The Baseball Glove

I bought a new baseball glove. I did it because everyone should have a baseball glove.

I have not had that many over the years and there is a reason for this. A kids 1st baseball glove is his first and forever love. Everyone boy can remember what glove they had as a kid.

I can tell you about my first two. My first one was made out of that cheap plastic leather. I am sure that there is a plastic cow carcus out there, rotting in some industrial field. Or perhaps he went to the plastic cow factory and was made into plastic sporks. Good ole Bessy, giving it all till the end.

It was a good glove but soon fell apart after I started playing real baseball.

My next glove was a sweetass catchers mit. It was very stiff but I worked it until it was almost perfect. My grandfather Oscar gave it to me. I got it for Christmas one year and that was pretty much it. My baseball career, short as it may have been, was fortold by one Christmas present. Through little league, all star teams and finally High School, I was a catcher. How could I be anything else, have you seen my glove??

I like to think it was because I had real skill behind the plate. I like to think that it was because I had a rocket arm and didn't mind getting thumped in the chest with a fastball, I was a tough one. I like to think that it was a skilled choice and not the fact that I was big fat goalie back behind the plate.

However, looking back, I didn't have a rocket arm and the skill that I had was not crying when the ball thumped me in the nuts. Thank you Jesus for cups, hands down the best invention ever.

For years I had that glove, even when my hand became to big to use it. And as Oscar showed me, I would religiously oil it and rub the leather so that it would never crack. On a few occasions I would use shaving cream if I had run out of oil. This was Oscar's little secret. I swear to you, this man knew more stuff about stuff than anyone I had ever known.

He knows exactly what AC and DC stands for as it relates to electricity, not the rock band. He knows the actual chemical compesition of WD-40. He knows how logs float down the river to the paper mill and he knows how to actually make paper out of them. And he knows the importance of a good baseball glove to a young boy.

He also knew that the baseball glove transcended it's orignal purpose, like it's almost a religous relic, choosing it's owner instead of the other way around. For years I carried that glove around.

I used it when ever it seemed appropriate, although never knowing when that would be until the actual moment. I used it in our epic battles with wasp nests growing up in southern Arkansas. Those were some beasty times and I like to think I got through it because of my glove.

You see, there is a skill to fighting wasps. If you have never done it, you might want to print this blog out and keep it with you at all times, just in case. Constant vigilence!

You need several things. You need someone on standby with the water hose. A constant stream of water wets down their wings and makes them a little slower. You need someone with a broom. The wide head of the broom allows for some good swatting. You need someone with a board, but not to wide. This is for when you finally get the wasp on the ground and need to smush it. You can't use your shoes because, being southern Arkansas, we were not wearing any. And finally, you need your trusty baseball glove close by like your Excalibur. When a wasp breaks through all those defenses, it's the glove that is the last resort. I used the one my Grandfather gave me often.

But this is not the only use for a baseball glove. Watch a baseball game and see if you can actually pick out all the different things that people use their gloves for. It's more versitile than duct tape on a broken down prostitute.

I carry mine to work with me. Mainly because when I want to talk and be very shadowy about it, I can calmly bring my glove up to my mouth and talk to the person through the laces. This prevents any noisy mouth readers out there.

I also learned as I got older that you can use your trusty baseball glove to carry mulitple beers and nachos to your stadium row seating which happens to be up close to where Heaven must be. The people all look like ants, ants that want my baseball glove.

And a good baseball glove is versitile. Need a pillow while you sleep off that hangover at some friends rat ass apartment, whip out the glove and you are good to go. Ever go to that friends house and were afraid to sit on the couch because it might contain the crabs that he surely has? Whip out the glove and you have a comfortable arrangement.

In short, a man should never be without his baseball glove. My grandfather knew this which is why he must have bought me one so early and showed me how to care for it. I have had more lessons about glove care with my Grandpa than I have had about rebuilding engines, and I am just fine with that. I do still have that glove, it's at my moms house

My grandfathers glove doesn't fit anymore and in fact hasn't for a very long time. But I replaced it years ago and keep my current glove in my car, always ready in case of emergencies. I like my current glove, it makes me feel sporty and protected when I wear it. I don't know if it is because one of my first gloves was given with such love and devotion, but when I wear my current glove it just seems like things are ok.

I have my own glove and didn't need the one that I just bought. It is currently sitting on my counter with a brand new baseball next to it. I have not oiled it and I have not put shaving cream in it. I have not put the ball in the middle and tied a string around it. I have not put it under my bed and dreamed of the glory that I will attain with it. For you see, those are not my responsibilities with this new glove.

I will not do any of those things with this new glove because the glove is not for me. Today my wife and I had a sonogram. We finally learned, after 8 months, that I am going to have a son.

This glove is for him and I wish him all the greatness with it that I had with mine. He will be named after my Grandfather, Oscar.

1 comment:

  1. Best story ever. I must admit, you brought an iddy biddy tear to the man they call "ICE". Naturally, the tear was due to the sporty side to the story, like the tear all grown men get by watching Roy Hobbs crank the lights out. No, the tear was not because of the baby news... Or was it? Congrats on the wonderful news, Hossman and Hossmom.