacations or the plans of parents. What a contradiction! Kid’s activities scheduled to be convenient to their parents! Things have changed.

But year-two arrived quickly. The twelve year olds from the previous year were gone. The new twelve-year olds, including me, now were the senior members with set positions and the respect that the uniform insured. The word had gotten out that Little League baseball was a good thing. And kids from outside the corporate limits were trying to catch on with teams. This year, there would be no problem with filling rosters. This year, competition would be fierce!

Tryouts for teams would be a formal process wherein applicants would announce their preference of positions and show their talents that would qualify them for the limited openings. And those trying out for pitcher positions required a catcher to show their skills.

Us veterans would actually have an influence in selecting pitchers. Our importance to the teams was being recognized. Coach Hammond took me and the other Monroe-Woods catcher (an inexperienced eleven year old whose name escapes me) to the tryout area and assigned me a prospect to test.

My heart sank! A short, chubby, nonathletic looking twelve-year old from Wade. How could he even consider doing this to me? Where was some stylish southpaw like Lefty Posey? What about some tall fireballer like Jimmy Davis? I recognized that all of the kids couldn’t be legends in their own time, but this was surely beneath my dignity.

He said that his name was Joey. He was pretty quiet and we just tossed a few balls back and forth as he loosed up. “You ready?”, he asked. “Sure”. And he started throwing. Each pitch seemed to be harder than the one before. It didn’t take me long to figure out that this kid was throwing harder than anyone I’d ever seen or caught. And he was hitting my mitt wherever I put it. Until he unleashed a wild pitch that was far to my left. As I moved to make the catch, a miracle happened. The ball made a sweeping arc and I was barely able to knock it down on the RIGHT side of the plate.

Curve ball! I’d never seen one before. At least not one like that!

“Can you do that again?”. “Every time”. “And control it?” “Put your mitt where you want it”.

And he could. And he did.

Suddenly I found myself looking around to see if anyone was watching. Hoping that no one was. I quietly walked beside my new best friend and said, “Let’s find the coach”. I knew who I wanted for my pitcher. I’ve made a few good decisions in my life. This was one of the better ones. Joey was an instant All-Star. And he made an all-star out of me. No one else wanted to catch that curve ball. And the best part about it was that I didn’t have to bat against him. Until Babe Ruth League…but that’s another story.

More than a half-century later, I realize that not batting against Joey wasn’t really the best part. The best part was learning at age twelve that judging people by their appearance is dangerous and usually wrong. And that people should be respected for their accomplishments and not for their neighborhood. And that it’s often the case that when you try to do something for someone else, you are the one that gains the most!

Thanks, Joey.

That’s the way I remember it.