Big League WIFFLE Ball News

By Mack Dreyfuss

A friend of mine sat down on the stool next to me at our diner. He sighed the kind of sigh that is only born of a raw soul. A soul that instead of being enlightened and lifted by the holidays was crushed center mass by the proverbial holiday 2 by 4. Make that a 2 by 6.

“Thank God it’s over,” he said.

“Coffee?” Bernice asked.

“Oh yeah.”

I sipped my own coffee and stared at the 70’s era 7-Up clock on the wall. I wasn’t ready to read the newspaper yet. It was 4:30am. Back to our routine. Our comfortable, satisfying, rhythmic routine.

It was ironic my friend thanked God for an end to the celebration of human redemption. I could barely allow myself to think through the last two weeks’ events. They came to me in flashes while my mind begged my soul for balance. The bursts of flashing memory brought clashes of interpersonal perfection concepts, racking laughter, sickening food binges by well-intentioned familial bakers, near-arguments resulting in backroom rants, deep breaths and drive-ons, gulps after glancing at bank statements, a lack of exercise, an endless cramming of boxes into already packed cars, and the screaming of over-stimulated children into the ears of over-stimulated parents. I needed a holiday from the holidays.

I hungered for something holy in all of this minute-slaughtering minutia. My friend and I barely said a word to each other. We both needed the quiet. The drone of the sports scores on the mini-television in the corner and the clack of a fork, through eggs, against the porcelain plate were all we needed.

“Pie?” Bernice asked.

I shook my head no.

There was ice under that snow. If I was going to remain upright, I was going to need all my strength. I left Bernice a tip and stepped toward my car. I felt the kindling excitement to go back to work, to make better plans, and to be more disciplined this year. In the end, we are responsible for ourselves.

by Mack Dreyfuss

As a wiffle ball pitcher, you must have tremendous focus. You have to know the contour of the ball, where you scuffed and scratched the ball to maintain control, the dynamics of the air that passes over and through the holes, hand position, where you release, whether your angle is more side arm than overhand, the specs of the strike zone, the awareness and tendencies of the batter, and the concealment of your hand position during your wind-up. That’s a lot to keep straight, especially as fatigue sets in.

If you’re just chucking, then your fielding skills better be phenomenal if you’re facing a batter of any talent.

Isn’t that how it goes? If you don’t know what you’re doing, then prepare to get blindsided. How many people do you encounter everyday (or see in the mirror), that are completely overwhelmed and anxietized by a rapid, spastic, technologically-sizzled existence?

Nice antidotes to the frenetic pace of current society are those moments where everything, in stillness, is glorious. Like the yellow light of your garage on a summer night, pouring through the tools that your grandfather used to use with you at his side. Like the baseball games you went to with your dad, where you fell asleep in the seventh inning and you vaguely remember being carried to the car. Like the stars that arched and rolled above you while you first talked with the woman who became your wife. Like the slow breathing of your own children as they fall asleep in your arms. Like your dog hanging his head out the window of your truck on the way back from the lake, fresh-caught fish in the cooler.

Hitting it out of the park is the balance between the combat of earning a paycheck and spending it in eternal arenas.

Here’s an update from CPT Cory Newmann, deployed Midwest Manager of Big League Wiffle Ball:

So there I was, knee deep in training at my mobilization station at Camp Atterbury, Indiana, just a few short days away from deploying to Southern Iraq in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom. We had recently been issued our equipment, to include body armor, steel toed boots, various forms of eye protection, and a multitude of other gear–enough to fill three Army duffle bags and a large rucksack. Now that we had our equipment, the good idea fairy had landed. All sorts of phenomenally intelligent ideas for new training were being put out. Things like…Hey! Since we have our 2 mile road march (in full battle rattle) tomorrow morning at 0600, let’s ‘practice’ road marching! With humidity so thick it felt like we were walking through tapioca pudding, we ‘practiced’ road marching. By the end of practice, motivation was failing.

CPT Cory Newmann, Midwest Manager and tactical wiffle baller

 
After training was done for the day, I had an opportunity to hop a seat aboard the bus into town. The troops needed a pick me up, something to bring the morale back around. In the Army we call it esprit de corps. I hurried to the local drug store, and picked up two Wiffle Ball sets. I seriously appreciated that the total was under $10, because in the transition from civilian to military life, I was between paychecks.

 
My roommate and I headed out to the field behind our barracks and started a game. In minutes, a crowd formed and Soldiers started to take interest. First to jump in was 1LT Greg Stetzer, quickly tagged with the moniker “The ripper.” I was pitching to Stetzer, and apparently my knuckleball wasn’t moving enough, because he was destroying each one- bouncing them off the roof of the barracks. My roommate, Chief Warrant Officer John Bourdeaux stepped up to the mound and started working his slider to good effect. My knuckleball may have been labeled as ‘weaksauce,’ but I have yet to break out my riser.

 
Several other Soldiers stepped up to the strike zone and displayed their skill with the yellow bat. SGT Aaron Hunnel joined in, and started throwing a ridiculous curveball. The company First Sergeant even came out and hit a few, smiling and talking about how it reminded him of playing stickball as a kid.

 
Chief Bourdeaux said it took him back to his childhood as well, recalling the days of playing home run derby with Wiffle Ball on the tennis courts. More and more people came by the field as we were playing, and Chief Bourdeaux said “that is the beauty of Wiffle Ball, absolutely anyone can play.”

LT Stetzer Reacting to Contact (wiffle, not enemy contact)

We played for about two hours, wrapped up in competition and memories of our youth. People are already asking me about setting up teams and tournaments. We will continue to build our skills here stateside, in preparation for playing in that big, sandlot overseas. Intelligence reports indicate there are Soldiers playing in Baghdad; I already can see the brackets….North versus South…

SGT Hunnel, Wiffle's own Wild Thing, complete with birth control glasses for accurate pitching

Email questions or comments to   mack@bigleaguewiffleball.com