I was the scrawny kid, always getting beaten up and called names. I had no friends in school, but I loved baseball. Of course, I wasn't very good at it either, and in little league, I was always getting hidden in right field and for the most part, praying the ball wouldn't be hit to me. One fine day in 1978, with the regular season title on the line, us up by one and the opposing team had runners on the corners and one out. I was distracted by the many bugs we had in our field, when I heard the ting of the bat making contact. I immediately found the ball and charged on a dead run. I snagged the ball, turned once and fired a perfect one hop strike to the plate. The runner trying to score from third was out by several feet and the third base coach's mouth dropped like a rock.
I never managed anything quite like that again, but I'll always have that moment of pretending I was the great Clemente.