Belzer Bruins 7th Grade Baseball 2013

Pictured are members of the 2013 Belzer Middle School 7th-grade baseball team.

 

 Pitcher Allan Augustus prepares to throw.

 Oliver Harshman concentrates while playing first base.

 Averee Duff prepares to leadoff for the Bruins.

Oliver Harshman has been one of the Bruins best hitters.

Anthony Zachardelli has played third base and pitched well for the Bruins.

Garrett Riley watches from the dugout.

Garrett Riley, a catcher, prepares to throw to second base.

 

As usual, Dutin Gates, wearing the black helmet, keeps the team loose.

Team performs the Harlem Shake.

Liar, Liar, Pants on Fire!

By Vince Alexander
     Trust me . . . I'm amused . . . Occasionally, I'm laughing as I write this column. My inspiration for writing this is Manti Teo, and anyone else who brags about their online friends.
     Teo, a sure-bet future National Football League first-round draft pick, is the former Heisman Trophy finalist at the University of Notre Dame.
     Don't get me wrong, I'm not laughing at Teo. He allegedly had a made-up girlfriend who died this season six hours after his grandmother died while he was leading the Fighting Irish football team to a No. 1 ranking that culminated in a final-season loss to Alabama. He said he met this made-up girl online. It turned out to be a hoax--a lie.
     My point is this: People lie all the time -- especially when it comes to sports.
     For example, I was at the gym, and I ran across an old acquaintance. His son played football with one of my sons. He asked about my son, and he went into this long story about his son.
      "Yeah, well my son has a scholarship to a Division I school in Michigan," the man said.
     I went home and did an Internet search, and the kid is not even on the roster.
     People just need to be more skeptical.
     How about the lying coaches. During the recruiting process, I've heard all kinds of coaches promising high school football recruits that they will come into their programs with a chance to compete for a starting job. Often times, it's liar, liar . . .
     The player will arrive on campus and discover the truth. The kid ends up being a practice dummy against 24-year-old fifth-year juniors and seniors.
     A big-time college coach was even caught lying about his college education.
     The gym--a high testosterone place--may as well be called the "Liars Club." For example, on the basketball court, have you ever encountered a player who says, "Yeah, I used to play Division I-basketball at such-and-such college?"
     Most of the time, we believe what is said. But if we would follow up with a few more questions, we'd say "Liar, liar . . . "
     My gym is filled with liars. For example, I'd go shoot around and get tired of shooting alone. I'd ask the guy shooting alone at the other end of the court if he'd like to play one-on-one. Then I'd get the lie.
     "Nah, man, I can't play because I had surgery on my knee, and my doctor told me that I can shoot around, but I can't play competitive ball anymore."
       Hmmm. I'd rather you say you didn't want to play.
      As a classroom teacher, some of my students will try to lie about their sports exploits. I'm a 7th-grade baseball coach, and the baseball season is approaching. I approached one of my students and asked if he played baseball.
       "Yeah, Mr. Alexander, I'm a beast at baseball," he said.
       I said," Show me your batting stance."
       The student had a surprised look on his face, so I asked him again:
       "C'mon, let me see your stance."
       He showed me his stance. I didn't laugh, but it was not baseball worthy, and he gave in.
       "OK, I haven't played since T-ball, but I used to make a lot of contact."
       It's not the student's fault. Professional baseball players have been known to tell a lie or two.
       Former St. Louis Cardinals home run phenom Mark McGwire swore to us that he had never, used performing enhancing drugs. Liar, liar . . .
       Former Chicago Cubs, Texas Rangers, and Baltimore Orioles slugger Rafael Palmeiro swore that he had never used performing enhancing drugs. Liar, liar. . .
       Former San Francisco Giants slugger Barry Bonds swore that he has has never used performing enhancing drugs. Liar, liar . . .
       The baseball list of liars just keeps growing.
       But even outside of sports, we are too quick to "take a man for his word."
       Former President Bill Clinton swore that he didn't have sex with that woman (Monica Lewinsky).
       You don't have to be a great athlete or a former president to be caught up in your own lies.When my brother was single, I'd hang out with him at clubs from time to time. It was fun hanging out with him because he'd have a few drinks, and he'd tell some of the most outrageous lies that women would fall for.
      Here are a few:
      "Yeah, baby, you ought to be with me so that I can take you for a ride on my yacht," he'd say.
      "Yeah, baby, in the winter you can come stay at my condo in Miami,'' he'd say with a straight face."
      Liar, liar . . .
      But the lie that came the easiest to my brother was about his age. In the club, my big brother would subtract 10 to 15 years from his age. Of course, I had to agree to become the older brother. We still laugh about that today now that he's happily married.
       Today, men don't have to go to the club to meet women. Today, men meet women on the Internet and through online dating. Online, you can lie about anything, but when you get caught in your lies, it can be devastating. All you have to do is watch the Jerry Springer Show and you will become skeptical. Jerry has made a living by having a man come on his show to meet a woman that he has met online only to discover that the woman is really a man.
      It's funny, but people need to learn that people lie all the time.
      If you don't believe me, just ask Manti Teo.


