My eyes

 

Elton John. In case you were wondering.

I need new glasses.

The ones I have are probably six years old. I needed to get them because my previous frames snapped -- right before I called three state championship hockey games. In that case, I taped them up sufficiently and got through it.

In this case, I've put Krazy Glue on them, but I know the prescription needs updating. 

It will all come out of my own pocket. Not having insurance blows.

In case you were wondering.

*****

Kids were the pitchers in my second year of playing baseball in the rough and tumble (not really) Mahopac Sports Association. No longer was it dads and coaches tossing to us but our peers who were dealing. Now it was keeping count and playing closer to "real" baseball.

I had a good batting eye. I thought I did. I knew how to work out a walk.

I could make contact in batting practice. I thought I did.

Yet, come the end of the season, our coach went over the batting averages.

I -- along with another kid -- batted a robust .000. I knew it but I was still mortified. Hell, I'm a little embarrassed (no, a lot embarrassed) telling this story.

Sure, I walked some. That part is true. But I couldn't get a hit for my life in games. It sucked and so did I.

Sometime between the end of that season and the next one, I figured out that I was struggling to see in class. Sure thing -- a trip to the eye doctor revealed that I needed glasses.

I was nine.

But, here's the thing. My left eye was just fine. It was 20/20. My right eye was bad.

Take a guess which eye is my dominant eye when hitting.

The eye doctor pegged it immediately.

"You can't hit in games because you can't see the ball," he said. "They're throwing softer in batting practice. The kids are throwing harder in the game. You can't see."

And so it was that I left with renewed hope that I would step on the field in 1979 and get one hit. Just one.

To that end, my father made me a deal. He'd reward my first hit of the new season by taking me to Tom Kat -- the sporting goods store n Mahopac that the likes of me drooled over. They had the ability to do iron-on items there and I was promised a T-shirt that would look ever so slightly like a Yankees' road jersey.

Because a pinstriped one wasn't possible and, besides, the jersey industry wasn't quite a thing yet.

Thus, with hope springing eternal, I stepped to the plate at Mahopac Falls School. I climbed into the left-handed batter's box with my glasses on. The pitch was a fastball and I turned on it and ran for my life.

Base hit to right. Maybe it was to center. I just remember getting the hit on a field that actually doesn't exist anymore and that Dad made good on the shirt.

I got a lot more hits that year also.

And so began an era in which many a coach held my glasses while I ran the bases after hitting.

Eventually, I'd switch to contacts by the mid-80s (just one contact). By the 90s, both eyes needed corrective lenses.

Years later, I'd give up the contacts (some said I looked better with glasses but I beg to differ). To that end, I take my glasses off frequently even now.

It's no secret why I'm a broadcaster but at least I found out that I wouldn't go hitless for the rest of my life.