MR. V

I took a recent trip to New York to attend to family business. Feeling a bit nostalgic, I decided to drive over to the park near my mom’s house to take a look. You know, for old time’s sake.

Not much had changed since my last visit a decade ago. The basketball court where I dominated in my younger days (note sarcasm) was still there. The same for the baseball field, tennis courts, and handball courts. The small lake looked the same.  The park was quiet except for a couple of mothers with baby strollers enjoying the late morning sun. There was a dopey kid on a skateboard nearby and an older gentleman throwing a ball against the handball wall. Just a quiet Monday at the park.

After taking in the scene, I began to stroll with flashbacks and memories stirring in my head. As I got closer to the handball courts, I recognized the man throwing the ball. He wasn’t just lobbing it either. He was firing the ball against that huge cement wall. I looked closely at the man and I couldn’t believe it.  It was John Verwoert, one of my former baseball coaches and a man whom I had met 27-years earlier. I hadn’t seen him in at least ten years.

“Mr. V,” I yelled.

He walked over to the fence. It took a couple of seconds before he replied in his New York accent, “Billy Rogan. What are you doin’ here? You’re supposed to be in Denvah.”

I entered the handball courts and we shook hands. Mr. V told me he just celebrated his 78th birthday. I was astounded. 78? I didn’t know he was that old. He looked just like he did twenty years earlier. He handed me his glove and had me throw the ball against the wall as we talked about the old days and what we were up to today. I noticed the glove was relatively new and broken in well. I thought to myself, “What guy in his 70’s buys a new baseball glove…for himself!?” Mr. V, that’s who.

“Mr. V, people must think you’re crazy to be out here throwing a baseball around,” I said.

“Probably,” Mr. V said with a smile. “But I don’t care.”

During our conversation, Mr. V reminded me of his baseball philosophies, the same theories I had heard many years prior. Philosophies like “the neck pitch,” “stepping on eggs,” and my personal favorite, “baseball is a martial art.” It would take hours to explain Mr. V’s original baseball teaching philosophies and analogies, so don’t ask. While he was coaching at John Jay College in Manhattan, Mr. V explained that he improved the hitting of a couple of players from the Dominican Republic by teaching them that hitting a baseball was like chopping sugar cane.

“What are ya doin’ tonight?” Mr. V asked.

“Nothing.”

“Good, we got a game tonight.”

Holy flashback, Batman.

I played for Mr. V’s team in a mostly college age league for three years beginning in 1981. Then in 1984, I started my own team in the same league called the Pearl River Salty Dogs. A year or two later we asked Mr. V to be our coach, and he’s been the coach of the Salty Dogs ever since.

“We’re playing Saddle Brook,” Mr. V told me. “Skelly still plays.”

Ah, Skelly. Mike Skelly is a medical doctor now. He was an original Salty Dog and one of the best amateur hitters I’ve ever seen. Example: We played a game at Doubleday Field in Cooperstown in the early 90’s, and Skelly hit a ball completely over the white, two-story house in right-centerfield. It was a jaw-dropping bomb.

Mr. V asked, “So, you playin’ ball in Denvah?”

My last year playing was 1993, and I haven’t given much thought to seriously playing again.

“Mr. V, I’m 46.”

“So?” responded Mr. V. “Jerry Quigley’s still pitchin’. He’s 51. Threw five shutout innings last week and got the win. You should find a team in Denvah to play on.”

I went to the game that night. Mr. V put me to use as the first base coach. Felt strange but nice. I can’t remember the name of the player who batted ninth in the Salty Dogs lineup, but I recalled a conversation I had with Mr. V years back when he penciled me into the nine spot in the batting order. Mr. V had sat next to me on the bench and put his arm around me. He said, “Billy, do you know why I’m batting you ninth tonight?”

“For speed at the bottom of the order?”

“No. The reason you’re batting ninth…is because there’s no number ten!” He’s managed a million games, and I bet he’s said that to every guy who has batted ninth for him.

The game between the now tradition-laden Pearl River Salty Dogs and the Saddle Brook Whatevers was called due to rain and lighting after three scoreless innings. Mr. V, Skelly, and I then drove to a restaurant in Pearl River to talk about baseball and everything else. Mike paid the tab. He should, he’s a doctor.

I had lost contact with these guys through the years, and that’s sad. It was nice to reconnect. And it all occurred because I happened to cross paths again with a 78-year old guy who still loves baseball, coaching, and the simple act of throwing a baseball against a wall.

From:  http://www.turfsports.net/

Tags: baseball, New York

This entry was posted on January 27th, 2009 and is filed under Memories. You can follow any responses to this entry through the RSS 2.0 feed. You can leave a response or Trackback from your own site.