WhatFinger


My first homerun

The Batter Who Got Spattered



Two brass rings are ever in the dreams of boys who love sports: first homerun, first touchdown. I grabbed both rings in my senior year at Leland High School, but the homerun came at an embarrassing price.
Coach Chauncey “Cockeyes” Coleman capitalized on my left-handedness and made a good pitcher out of me, not because I had a stinging selection of slings, but because most pitchers hurled with the other hand. Southpaws confused batters. Coach Coleman’s eyes kept us on our toes. His vision was keen even though both eyeballs peered about forty-five degrees each side of straight ahead, and we never knew which eye was on us, necessitating constant head switching when he talked to us. My head was switching when he said one day, “As a pitcher, you are an asset to the team, but you must learn to bat better.” He was right. As a hitter, I was hopeless. When I stepped into my place at the plate, Coach knew I would have to get hit with a pitch, or walked, to reach first base. So, I went to the person who always helped me solve problems — Jaybird, my boyhood best friend and mentor. In his early days, the old black man had been an excellent baseball player, and using that experience, coupled with his masterful teaching skills, he worked and worked with me until my hitting skills improved.

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Jaybird drove me to the baseball park the day we were squaring off with the Rolling Fork Falcons. The fans roared encouragement when the Leland Fighting Cubs trotted onto the field. The Falcons flopped early on, and with a commanding lead, Coach signaled, “Hit away!” when I stepped to the plate late in the game. I looked over at Jaybird who gave me the thumbs-up sign — all the encouragement I needed. With a sneer on my lip and defiance in my eyes, I glared at my Falcon counterpart. As the leather-covered spheroid came hurtling through the air, slow and high — my favorite pitch — I tore the cover off of it. Sprinting toward first, I heard Jaybird yell, “Run, Junior, run! This is your big chance for a homer!” The right fielder was still chasing the ball when I rounded second base. What I lacked otherwise, I made up for in speed, and home plate was in sight when disaster struck. I recall my cap flying off when I tagged third, then a glimpse of a large ebony bird flapping above, and then foul fowl droppings spattering all over my face. Gagging, I stopped to wipe my face. Above the fans’ laughter, I heard Jaybird shout, “Dammit, boy, you’re almost there — run!” I barely beat the relayed throw, and scored my first homerun. On the way home, Jaybird tried to keep a straight face as he talked about how proud he was of me, but finally he broke down, and between bouts of laughter, said, “I jes’ hope the fans don’t remember you as the batter who got spattered.”


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Jimmy Reed -- Bio and Archives

Jimmy Reed is an Oxford, Mississippi resident, Ole Miss and Delta State University alumnus, Vietnam Era Army Veteran, former Mississippi Delta cotton farmer and ginner, author, and retired college teacher.

This story is a selection from Jimmy Reed’s latest book, entitled The Jaybird Tales.

Copies, including personalized autographs, can be reserved by notifying the author via email (.(JavaScript must be enabled to view this email address)).


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