Published: May 14, 2008 05:31 pm            

VALLEY: Keep your ear on the ball

While traveling to my hometown in northern New York last week, I drove through a small rural village that brought back a few memories. While playing in a high school baseball game in that community, I was struck in the ear by a ball that necessitated medical attention at the local hospital.

I can remember it as though it happened yesterday, yet, it was a long 43 years ago: Our high school team had made the 35-minute bus trip to play the game. And as usual, during the springtime played games, it was chilly.

The incident happened while I was up to bat. I had tried to bunt the ball and it unfortunately caromed off the bat and struck me on the right side of the head, making a nasty gash in my ear (Protective helmets in those days did not always cover the ear-area). It didn’t hurt but it did bleed profusely making it look worse than it actually was.

Medical emergencies at high school baseball games were rare, so there was no ambulance on hand — nor was either team equipped to handle such a situation. And so, a spectator rooting for the other team, reluctantly agreed to drive me to the hospital. The game continued on without me, in what was to be one of the first of many indications — that have ocurred to me since — that the world did not revolve around me (A concept that I’m still having trouble accepting).

After applying several towels to the area in a futile attempt to stop the bleeding, my personal Good Samaritan led me to his rusty pick-up truck — all the while, muttering something to the effect that he knew he should have ridden his horse into town. But he was kind enough to oblige and soon after, we were at the hospital.

Now, it must be noted that in those days, ball players were allowed to wear metal-spiked baseball shoes. So, you can imagine the noise they made as I walked down the echo-chamber-like corridor of this medical facility seeking help. It sounded like the complete troupe of Irish dancers from “Riverdance” had just stormed the building.

Here I was with a baseball uniform on, holding a blood-soaked towel to my head and the lady at the counter unbelievably asked, “Do you have an appointment?”

“Yes,” I explained, with my 16-year-old wise guy attitude kicking in. “I always wear a different uniform to see the doctor. Last month I wore a ballerina’s outfit — you know, a tutu.”

“You what?” she asked.

“I’m kidding,” I added. “Sure, I made an appointment — last week. I asked if the doctor could see me shortly after today’s game started. Specifically, I requested to see the doctor about the time the top of the third inning had started with no outs.”

“I was to be at bat with a count of one ball and no strikes,” I added. “When making the appointment, I also told his secretary that’s when my ear would be getting ripped half off — as you can see here — and I’d rush right over to have it stitched up. BUT not before answering your assinine questions. Anything else?”

“Sit in that chair over there and wait,” she scoffed, putting her head down pretending to be busy — indicating that she was in no mood to take guff from a punk like me.

“And by the way,” she chimed in while never looking back up, “maybe while you wait, you would like to grab a tophat and cane and entertain us with a little softshoe version of ‘Oh, Danny boy?’”

Thanks for the memories, Gouverneur, N.Y.

And that’s the way it looks from the Valley.

Tom Valley is a Medina resident. His column appears every Thursday. Write to Tvalley@rochester.rr.com.

        

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