Time Out! I Gotta Pee!

I played Little League Baseball back in Akron, Ohio starting at age seven. I had never played baseball before other than wiffle ball in the back yard and with some of the kids in the neighborhood. I fell in love with baseball from the first time I played. Absolutely loved it!! Still love it and I’m still hopeful the Tribe will be giving me that call up soon. Tick Tock boys!

Baseball is a big deal in the area of the world I grew up in. Back then you could not play until you were at least seven. We didn’t have t-ball and coach pitch so when we started, we played the Real McCoy right out of the gate. You had to try out and not everyone made the team. As I recall, we had tryouts in April or May and then played games in June and July and then we were done before August, which was when football started, which was even bigger where I first lived.

So, back in 1967, word gets around that tryouts are going to happen for all of us at my grade school, Ritzman School. The original building was already old when I went there almost 60 years ago but, in my mind, I can remember it clear as a bell (which is no small feat these days!). There were two baseball fields in a fenced-in playground. The stands behind the backstop were black stone that seemed to have been used at every school in the area when they were first built. I thought it was cool, I’m not sure why, but I did. The infield and most of the outfield were dirt and the bases were new during the first World War. But, to me, it was a little piece of heaven right here on earth! I loved going up there and playing. We played pickup games at lunch until the weather changed. Anyway, my dad drives me up for tryouts and leaves. I don’t think the parents were allowed to hang around back then (they were on to something!).

They put us through our paces. We run, hit, field, and try different positions for a couple of hours. The coaches were guys like my dad, factory workers with kids of their own. As I was taking some infield practice when one of the coaches came over to me to tell me that I was doing something wrong with my glove when fielding ground balls. I told him that I was doing it correctly because my dad had taught me how to do it. In no uncertain terms he told me that dad was incorrect and to do it the way he taught me. I thought it was against the laws in Ohio for my dad to be wrong about anything. I’m 64 and I still remember that! I did what he told me, and it was better.

I had to sweat out the next few days until I got a call letting me know I made the Tigers. I was pumped. All my buddies on the street made it too and most of us started our careers as Tigers. Prior to the start of the season, we practiced most nights and learned how to play. We used wood bats, shared musty old batting helmets and had to get our own spikes and gloves. As we started to come together as a team, we found out how it worked. The “good” players played mostly in the infield. The chubby kid was the catcher. The coach’s kid was always the best at everything (smirk), and everyone wanted to be the pitcher. Every parent was convinced that their little bundle of joy was just a few years away from playing in the major leagues and couldn’t be persuaded otherwise.

The next step was getting our uniforms and hats. This was a HUGE day in Rutledge Land. Back then, we had 100 percent cotton unis that fit horribly. We all looked like we needed to step away from the training table. We had to learn how to put on our socks and stirrups, how to bend the bill of out hat just the right way, and not spill anything on ourselves prior to the pictures. That was asking a ton for a group of 15 7- and 8-year-old boys. We didn’t have batting gloves, sunglasses, bags to carry our stuff in either. Normally, we just put the glove over the handlebars of our bikes and off we went.

Just as the season was ready to start, we had a little league parade through the community. We dressed in our uniforms and walked as a team on a designated route through the neighborhood that ended at one of the ballfields where we would play a few innings and get our picture taken. It always seemed like the hottest day of the year and walking in that cotton uniform certainly didn’t cool things down, but hey, we were a team and we ready to show the world how awesome we were (or something).

During the season, an All-Star team is picked, and all the players play a game against the other All-Stars (and the coach’s kids). Today’s blog will be about the first time I made the All-Star team and what happened to me in my big debut. As you can guess from the title of this blog, after it was over my poor mom and dad wished they would have monitored my liquid intake a little closer!

But First…A Joke:

One evening, the airmen stationed at Area 51 - the classified Air Force facility - were surprised to see a Cessna landing there. Immediately, the Military Police impounded the aircraft and hauled the pilot into an interrogation room. The pilot claimed his plane had a fuel leak and ran out of gas. Panicking, he had headed toward the only buildings in sight to make an emergency landing. The Air Force conducted a full background check on the pilot and held him overnight.

By the next day, the investigators believed the pilot’s story and cleared him for release. After the pilot’s plane was fixed and fueled, a lieutenant threatened the pilot with prison time if he ever told a soul that he’d been there, and the pilot flew away.

The next day, however, the airmen were shocked to see the same Cessna land on the base. Once again, the MPs surrounded the plane. This time, there were two people inside the craft. The same pilot jumped out with his hands up and said, “Do anything you want to me, but my wife is in the plane, and you have to tell her where I was last night!”

Bonus Dad Joke:

What’s the best way to kill a circus?

Go for the juggler.

You are WELCOME!

A Verse to Contemplate:

Everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock. But everyone who hears these words of mine and does not put them into practice is like a foolish man who built his house on sand. - Matthew 7: 24, 26

Have I Told You This One?

