Why you might need to be a lefty after all
In baseball, not in politics
Sometimes our coach—my father—would send us righthanded batters up to bat lefthanded when the automatic 3-0 take was called for, especially if he thought we needed baserunners more than we did a chance for a hit.
Essentially, this was to make sure we didn’t swing, hopefully throw the pitcher off his game a little bit by changing his sight lines, and take our base on balls. Either start a rally or keep one going.
Fun little trick. It usually worked in our favor.
My dad was almost always our coach until I got to high school. A lot of his tactics were something he learned from his father, who also spent many years coaching youth baseball.
Grandpa really wanted all of us to hit lefthanded. “Lefty! Lefty!” was probably the only advice I heard him utter to his grandchildren or their friends. A simple man.
Grandpa was a good baseball man, too, and he was the one who built us our first batting tee. My brother took the “Lefty!” advice and parlayed it into a nice career on the diamond. All-American honors from the left side of the dish, two national titles, and a national runner-up.
As a right-handed stick, I never made it too far, but I’ve had enough experience in the game that it allows me write about fun stuff that happened.
I have a lot of good ones…
One year, our Southwest Babe Ruth All-Star team was playing in the district tournament at Sckavone Field.
We’d finally arrived. After playing our spring games in various city parks, this was the big time. The “big diamond” with 90-foot bases. Metal cleats, full locker room, and dug-out dugouts. An actual stadium. So cool.
My dad was the skipper that summer, as per usual.
One of our newsletter subscribers—let’s call him Kurt—was one of my dad’s favorite players he got to coach. Out of all the guys I played with on all my various sports teams, he really clicked with my dad as I recall, yet he only played with us just that one summer.
Kurt was up in the count—at least a 2-0 count, maybe 3-0—and got the sign from the third base coaching box to switch around to the other batter’s box for the next pitch. Lefty!
I don’t think Kurt was familiar with the strategy.
Reminds me of another story: Back in the late 90s, Brewers center fielder Chuck Carr—being an “original Florida Marlin” and leading the big leagues in steals one season were his biggest achievements up until that point—got the take sign from manager Phil “Scrap-Iron” Garner.
The skipper did NOT ask the lefthanded hitting speed merchant to switch around for the R-L platoon advantage against Angels southpaw Chuck Finley. Babe Ruth league strategy only, I guess.
Garner simply expected Carr to lay off the pitch and extend the portsider’s pitch count. Common and reasonable baseball strategy.
Finley was already through 7 complete, having only given up one run and would go on to finish the game. Those were still the days that when a relief pitcher came in to the ballgame, it said something about the starter’s manhood, never about a manager’s ability to manage the workload of his own staff.
On the opposite side, Brewers righthander Ben McDonald gave up 5 runs in 7 2/3 innings. Three pitchers total were used in the game.
Carr, batting 8th in the lineup that day, was leading off the top of the 8th for Milwaukee and worked the count to 2-0. Good start to the inning.
Garner thus employed the take sign—a.k.a. do NOT swing. Again, solid baseball. Down three and leading off the inning, the ballclub needs baserunners. Plus, getting Chuckie’s speed on the basepaths was a net positive for the offense.
Instead, Carr swung away and popped out weakly to Angels third sacker, Dave Hollins.
Scrap-Iron was irate and approached Carr about why he ignored the sign.
“That ain’t Chuckie’s game,” replied the career .254 hitter. “Chuckie hacks on 2-0.”
Milwaukee soon released Carr, who caught on with the Astros later that season but played sparingly. It would prove to be his final season in the big leagues.
An entirely different scenario played out in southeast Portland in July of 1990.
After heading over to the opposite batter’s box, which I don’t think he’d ever done outside of a backyard game of Wiffle Ball, Kurt immediately got comfy over on the left side.
“Get comfortable being uncomfortable,” is one of the strongest coaching tips you can give your baseball-playing youngsters. It applies almost everywhere.
Nevertheless, the pitcher may have been more uncomfortable than Kurt.
The young righthander tossed one in there, trying just to get one over for a strike, but it was a real “cookie” and Kurt’s eyes lit up.
Swing…and…
Line drive, through the hole. Rally starter!
That ain’t Kurtie’s game. Kurtie hacks!
My dad loved it. Lefty! Of course, it was completely antithetical to what we were trying to do as a team—get easy baserunners without the risk of getting out—but it worked out.
More than anything, I think my dad appreciated the attitude that, “yeah, I can hit this pitcher no matter what side of the plate I’m on.”
He talked about that game for years. Always with a smile.
This all brings me to the clip from an early round game of the Kōshien that I saw the other day.
The Summer Kōshien is arguably the biggest amateur baseball tournament in the world, but certainly the largest amateur sporting event in Japan. I could go on about it, but, briefly, the ultimate winner is as lauded in the entire nation of Japan as the Hickory Huskers were in fictional 1954 Indiana.
Kōshien is such a big deal that the Hanshin Tigers of Nippon Professional Baseball’s Central League (one of the Japanese major leagues), who plays its games in Kōshien Stadium, are not allowed to play home games when the tournament is going on.
The tournament plays out over the course of summer—when school is not in session—but its final stage is a 49-team event over two weeks in August at Hanshin Kōshien Stadium which still plays with the “skinned” infield—reminiscent of an American softball field—for its ability to handle the wear and tear of non-stop hardball (and probably for some sort of odd tradition).
What follows is a clip of a young Japanese ballplayer determined to get on base by any means necessary.
My dad would have been quite proud of this kid.
He has been gone now for over three years, but I have a feeling that my father—in some strange way—would also have been proud of me for sticking to the “carnivore diet” for the last three months.
It’s a bit of a “lefthanded” approach to dining.
There were a couple of slips, but still no vegetable has touched these lips.
My plan is for all of that to change next Monday whereby I shall snack on a few Sausage Slammers from Southside Market and Barbecue.
I told myself, “three months…” for the “pure carnivore” thing and the buzzer is going off once August 1st arrives.
A fresh jalapeño stuffed with cheese and then stuffed into a bacon-wrapped sausage ball will likely be the end of my meat-fast. Still plenty of meat, so I won’t worry too much about withdrawal symptoms.
On these pages, I’ve professed the benefits of Southside many times. Gustatory benefits more than anything.
Southside Market is a purveyor of Authentic Texas Barbecue—from the Lone Star State indeed—shipped right to your front door.
In business in Central Texas since 1882, where they started by selling barbecue out of the back of a wagon, today one of the best offerings from Southside are the Sausage Slammers.
Sausage Slammers start with a fresh jalapeño half filled with real cheddar cheese. We then wrap each one in our house-made pork sausage and roll the whole thing up in bacon. Smoked low and slow over real Texas post oak wood, our Sausage Slammers are flavorful enough to be the main course or slice them to serve as an unforgettable appetizer!
Gluten Free. No MSG.
To tell the truth, the only thing I am excited about now that I will be coming off the meat-only operation is for the Slammers, but the best deal on the site right now is for the Jalapeño Cheddar Smoked Sausage Value Pack.
Practically free.
Brian O’Leary
P.S.--If you like weird baseball plays and left-handed hitting, here is a short 20 second clip about why baseball is either the best or the worst game on the planet. No middle ground here.
