The Mouse That Scored
In my freshman year in high school, I began to realize how much baseball meant to me. It happened after the team’s main pitcher broke his big toe while horsing around in the locker room.
His break was my lucky one. Whenever he tried to pitch, he struggled, unable to dig in on the mound.
I would be called in to relieve. Newspaper headlines said it all: “Kladstrup Stars in Pittsford Victory;” “Freshman Leads Black Knights to 7th Win in a Row.”
I was feeling as though I could just float out to the pitcher's mound. The number of innings I pitched without giving up a run continued to grow.
I was up to twenty-five scoreless innings before the inevitable happened. I failed to come through, and came crashing back to earth. I remember sitting in the coach’s office crying like a baby.
Nevertheless, the year ended on a high note. I was named to the Monroe County All-Star Team, the only freshman selected.
The following year was even better. I was now the starter. Our team finished 12–1, which was also my record as a starter. Unfortunately, we finished second in our division, just behind Rush-Henrietta which went 13–0, thanks to a guy named Bill Rouse who tossed four no-hitters that season and went on to play professionally.
I never threw one although I came close a couple of times. My fastball was real heat and I had a good curve, but control was my strong suit. A friend of the family who scouted for the White Sox told my father, “If Donny keeps doing what he’s doing, he’s going to get some offers.” Finish high school, get signed and play baseball. What could be better?
Dad was less starry-eyed. Better to get a college education first, he said, warning that very few players ever get to the majors. I wasn’t fazed. The grind of minor league baseball, the long bus rides, the shabby hotels, didn’t worry me. I knew I could do it.
When school let out for summer vacation, I was teamed up with Rouse in American Legion Ball. We were unbeatable. We mowed everyone down.
And yet, with all those victories, with all that excitement, there's one game that stands out.
I was pitching when a mouse scooted across the mound. It totally surprised me. Where did you come from, I asked the tiny rodent as I called time.
No response except to scurry down the mound. I tried to catch it, but the little creature darted this way and that. My team, the opponents, the people in the stands — they were all laughing wildly as I tried to follow the mouse. Finally, the mouse broke from the mound and headed toward first.
At this point I have to pause to tell you that I was known for my first base pick-off move. In fact, in one game the first base coach of the opposing team warned his runner to be careful with his lead because I had a swift and sure throw to first. The runner edged off the base and I promptly picked him off. You could hear him groaning in the next county.
So now there was a fuzzy little runner heading to first and taking its own lead off the base.
I crouched and then leaped and managed to snare it. Cupping it with two hands, I carried it off the field and placed it gently in the grass. Everyone, players and spectators alike, cheered and applauded.
It’s the finest catch I ever made.
