Baseballs, Golf Balls, Limes, and Rocks
I have a confession. I grew up without video games. So, I found other ways to entertain myself. This blog entry is about one of those ways. It is not about the time that I set a f_ _ _ _ d on f _ _ e. Nor is it about putting c _ _ _ _ s on r _ _ _ _ _ _ d t _ _ _ _ s. (Sorry, my lawyer advised me to block those out.). Instead, it is hitting rocks with a stick. Actually, that's WAY too narrow of a description. My block was in danger--grave danger--whenever I grabbed my tennis racquet and headed for the lime trees behind my house. If you've never hit a few hundred lime home runs with a tennis racquet, then you don't know the meaning of that fresh citrus smell. And, the entire neighborhood was in danger whenever I came across a stray golf ball. Aside from the top of an imaginary upper deck, I was never sure where some of these balls landed after exploding off the fat barrel of a well-balanced Easton aluminum bat. Mainly, though, I hit rocks, and this led to trouble including on the following occasions:
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
I was helping build a medical clinic on the outskirts of the Haitian capital. It was lunch time, and next to me was a large pile of medium-sized rocks. In my hand was an ideal rock-hitting stick, and 250 feet in front of me was a large church sanctuary topped with a slanted aluminum roof that reflected the noontime Caribbean sun. Most of the rocks fell short of the sacred house of worship, but the occasional rock slammed down on the metallic roof with a crashing boom that could have been heard for blocks away. I'm sure it was much louder inside the church, but what did it matter during noon on a weekday. As it turned out, my unholy trinity of homers interrupted a mid-day prayer service. This was brought to my attention by a deacon who flew out of the sanctuary like a bat out of, well, you know.
Meadeville, PA
While helping to build a small church in Pennsylvania, I found myself in rock-hitting heaven. The property on which the church was being built featured a long driveway that was covered with smooth rocks. 300 feet ahead was a tree line serving as an outfield fence. I took less than 10% of the rocks "downtown," so it took a while and over 360 rocks to reach and surpass Dale Murphy's stat of 36 home runs for the 1983 season. For an aspiring major leaguer, it was cool to pass Roger Maris' mark of 60 homers. Then came 100. 200. 300. The next day I joined the 500 club. Next came the passing of Babe Ruth (715), Hank Aaron (756), and even Japan's Sadaharu Oh (869). By the time I had hit 1,100 home runs, I had cleared out over 11,000 rocks from the church driveway. It was only after I was done that I noticed the 40-foot bare spot in the middle of the driveway.
Bartow, FL
I was in the 8th grade, and Marvin Owen and I were waiting for the 7 AM school bus to pick us up. In the meantime, we were taking rocks from the front of the Bartow Public Library's downtown building and seeing how closely we could hit or throw them to the side wall of a building across the parking lot. This was a bit risky as a road ran along the side of this building and a church blocked our view of traffic. There was the danger of hitting cars that came suddenly into view from behind the church. Occasionally, a rock would fall short of the sidewalk and land in the middle of the road instead. I vividly remember Marvin Owen picking up a particularly fat rock, and clumsily chucking it toward the building. This rock was bigger than the others and was oddly shaped. I could see it wobbling in the sky like a meteorite with vertigo. The rock reached its apex and began its return to earth. All of a sudden, here came this police car that was slowly driving along at maybe 20 M.P.H. Falling rock. Putzing cruiser. This was not looking good. We could tell that this was going to close--really close. I'm no rocket scientist, but from the best I could tell, the rock was going to slam down on the back of the cruiser's trunk. Of course, the officer had no clue what was coming down. He was just driving along and minding his own business. He wasn't even aware of Marvin and I standing in a bed of rocks at his 9:00 position. As it turned out, the rock missed the back steel bumper of this cruiser by what had to be less than an inch. I'm convinced that rock and bumper exchanged at least a few electrons in their outer shells. The rock landed with a heavy thud on the asphalt and the officer never broke his gaze from the road ahead.
I wish I could say that this was the only police car incident when it came to rocks, but it happened again in during the same trip to Pennsylvania that I had written about earlier. After clearing rocks from the middle of the driveway, I went to the end of the driveway near the road where I saw how far I could hit rocks while landing them on the 3-foot wide strip of grass that was between the road and the sidewalk. The problem: The road slanted downhill after about 200 feet which meant that I could not see oncoming cars until the crested the hill. The trick, of course, was to hit rocks far but to also land them on the strip of grass and not on the road. Occasionally, though, I would toss an "inside pitch" to myself which would cause me to pull the rock to the left, or over the road. That hadn't been much an issue as the rocks just landed harmlessly in the road. But, there was this one rock that I really nailed. It was a fairly good sized stone, and it hit it on the sweet spot of a sturdy stick. I got all of this one, but I had pulled it and could tell that it was going to land in the road. Just as I was admiring my Ruthian blast a police car crested over the top of the hill and in line with my rock. This was one of the cruisers with the dome canister lights on top, so I had a field goal thing going on. My extreme concern was making a "field goal" without hitting the upright. So I'm standing out there with a big stick and all these rocks around me and I'm looking straight into the front windshield of the cruiser. The car continued to come. The rock continued to fall. Thankfully, my rock made it through the upright. As with the Bartow incident, the officer had no clue what had almost happened. Nonetheless, this scared me so much that I didn't hit rocks for at least another 5 minutes.
