As far back as I can remember, and yes that is a ways back, I always enjoyed a challenge. Not sure why, maybe just to have something on the line or maybe trying to see if I could have some success at something. From a very young age I remember playing checkers with my mom and I never was able to beat her. I don't think I really understood strategy at that point but I quickly learned. Sometimes you learn more from losing than winning and she beat me a bunch so I either I was going to get pretty smart or I would find something else to play! Finding something else to play didn't require me looking far as the kids in my neighborhood would play pickup games of baseball, basketball or football. I can't remember my age but I was under 8 years old when I remember my dad throwing a wiffle ball to me as I swung a bat that seemed to be the width of a clothes hanger...just kidding. You all have seen those narrow yellow wiffle ball bats that came with a ball and the challenge was to see just how big a curve you could throw. Those balls moved! I was able to hit some here and there and that is my first memory of falling in love with sports. In the second grade during "field days", I won the potato race outrunning several classmates while holding a spoon with a gigantic tater on it. I suppose I had decent balance or coordination or maybe both as I didn't drop my tater like the others allowing me to win fairly easily. In the third grade my family moved across town to where I would meet a guy who would become a lifelong friend. Gregory Lee "Duke" Frazier was the first guy I met at Atkins Elementary and our friendship remains close even today, some 54 years later. Greg lived several blocks from me and often he would either walk or ride his bike by my house and many times we would walk to school together or I would ride on the handle bars of his bicycle. With no helmet. On those cold winter days it didn't take me long to figure out he put me on the handle bars to serve as a wind break for him. Dude was wise beyond his years at a early age! Greg and I would play kickball or basketball at recess and many days he would come to my house after school and we would play baseball or football in my back yard. We didn't care, we both loved competing and a few years later we both would make the 6th grade basketball team. I rarely played mainly because I wasn't very good but also because we had several really good players including Jimmy Blackwell who in the 6th grade was already a really tall kid. Like 6 foot 3 or 4 in the 6th grade and could flat out play. We also had a guy named Keith Grant who would play on our high school state runner up team. We won the city championship and I was awarded my very first trophy! I was so proud even though I can honestly say I didn't do a single thing to help with any of our wins! But I was on the team, we were city champs and I had a trophy! Little things folks, little things!
Before the basketball heroics, or lack thereof, Greg got me involved with our church's little league baseball team. I believe it was the summer after the 4th grade and playing organized baseball for the first time was very new to me. Previously all I knew was throwing with someone and playing in the backyard. This was the real thing with 9 players on both teams and everyone had a specific positions and stuff! Our coach was Mr. Jim Burson...a mountain of a man who during practices would take some swings and hit balls on top of our school. Those hits seemed like bombs and we all were wide eyed as we watched those balls soar. Several years later I drove by that school and saw the practice field and backstop where he would be batting and it really wasn't that far, but it sure seemed like a mile to us back in the day! I vaguely remember the first season but some things about where we played will never go away. The Baptist ball park was the place to be during the early summer as the multiple field complex, if you want to call it that, had a variety of leagues from little league, to middle and high school aged teams as well as men's and women's softball games being played. Anyone who played there will instantly be taken back to the dusty parking lot, the sounds of balls being hit, cheers from supporters and the smell. Oh who could ever forget the aroma of French fries and corndogs from the concession stands. We always looked forward to the after game dash to grab a "suicide" to help quinch our thirst. Good times y'all.
If I remember right, in our second season we had a pretty good team led by our star pitcher Greg and man could he really chunk it! There were others that I remember including Bill Martin, Lee Hooker and Lester Cochran to name a few. I remember several players and teams we played against and this particular season one of the teams we played against was Grace Baptist Church. Their pitcher was a big dude named Jody Blackwell, no relation to aforementioned Jimmy even though they lived down the street from each other. Big Ol' Jody was intimidating as he would have this huge swaying windup along with a nasty looking snarl as if he was about to throw a 96 mile an hour heater right at ya. He mustered all this effort into a scary looking windup leading to a fairly average at best fastball. Very hittable if he threw it down the middle but that is where the intimidation may have originated. If you were on deck and saw one of his pitches go over the umpires head or behind the hitter, you were usually too scared to even think about getting into the batters box, much less swing your bat! In a playoff game we faced Jody and his team and it would be a game I will always remember, almost as if I was there yesterday. A play happened that I call one my favorite plays of my ball playing career mainly because of my age and the impact it may have had on the final score of the game. I was playing first base, probably because I may have been one of the few players Mr. Burson trusted to catch balls either hit or thrown to me. Greg was throwing pretty hard that night and with 1 out and a runner on second base, Stan Paul Davis was batting. I don't know why but usually late in games you protect the lines to help eliminate extra base hits down the lines but I moved to my right a step or two away from the first base line right before Greg threw the pitch. Stan Paul swung and smacked a line drive to my right about head high and I can't explain why but I dove and extended my glove across my body, completely laid out parallel from the ground and snagged the ball for the out! I don't even remember landing but I knew I had the ball in my glove! The instant I hit the ground Bill Martin who was playing second base yelled for me to throw it to him as the runner who was on second, a guy named Howard McGraw, had taken off at the crack of the bat on his way to third and would have easily scored. While on my knees, I threw the ball to Bill who touch the base for the inning ending out. A loud cheer greeted us as we headed to our third base dugout but before I got there the coach for Grace, Johnny Blackwell stopped me. He knelt down to my level and as he put his hand on my shoulder he told me that was one of the finest plays he had ever seen. As he patted me on the bottom and I scampered towards my fellow teammates and was greeted by high fives and smiles as well as one from my mother who was proudly clapping for her son and his team. Man what great memories.
I am hoping to write more stories like this sharing some of my life's most enjoyable sports moments and I hope you all will find them interesting and amusing. I appreciate you all taking the time to read my blog and look forward to hearing your feedback.
Thanks,
Johnny
