The photo popped up on my Facebook memories earlier this week.
It’s a little hard to read, which is understandable because it’s a photo of a piece of paper that’s nearly 50 years old.
The original piece of paper is in a box in storage. I probably should have it framed, but it’s not really necessary because the events of that day — and a lot of others just like it — are burned into my memory as if they all took place yesterday.
On the treasured piece of notebook paper is a hand-written baseball scorecard of a game between my Little League Baseball team — NFS (Nuclear Fuel Services) and White’s Supermarket.
My hometown of Erwin, Tennessee, was small back then. It’s not large now, but in the late ‘70s, it was so tiny the entire Little League Baseball organization consisted of six teams — NFS, White’s, VFW, Clinchfield Railroad, the Elk’s Club and the Kiwanis Club — and those teams were made up of boys (and later three girls) from the ages of 9 to 12.
I played in the league from 1975 to 1978, and I know the piece of paper is from the final two seasons because in this particular game I played first base and I hit a home run. I also singled, doubled and popped out, and my NFS team pounded White’s 18-2 in five innings.
My homer wasn’t a surprise. By the time I was 11, I was following a game day diet of gravy and biscuits for breakfast and a Bantam Chef cheeseburger and cherry Sprite before the game, and I was a threat to go deep each time I stepped into the batter’s box.
The double was a bit of a shock. After a large breakfast and pregame burger, if a ball I hit didn’t clear the fence, I typically stopped at first and settled for a standup single to the gap.
I didn’t hit any home runs when I was nine, and belted two when I was 10, neither of which came against White’s. That’s how I know this particular game was either in 1977 or 1978 when I was 11 or 12.
My older brothers, Gary and Randy, spoiled me like crazy — as big brothers should — and they seemed to take real pride in little brother’s exploits on the baseball field.
Randy did the scorecards for almost every game I played during four years of Little League. Gary’s job, when he wasn’t flirting with some girl who was probably trying to watch her little brother play, was to chase down any baseball I deposited beyond the fence.
Gary had the tough job. On top of having to leave the girls when I launched a home run, the terrain behind the fences at that old field was dangerous and was probably great training for when he later became a decorated Marine.
I don’t think I’ve seen most of the guys on that old scorecard since I left Tennessee and headed to Texas back in 1985, but I still consider them friends.
Leading off was Thomas Adkins. I had a huge crush on his older sister, and my younger sister had a crush on Thomas. I remember telling him I wouldn’t try to court his sister if he left mine alone.
Thomas never seemed too concerned about me running off with his sister, possibly because Patricia was 10 years older than us and had a boyfriend who was a former all-state defensive lineman.
The rest of the lineup was Scotty Bowman hitting second, followed by me, Doug Crowder, David Ingle, Matt Webb, Bobby Boone, Chris Tolley and Paul Crowder. Greg King and Butch Crowder got into the game as pinch runners.
I can’t remember what day the trash is picked up most weeks, and I’ve considered changing all of my passwords to “I don’t know” because I usually don’t.
But a faded photo of a nearly 50-year-old piece of paper flooded my mind with great memories this week and made me want to go take a few swings in the nearest batting cage.
I probably won’t, though.
You can’t hit home runs in the batting cage, and I’m too old to try and stretch a single into a double unless we’re talking about hamburgers.
