Old-school punch ball
“Time it was and what a time it was, it was … A time of innocence.”
— “Bookends,” by Simon and Garfunkel (1968)
I recently wrote a guest article for the community newspaper detailing the unique baseball games we invented and endlessly played in yards and on streets during our youth. The Old Geezers appreciated it.
We played a street game known as “running bases.” Two children positioned themselves at different bases — typically garbage can lids — and threw a ball to each other while two other kids attempted to move from one base to the other without being tagged. If tagged, the player who was caught took their place as a runner. Back and forth, back and forth. The game concluded when one of us had to leave for piano lessons.
In “punch ball,” we utilized a rubber ball comparable to the size of a tennis ball. The rules were based on standard baseball, adjusted for a smaller yard. The “batter” would bounce the ball before him and then strike it with his closed fist. We played without gloves. It was considered a foul ball if it landed in the ivy patch beyond first base.
We practiced “left-handed full swing.” Right-handers, we struck the ball out of our hand full swing left-handed, picturing ourselves aiming for the short porch at Yankee Stadium. One of the most powerful hitters was a girl named Mary Beth. We were impressed by her ability to hit left-handed until we learned that, similar to being a girl, she was naturally that way.
These games had their own set of rules that we created as we went. In punch ball, it wasn’t considered a homerun but an automatic out if the ball went over the fence into the neighbor’s garden. This was primarily because retrieving it was quite a hassle. Sliding while running bases was also not allowed. This was for a sensible reason: to safeguard our jeans.
It appears that a season cannot commence nowadays without us mourning the passing of a former player. A recent instance: Rusty Staub passed away on opening day this year. It was Holy Thursday. He would have turned 74 on Easter Sunday. His funeral Mass took place at Immaculate Conception church in New Orleans.
Rusty had a career spanning 23 seasons in the major leagues, including time with my New York Mets, where he was adored by the entire New York community.
He was an exceptional player. Staub made history as the first athlete in baseball to achieve 500 hits with four distinct teams. Alongside the iconic Ty Cobb, Staub is one of the few to have launched a major-league home run prior to turning 20 and after reaching 40. A six-time All-Star, during his time with the Montreal Expos, he earned the nickname “Le Grand Orange” due to his vibrant red hair.
Rusty Staub was well-known for reasons that truly count. In a feature by Catholic News Service, it was highlighted that Staub, who hailed from New Orleans, was a steadfast individual of faith, often referred to as a Catholic gentleman.
New York’s Cardinal Timothy M. Dolan enthusiastically praised Staub “as an outstanding philanthropist who contributed significantly to Catholic Charities, Catholic schools, and our Catholic food pantries.”
“Every time we were together,” Cardinal Dolan mentioned, “he would say, ‘Let me know what you require, Cardinal,’ and he consistently delivered.”
I understand that it might seem absurd — and a friend, who is a Catholic editor, dubs it my “quirky baseball obsession” — but I’ve always thought of baseball as fundamentally a Catholic pastime. Individuals such as Rusty Staub support my argument. He embodied the Faith both on and off the diamond.
Times were distinct when we were creating baseball games. That was classic. And Rusty Staub epitomized classic, if classic can also signify integrity and compassion.
“Allow the little children to approach me” (Mt 19:14). I truly believe the good Lord enjoyed observing us participate in those summer activities ages ago. We possessed our purity.
And what an era it was.
Robert P. Lockwood writes from Indiana.
