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By Lyle Fitzsimmons - I’m a baseball guy.
Sure, it’s taken a back seat over the years to dozens of middleweight title fight recaps and myriad interim championship rants, but every now and then… I get back to my roots.
So as I pondered this week’s prose while watching my 3-year-old dissect a cheese quesadilla at our friendly neighborhood Denny’s the other day, it’s no accident I regressed.
After all, when I was just slightly more than little Ryan’s age, baseball was all that mattered.
As soon as I was sturdy enough on two legs to don the “tools of ignorance,” I took my place behind home plate, began a life’s worth of wear on my knees and pointed my career path toward Cincinnati… where I’d surely become the next Johnny Bench.
It seemed realistic enough as I tore up the Town of Niagara Little League.
But as it turned out, by the time I reached 17, the powers that be intervened.
For purposes of this anecdote, the powers that be were the varsity baseball coaching staff at Niagara-Wheatfield High School – led by veteran grey-haired gym teacher Joe Kwiatkowski.
Suffice to say, no matter how much I insisted my years of practice had girded me for competition with the Falcons in the Niagara Frontier League, Mr. K and his minions thought otherwise.
Truth told, 25 years later… they were dead on in their assessment.
And as much as I’d like to be taking a farewell tour of the majors with a final stop alongside the Ohio River at Great American Ball Park tonight, it’s probably better that things wound up how they did. [Click Here To Read More]
Sure, it’s taken a back seat over the years to dozens of middleweight title fight recaps and myriad interim championship rants, but every now and then… I get back to my roots.
So as I pondered this week’s prose while watching my 3-year-old dissect a cheese quesadilla at our friendly neighborhood Denny’s the other day, it’s no accident I regressed.
After all, when I was just slightly more than little Ryan’s age, baseball was all that mattered.
As soon as I was sturdy enough on two legs to don the “tools of ignorance,” I took my place behind home plate, began a life’s worth of wear on my knees and pointed my career path toward Cincinnati… where I’d surely become the next Johnny Bench.
It seemed realistic enough as I tore up the Town of Niagara Little League.
But as it turned out, by the time I reached 17, the powers that be intervened.
For purposes of this anecdote, the powers that be were the varsity baseball coaching staff at Niagara-Wheatfield High School – led by veteran grey-haired gym teacher Joe Kwiatkowski.
Suffice to say, no matter how much I insisted my years of practice had girded me for competition with the Falcons in the Niagara Frontier League, Mr. K and his minions thought otherwise.
Truth told, 25 years later… they were dead on in their assessment.
And as much as I’d like to be taking a farewell tour of the majors with a final stop alongside the Ohio River at Great American Ball Park tonight, it’s probably better that things wound up how they did. [Click Here To Read More]
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