The Trophy Was Treasured

 

(Photo: Ljupco Smokovski/Shutterstock.com)

A recent tweet grabbed my eye. In short, it took a meme of Jeff Foxworthy, who said he didn't get a trophy every year he played sports unless his team won. The tweeter said, conversely, he did get a trophy every year during the same era (basically, late 60s/early 70s). So, does "Everybody Gets a Trophy" run along some kind of party lines?

Good grief but I hope not.

And now, on with our feature presentation.

*****

Second place, 1983. I think it was the West Division.

That was my first sports trophy.

Everyone did not get a trophy back then.

I played baseball from 1977-1987 in the Mahopac Sports Association. It was purely spring baseball. No fall ball. No travel ball. No outfield scoreboards or even dugouts. Uniforms were t-shirts with iron-on letters and numbers.

And it was glorious.

Believe me, all of that would have been pretty great but no matter. We played hard, developed bonds, strengthened the love of the game, and were driven to win.

From 1977 to 1982 I played on teams that had fun but weren't really winning teams. Oh, I still enjoyed them and I should mention that at least one or two of those seasons weren't competitive. It might have just been my first year and trophies began in the second year.

Still, postseason games and such avoided the all-heart, no talent outfielder and second baseman of those teams who wore numbers 12, 4, 11, 13, 2, 6, and 2.

Yes, 2. As in Bobby Murcer (at that time). The others were either given to me of it was the best remaining number. I willingly took 13 when that was all that remained. I didn't mind.

My Ridgeview Auto Body team did just enough in 1983 to finally gain entrance to the post-season banquet, which wasn't open to everyone.

The 1983 MSA spring banquet was at the old Lantern Pub in Mahopac. It was there that I got that magic moment of a trophy being placed in my hand. Expecting to put it on a shelf in my room, my father had another idea.

"That's the first trophy in this family," he said. "It should go in the living room on top of the TV."

Now you should understand that, back then, the living room TV was a piece of furniture itself.

And so that's where it went and I wasn't going to argue with that. Having my father proud of this moment meant much more than it sitting near my stereo in my bedroom.

The '83 trophy was lovely. A silver player sat on a small marble base. Yet as I studied them all that night I still looked at the big winners.

The champions.

That's what I wanted. While I adored the time with my teammates and the entire experience, I wanted to win a championship.

In 1984, my wish was granted. Wearing number 12 again, I was part of a team that roared through the regular season. I can remember the nerves of my first championship game.

I can remember the euphoria of winning that title and feeling like I was on top of the world. If I recall I walked and scored a run.

I can still feel the joy of hugging Coach Lou D'Aliso and celebrating with my teammates.

And I got that championship trophy.

Two more would follow -- one a co-champion (37 years later and I'm still pissed off that we didn't play that game due to the rain. Nah. No bitterness).

Nineteen eighty-six brought a hard-final championship that concluded in extra innings as the leadoff hitter walked, moved to second, and scored on a double by Billy Carey.

Not bad for an all-heart, no-hit first baseman/outfielder.

By the time Sean played, he got a trophy each year for just showing up. Nobody called individual players up to accept their trophy. We had them handed to us en masse. So I held a separate ceremony to make sure each player had "their moment."

No, not everyone got a trophy when I played.

And I liked it that way.

 

That's my 1986 Sportsmanship Trophy. It was the only one I could unpack.