My first step was to contact the league reps at Grant Rea Park in Montebello
, my hometown where I had played for 6 years. I set up a meeting with a Luis Castillo who heads up the Pony League. I drove out to the park and met with Mr. Castillo, a youthful-looking man in a long-sleeved Jersey and Dodgers baseball cap. We sat on the bleachers that overlooked the baseball diamond. Sprinklers watered the outfield and infield and a gardener snipped the rim around the pitcher’s mound.“Where’s your son?” Mr. Castillo asked looking around for a glimpse of the phantom boy.
“I don’t have one,” I said.
Luis blinked in rapid succession out of confusion and smiled.
“So who is the person interested in joining our league?”
“Me,” I said confidently.
“You? Is this a joke? I don’t get it.”
“It’s really simple, Mister Castillo. I’m coming out of retirement to play in the Pony League.”
“Mister Gonzalez, you can’t be serious. I mean with all due respect you’re…how old are you?”
“Thirty eight and a half. But don’t worry I’m getting in shape in time for the season.”
“It’s not that,” he said. “It’s just that this is a league for boys or girls thirteen and fourteen years of age.”
“Yeah. I know. I figured this was the most challenging league. All the lower leagues seem too easy.”
Luis stroked the beard of his goatee in frustration. Deep in the stubborn wiring of my brain I knew the naysayers would try to talk me out of my dream but I was determined to not let anyone spoil my goal.
“Look, Mister Gonzalez, I don’t think you understand what I’m trying to get at. The Pony League is only open to kids who are thirteen and fourteen. You can’t play here because you’re too old.”
Aha! I thought. Checkmate. I was prepared for this response. I recoiled my words and they sprang out like a skinny French dude from Cirque du Soleil.
“Sir, that’s ageism. Just so you know I had contacted a lawyer prior to our meeting and I have secured his services in case you pulled that age crap on me. And I can assure you my lawyer knows Gloria Allred.”
“Fine! I don’t want any problems. We’ll put your name in the drawing and a coach will contact you Saturday morning. Alright?”
Success! Not even the disgusted expression on Castillo’s face could dampen my victorious spirit. I drove back home after the meeting with a feeling of euphoria, similar to the restless anticipation I felt as a kid when Winter finally ended and the sun heralded the coming of the new baseball season.
Saturday morning arrived and at nine forty seven as I stuffed the last of my egg, cheese, sausage and ham burrito into my mouth the phone rang. I leapt seemingly from the kitchen to the living room and lifted the receiver before the second ring.
“Hello,” I mumbled. I quickly swallowed the burrito. I knew I would pay for that later with nighttime heartburn.
“Can I speak to Jaime?”
“I’m Jaime. What’s up?”
The voice on the other end of the line paused.
“Jaime Gonzalez?”
“Yup, that’s me. Who is this?”
“This is Coach Ramos. Wait, you’re not one of those kids that develops really early are you? I mean you sound like an adult.”
“I am an adult.”
Another long pause followed.
“Oh, are you interested in being a coach or something?” Ramos asked.
“No. I’m a player. Ask Luis Castillo.”
“Ah, you’re that guy. Weird. Anyway, I’m Coach Ramos. You’re on the Giants now. Appropriately enough. Report to the La Merced Intermediate School’s baseball field next Saturday at nine o’ clock for our first practice. Alright, champ?”
“Sure thing, Coach Ramos. I’ll be there bright and early.”
“Man, this is weird,” he said in a sigh before he hung up.
Wow, I thought, my first baseball team in 24 years. I was ready. I had started the prep work months prior by hitting the batting cages almost daily, lifting weights and walking half mile. I was pumped. That night I placed my Nike spiked shoes on the floor by my gray practice baseball pants and Jersey which hung on the bedroom doorknob. The rest of the week went by slowly and I tossed and turned every night waiting for Saturday morning and it finally arrived.
(NEXT WEEK: The first practice and team meeting)
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