August 3, 2015 at 4:39 p.m.
Shoutouts & Callouts
Snowshoe baseball game a world of fun
Shoutouts & Callouts
That's the biggest takeaway I had from my foray into the world of snowshoe baseball July 27.
Five of my coworkers and myself, along with several members of the WJFW-TV team, joined the Lake Tomahawk Snowhawks for the annual media day game at Snowshoe Park and a great time was had by all.
The experience started roughly an hour before game time, when we were told to arrive. It proved to be a good suggestion by the Snowhawks. If we had 60 minutes prior to first pitch, I easily spent 30 of them trying to figure out how to put the snowshoes on - which was a lot tougher than it looked, for the uninitiated like myself. (For the record, I did play in the media game a few years back when I was employed by a different company, but that was so long ago that I remembered very little about snowshoe baseball's unique intricacies).
It was a hot evening - the temperature was in the upper 80s when we arrived - and I had already worked up a lather by the time we took to the field to warm up for the contest. As I played soft toss with my colleague Tony Loomis from The Times, it became quickly apparent that backing up in snowshoes was going to be a dicey proposition. A few hacks during batting practice reminded me that I still could hit that 16-inch ball, so I quietly went back to the bench and waited for teams to be decided upon. I ended up 10th in the batting order, smack between our Outdoors editor Ryan Matthews and the Snowhawks' Gunnar Dunbar - who I can still remember as an imposing 14-year-old lefty for Lakeland on the Babe Ruth mound.
The first few innings went well. I found myself in a platoon at shortstop with Times editor Jim Oxley and had a couple of strong singles to start out the contest. In the sixth inning, things started to turn. I was moved out to right center - which proved to be quite the workout. I ended up alternating between scampering out toward the fence to be in defensive position for the heavy hitters in the opposing team's lineup and charging a good way into the infield wood chips to be ready for the lighter hitters in the lineup. I bit the (saw)dust on a play in the sixth on a bloop single over the shortstop (WJFW Mary O'Connel's) head.
I was told all week leading up to the game, "Don't run, shuffle your feet instead." In my desire to hustle to the ball, I completely disregarded this sage advice, and did a tidy little barrel roll somewhere in the vicinity of shallow left field.
Around the seventh inning another truth became self-evident: My mind's desire to compete far exceeded my body's. I was worn out as I sat, sweat-drenched on the bench. The bat felt heavy in my hands, which resulted in a couple of weak shots to third in my last two at-bats. Times general manager Heather Holmes must have felt pity over at third (or maybe she enjoyed watching me labor around the base paths). Those are the only reasons I can think of that my pop up and grounder to the hot corner didn't turn into outs.
Meanwhile in the field, my throws became erratic. Warming up prior to the eighth, I found myself missing high on throws to Dunbar over at first. Then came a key situation in the game - up three, runners at second and third with two outs. A ground ball came toward me, which I picked relatively cleanly, but then proceeded to fire woefully short of first. Even Dunbar couldn't bail me out following that short-hopper and two runs scored.
Determined to atone for my defensive mistake, I got aggressive on the base paths in the ninth. After reaching on a grounder to third, Dunbar jacked a shot deep to right off the top of the wall. By rights I should have stopped at third, but I noticed the other team was somewhat nonchalant about getting the ball back to the infield. So, while Dan Marz held the ball in shallow right, I made a break for home. I knew it was going to be close, but was certain I could make it ... until I caught the tip of my left snowshoe and bit the dust, again.
Once again, my desire to compete overrode the sector of the brain responsible for common sense.
I found myself face down in the dust, roughly five feet from home plate. Luckily the throw home was off target, buying me some extra time. Getting up wasn't an option, as the snowshoe was barely attached to my left foot following the tumble. So I did the only think I could think of - belly crawl to the plate. Somehow, I managed to put my left hand on the dish, before catcher Ginny Buzzell tagged me with the ball (and half of her body) as she dove in an effort to record the out.
We both picked ourselves off the ground, gave each other a look as if to ask, "are you OK?" and then proceeded to exchange a quick hug in appreciation for the effort we both put forth.
While the competitive juices certainly flowed for me, those feelings where trumped by the camaraderie demonstrated by the Snowhawks and the members of the media. All of the neophytes in the group were in over our skis (or should I say snowshoes), but we didn't seem to care. The game was about getting outside of our comfort zones, having some fun and not caring if we made fools of ourselves.
I want to express a great deal of gratitude to Jeff Smith and the rest of the Lake Tomahawk Snowhawks for welcoming us with open arms. If giving the chance to play next year, I'd do it in a heartbeat.
But not before then. It may take that long for my body to recover from this year's game.
Jeremy Mayo may be reached at [email protected].
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