 

Kind of a sports story

By Vince Alexander

            It happened more than 40 years ago. Still, I’ll never forget it. We were all sitting in the living room, and the telephone rang. It was a Little League coach. He called to tell my older brother that he was chosen to be a member of his baseball team. My mother had mixed feelings about the situation. She was happy for my brother, but she was wondering why I didn’t get a call.
            I was 9 years old at the time.
            “What about Vincent?” my mother said to the coach.
            The coach told my mother to wait because Vincent may get a call from a coach from another team. I didn’t get that call, but my mom’s words still burned in my memory:
            “What about Vincent?” she said.
            To this day, she’s the only person who calls me “Vincent.”
            I have since vowed that my mother will never have to vex about Vincent again. I tagged along to my brother’s first practice. The coach, Mr. Wynn, liked me. He told me that I could be his bat boy. I wouldn’t get a full uniform like the other players on the team, but I’d get to wear the team’s hat.
            That summer, I practiced hard with the team. During the team’s games, I lined up bats and helmets. I ran hard after every foul ball that went into the street or near the river behind the back stop.
            I knew the only reason I got cut was because I wasn’t prepared. I hung out with older kids, and I was always picked last in pick-up games because I was the youngest, and the baby of the bunch. So my mother wouldn’t have to worry about Vincent, I spent the summer practicing throwing, fielding grounders, catching fly balls, and hitting.
            The next summer, I was chosen by my brother’s team. I was 10, on a team with 9, 10, 11, and 12-year-olds. That year, I made the All-Star team, played center field and developed a reputation of having the strongest arm in the league. The word was, “Don’t run on Vince. Vince will throw you out!"
              Momma didn’t have to worry about Vincent again.

Note--As a teacher I try to model reading and writing by demonstrating my skills to my students. When I do this, I tell that if I can learn to do this--you can too. This story was inspired early one morning when I was teaching a lesson on memoir writing, hoping to get my students to share some of their memorable moments. The story was posted and read aloud on my Promethean board.

Rufus is a Sosa fan

By Vince Alexander
            I was at home sitting in an old lawn chair with a freshly lit Cuban dangling from the corner of my mouth, and out of nowhere, I saw an old friend sauntering down my driveway.
            It was him alright. The bowed legs and the “half-fro” gave him away.  Over the years, baseball was one of the few things that kept bringing us together.
            We were a part of a dying breed: Black men who still love baseball.
            On this day, Rufus was wearing a white Sammy Sosa jersey.
            “What’s happppppppnin? Rufus asked, revealing a gold tooth surrounded by yellowing teeth.
            “You,’’ I said.
            “Sosa?  You are probably the only person in Indiana to still have a Sammy Sosa jersey. I gave mine to a used clothing store years ago.”
             “I’m campaigning,’’ Rufus said. “I’m trying to get my boy elected to baseball’s Hall of Fame. I done called everybody.  Bob and Tom.  J-M-V.  ESPN. But I can’t get no air time.  But I’m tellin’ you, Sammy Sosa should be elected to the Hawlah Fame.”
             I reached into my case and gave my friend a stogie. It was already cut. He placed it against his nostrils and inhaled. Then he smiled broadly. As with any cigar connoisseur, he gave it a good lick, and placed it between his lips. I struck a match, and it was lit. Moments later, I offered him a chair and a sympathetic ear.
            “Yeah, man, Sammy gave us some exciting times,’’ I said. “He has 588 career home runs, and in the ‘90s he was great. Remember when he hit 66 home runs in 1998 and 63 in 1999?  ‘Slammin’ Sammy’ could flat out hit. He may have been one of the greatest home run hitters of our time.”
             “That n… should be in the Hawlah Fame!” Rufus said between puffs of smoke.
             Then Rufus brought a smile to my face. The old-timer stood up and did his best Sosa imitation, kissing his fingers, tapping his chest three times, and throwing up a peace sign just like Sammy did after he circled the bases after clobbering a monster home run at Wrigley Field.
              “I get it,’’ I said. “You can only remember the good times. But don’t forget--Sammy was popular during the Steroid Era—linking him to admitted steroid users like Mark McGwire, Barry Bonds, and perhaps Roger Clemens.
               “Also, don’t forget about the corked bat incident. Sosa snapped his bat in two during a game, revealing a cork. He said that the corked bat was his batting practice bat that he accidently used in the game.”
            Rufus flicked his ashes and got in defensive mode.
            “That’s some bull,’’ Rufus said. “Cork in a bat doesn’t help you hit home runs. Talent helps you hit home runs.
            “Check this: “Remember the pine-tah incident with George Brett. Using a pine-tah bat illegally didn’t stop voters for voting for George Brett.
               "Besides, there's no proof that Sammy used steroids!’’
             "OK," I said, "but remember in 2004 when Sosa found out that he wasn’t in the starting lineup during the last game of the season, and instead of sitting on the bench to watch his teammates, he left the stadium without telling his manager or his teammates? I don’t think Sosa has spent much time in Chicago ever since.”
             After I told him that, ol’ Rufus was speechless. Neither of us had much to say after that.
             It was that awkward silence that most people hate. So I broke the silence.
             “Hey, Ruf, I got a Carlos Zambrano jersey you can have," I said sarcastically.
             He didn’t find it funny. He just got up and his bowed legs walked away.