I think it was in my second year of playing that I made my first All-Star team. I was really excited and dad and mom were pretty excited too. I remember that the game was held at Davenport Park which was (then) a brand-new city park and it had four or five fields, basketball courts, tennis courts and cool things to do in the summer. I’m not sure how the teams are picked, I’m guessing the coaches do it, but I found out that I was going to the big game.

It is like waiting for Christmas morning the day before the game. It seems as if time has stopped, and the game will never get here. I fiddle around in my room until dad comes in and says, “get ready, it’s time to go.” He looks a little closer and sees that I am already in my uniform and have been ready since breakfast. He smiles and says, “Okay boy let’s roll and go show them what being a Rutledge is all about!” I say, “You got it dad, I feel good about today, I may hit one out (you know, chicks dig the long ball!). He smiles and our family piles into the Ford and off to the park we go.

I can remember it felt like when we pulled up to the park. There were cars everywhere and people everywhere. You could smell the concession stand and hear the balls hitting gloves and bats as games were going on in all of the fields. This was Nirvana for me. I thought about the moment and can remember getting a little cocky and thinking, “man, I must be pretty good, look at all of this!” Hold up there Wille Mays, you’ve done nothing yet other than show up at the field on time which was handled pretty much by your parents.

Our game is the next one up and they gather us all for a picture and then to warm up. I’m looking around and noticed that some of these guys are a lot bigger than me. One guy drove himself to the game and think he has a kid. This All-Star is starting to feel some doubt creeping in. The coach pulls us together and gives us the starting lineup. I’m not on it. Poop. I didn’t do much bench sitting on the Tigers so this was new to me, but I was one of the younger guys on the team, so I convince myself that I have to be a team player and wait my turn to show my stuff. I’m sure the professional agents won’t be here until later anyway.

The game starts and I look back slowly toward dad to see if he is disappointed that I’m not starting. He gives me “it’s alright” sign which helps me relax some. I cheer on my teammates and in the third inning our coach tells me that I’m going in for the last three innings. If you had ever met my pop, you would remember that he was always filming family stuff. So I let him know that I’m going into the game next inning. He explodes out of his lawn chair and scrambles to get the super-8 camera fired up to capture this monumental event.

Now I’m nervous as all get out. It’s my first time in the big spotlight and I start feeling that doubt creeping back in again. I gather myself and give myself a peep talk and I’m ready to go. The coach yells for the new guys to take the field and I sprint out to centerfield. I get out there and I’m ready for this game….BRING IT! It is my time to shine, and I can’t imagine anything that is going to keep me from having all these fans and players leaving this game and not talking about great that centerfielder from the Tigers was. I was going to leave an impression.

Well, here’s where it goes sideways!

The first batter comes up and gets on first base. I have been taught to think about what I’m going to do with the ball if it is hit to me prior to the pitch. So, I am doing what I was taught, and I have my plan in my mind and then all of the sudden….disaster on an epic level. I have to pee, and I have to pee like five minutes ago! I start dancing around and try to walk it off but the more I think about it the worse it gets. I am now praying they don’t hit it to me because if I run, I know I’m going to have an accident.

The next kid grounds out and the guy on first moves to second base. I’m praying the inning ends but I can tell that I’m not going to make it in time, so what do I do? Of course, I call out, “Time Out! I Gotta Pee!” Now I’ve given everyone something to remember me by but that is not how I thought it was going to go. The umpire calls time and I do the penguin walk to the bench and the coach asks, “what’s the problem?” I tell him and he points me over to the row of cars and wishes me luck as he fills my confused parents in on the latest happenings.

I sprint over to these cars, and I am trying to unbutton (yes, I said unbutton this is 1967) my uniform pants (which are 100% cotton). The pressure is building, and I think I’m going to make it in time, but I do not. I was surprised to find out how just a small amount of liquid spreads on cotton clothes so quickly! I finish and when it is over I look like someone hit me with a water ballon in the worst possible place. By that time, dad comes over to check on me and notices the massive wet spot and tries to hold back a smile but fails miserably. I look at him and ask, “what do I do now?” He thinks for a minute and says, “Just put your glove over it.”

Dad walks me back to the bench as I have been replaced in the field with someone with much better kidneys. I sit on the bench with my glove strategically placed on now pray that this nightmare ends soon. The game ends and we have to shake hands. You know hard it is to shake hands with your right hand in a ball glove covering your down belows, not easy, that’s how hard it is!

Well, my first big time under the big lights didn’t go quite as planned for that great centerfielder from the Tigers. The upside is no one remembers the score of the game (including me), but they sure remember when Rutledge wet himself in the All-Star game! Not everyone can pull that off, am I right?

A Prayer:

Heavenly Father, when I rest in You, it’s so much easier to stand firm in the faith. Help me to keep my eyes on You no matter what life brings. Thank you that I am Your beloved and have nothing to fear.

Book Recommendation:

Searching For God Knows What by Donald Miller (2004)

Music Recommendation:

Arc by Jimmy Haslip (1993)