Alright, so you’re asking about my time with Greenville High School baseball. Well, it wasn’t exactly like I was out there hitting home runs, you know? My athletic days, if you could even call them that, were long gone. But I did get involved, in my own little way, and boy, do I have some stories from that experience.
It all started a few years back. My neighbor’s kid, young Tom, was a pitcher for the team. Super nice kid, but his folks traveled a lot for work. I’d see him practicing in his yard, throwing against a beat-up piece of plywood. I felt for the guy, wanted to show some support. Plus, I had some time on my hands, just retired, and was looking for something to do, to feel a bit more connected to the Greenville community. Baseball games seemed like a good start.
My Brilliant Idea: Become the Unofficial Team Grandpa
So, I started attending the home games. Just sitting in the bleachers, cheering them on. After a few games, I noticed a few things. The scoreboard was a bit finicky, sometimes a bulb would be out, or it wouldn’t update right away. And the announcer, bless his heart, was a student who sometimes got the players’ names mixed up. No big deal, but I thought, hey, maybe I can help.
I approached Coach Miller after one game. He’s a good guy, a bit gruff on the outside, but really cares about those kids. I told him, “Coach, I’ve got some time, good eyesight, and I know most of these kids’ names now. How about I help spot for the announcer, or maybe see if I can figure out what’s up with that scoreboard light?”
He looked me up and down, probably wondering who this old coot was. But he said, “Sure, why not? Show up for practice next Tuesday, we’ll see.”
So, that Tuesday, I showed up. And that’s where my “practice” really began. It wasn’t about drills or batting cages for me. It was about learning the quirks of that old scoreboard. Turns out, it needed a good whack on the side sometimes, just like my old TV. Classic percussive maintenance, they call it.
- I learned which player’s mom always brought cookies.
- I learned which dad yelled the loudest (and usually at the umps).
- I learned that keeping track of pitch counts manually is harder than it looks.
My main “job” evolved into being an extra pair of eyes and ears. I’d help set up the small things before games – making sure the bases were out, the foul lines were clear, that sort of stuff. I’d sit near the dugout, not in it, mind you, Coach had rules. But I’d be close enough to help with a water bottle, or relay a message if needed. Sometimes I’d just chat with the players who weren’t playing, keep their spirits up.
One time, the main water cooler broke right before a big game on a scorching hot day. Panic stations! I remembered there was an old, forgotten hand pump well behind the old maintenance shed. Nobody had used it in years. I grabbed a few buckets, got that old pump primed, and managed to get enough clean, cool water to fill up smaller coolers. Felt like a hero that day, even though my back was killing me.
It wasn’t glamorous, but it was something. I got to know the kids, their families. I saw their wins and their losses. I learned that high school baseball in a town like Greenville is more than just a game. It’s about community, it’s about these young men learning teamwork, discipline, and how to handle disappointment. And I got to be a small part of that, just by showing up and offering a hand.
So yeah, that was my practice with Greenville High School baseball. No uniform, no stats in the paper, but I like to think I made a little difference. And I definitely got my fill of hot dogs and sunshine. Good times, mostly. Real good times.
