Bits & Pieces

By Kim J. Harmon

 

The great American pastime – not baseball, per se, but Wiffle Ball© – celebrated its 50th birthday this week.

Happy birthday.

Wiffle Ball© is the game that made our heroes come alive. When I was a kid, my brother and I used to have our own league in the backyard; he was the Boston Red Sox (always) and I was the New York Yankees (unless I wanted to be Nolan Ryan, I would have to be the California Angels).

There was a game every day.

We mimicked the batting stances of the players as much as we could (my Mickey Rivers stance was the coolest). We wrote down all the highlights (when Carl Yastrzemski belted a home run over the tree in left field, it was a big day) and kept all the stats (when I hit my 1,000th career home run, it was an even bigger day).

When I was a teenager and started hanging out with the kids down the street, our Wiffle Ball© league expanded became even more of a passion. The parking lot of a semi-used factory was our ballfield and we crafted a diamond that gave us a short home run in right field (the factory building itself) and a looong home run in left field.

That was the field where I developed a devastating curve ball and a blistering fastball (I wasn’t the greatest hitter or the greatest fielder but, man, I could throw that ball).

That was the field where I twirled a two-hitter against a group of kids from the other side of town.

And that was the field where I gave up the longest home run (150 feet) in league history.

We played game after game after game on that field. It became an institution in the neighborhood.

And we took it with us on the road.

About 15 years ago, my friends and I rented a cottage in Rhode Island for a couple of weeks. We had no plans other than to go to the beach, play Wiffle Ball©, and party. We played so much Wiffle Ball© during those two weeks, we trampled the base paths into the yard (which did not make the cottage owners happy. Of course, they also weren’t pleased that we had about 30 people staying there when the contract stipulated only six).

That was a great summer.

Eventually we all moved on, of course, but we have gotten together at picnics over the years and we have always managed to get a little Wiffle Ball© game going. We are all in our late 30s and early 40s and we would probably be a lot more comfortable sitting on the deck with a cold one in our hands, but most of us have kids, too, and that certainly helps us get out there.

The game still lives on in my family.

My sons and I still play Wiffle Ball© in the backyard.

But something has happened over the course of the last 30 years. My curve ball still has a wicked break and my fastball still zips, but for some reason I can’t sneak them by my 10-year-old son anymore. And when he hits them, they are landing closer and closer to the fence (which is 90 feet away from home plate).

It may be time for me to retire.

But Wiffle Ball© – it will keep on going.

Nominate players for the Wiffle Ball© Hall of Fame at www.candystand.com