Port-au-Prince, Haiti
I was helping build a medical clinic on the outskirts of the Haitian capital. It was lunch time, and next to me was a large pile of medium-sized rocks. In my hand was an ideal rock-hitting stick, and 250 feet in front of me was a large church sanctuary topped with a slanted aluminum roof that reflected the noontime Caribbean sun. Most of the rocks fell short of the sacred house of worship, but the occasional rock slammed down on the metallic roof with a crashing boom that could have been heard for blocks away. I'm sure it was much louder inside the church, but what did it matter during noon on a weekday. As it turned out, my unholy trinity of homers interrupted a mid-day prayer service. This was brought to my attention by a deacon who flew out of the sanctuary like a bat out of, well, you know.
Meadeville, PA
While helping to build a small church in Pennsylvania, I found myself in rock-hitting heaven. The property on which the church was being built featured a long driveway that was covered with smooth rocks. 300 feet ahead was a tree line serving as an outfield fence. I took less than 10% of the rocks "downtown," so it took a while and over 360 rocks to reach and surpass Dale Murphy's stat of 36 home runs for the 1983 season. For an aspiring major leaguer, it was cool to pass Roger Maris' mark of 60 homers. Then came 100. 200. 300. The next day I joined the 500 club. Next came the passing of Babe Ruth (715), Hank Aaron (756), and even Japan's Sadaharu Oh (869). By the time I had hit 1,100 home runs, I had cleared out over 11,000 rocks from the church driveway. It was only after I was done that I noticed the 40-foot bare spot in the middle of the driveway.
Bartow, FL
I was in the 8th grade, and Marvin Owen and I were waiting for the 7 AM school bus to pick us up. In the meantime, we were taking rocks from the front of the Bartow Public Library's downtown building and seeing how closely we could hit or throw them to the side wall of a building across the parking lot. This was a bit risky as a road ran along the side of this building and a church blocked our view of traffic. There was the danger of hitting cars that came suddenly into view from behind the church. Occasionally, a rock would fall short of the sidewalk and land in the middle of the road instead. I vividly remember Marvin Owen picking up a particularly fat rock, and clumsily chucking it toward the building. This rock was bigger than the others and was oddly shaped. I could see it wobbling in the sky like a meteorite with vertigo. The rock reached its apex and began its return to earth. All of a sudden, here came this police car that was slowly driving along at maybe 20 M.P.H. Falling rock. Putzing cruiser. This was not looking good. We could tell that this was going to close--really close. I'm no rocket scientist, but from the best I could tell, the rock was going to slam down on the back of the cruiser's trunk. Of course, the officer had no clue what was coming down. He was just driving along and minding his own business. He wasn't even aware of Marvin and I standing in a bed of rocks at his 9:00 position. As it turned out, the rock missed the back steel bumper of this cruiser by what had to be less than an inch. I'm convinced that rock and bumper exchanged at least a few electrons in their outer shells. The rock landed with a heavy thud on the asphalt and the officer never broke his gaze from the road ahead.
I wish I could say that this was the only police car incident when it came to rocks, but it happened again in during the same trip to Pennsylvania that I had written about earlier. After clearing rocks from the middle of the driveway, I went to the end of the driveway near the road where I saw how far I could hit rocks while landing them on the 3-foot wide strip of grass that was between the road and the sidewalk. The problem: The road slanted downhill after about 200 feet which meant that I could not see oncoming cars until the crested the hill. The trick, of course, was to hit rocks far but to also land them on the strip of grass and not on the road. Occasionally, though, I would toss an "inside pitch" to myself which would cause me to pull the rock to the left, or over the road. That hadn't been much an issue as the rocks just landed harmlessly in the road. But, there was this one rock that I really nailed. It was a fairly good sized stone, and it hit it on the sweet spot of a sturdy stick. I got all of this one, but I had pulled it and could tell that it was going to land in the road. Just as I was admiring my Ruthian blast a police car crested over the top of the hill and in line with my rock. This was one of the cruisers with the dome canister lights on top, so I had a field goal thing going on. My extreme concern was making a "field goal" without hitting the upright. So I'm standing out there with a big stick and all these rocks around me and I'm looking straight into the front windshield of the cruiser. The car continued to come. The rock continued to fall. Thankfully, my rock made it through the upright. As with the Bartow incident, the officer had no clue what had almost happened. Nonetheless, this scared me so much that I didn't hit rocks for at least another 5 minutes.
posted by Raul Mosley at
5:49 PM
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