the fashion ups and downs of my little league baseball career
by Christopher Monks

April 2, 1978

The first Little League game I ever played in my uniform wasn’t complete. I had the hat and the jersey, but no pants or socks, so I had to wear jeans. I don’t remember being embarrassed by this, but it is the only thing I remember about my first game. I eventually got a pair of official team pants. They were a few sizes too small, but I wore them anyway.

April 10, 1978

I bought a sweatshirt that was the exact same gray as the color of my uniform. I wore it under my jersey on particularly cold nights. Nobody else on the team matched nearly as well as I did. It was almost if some of them didn’t care that they were wearing blue or purple shirts under their uniforms. I still don’t get it.

April 24, 1978

I lost my team hat at school. We had gone on a field trip to the Museum of Science and it must have fallen off while in the planetarium, what with all the looking up and all. I was a wreck. Our coach gave us a big speech about taking care of our equipment just the week before. My mother made me call the museum’s lost and found because she refused to do it for me. I hated her for this. The man on the phone sounded friendly, but distracted. He was having a conversation with another person. They talked about his girlfriend. I couldn’t make out all the words but it seemed as though he was quite fond of her. They didn’t have my hat. I cried when I fessed-up to my coach about it. He wasn’t nearly as mad as I’d thought he’d be. “Hope this is a lesson for you,” was all he said. Then he patted me on the back and gave me another hat. It was an old hat from a couple of seasons earlier and it didn’t match the hat all my teammates wore. It made me feel like a lowly rookie all over again.

May 1, 1978

In honor of May Day my father bought me my first pair of baseball cleats. I loved my new cleats. All my favorite Major League baseball players wore white cleats and now I could too. They weren’t real cleats, of course, but they looked like they could be with their short rubber spikes and flashy white leather straps. Against my mother’s warning I started wearing them to school; they were just too nifty to wear solely on the baseball field. One day in the cafeteria my friend dropped his Sloppy Joe on my left cleat, covering it in sloppy, saucy meat. He said it was an accident, but I could tell that he was jealous of me and my new cleats, so I didn’t believe him. He was like that a lot. One time I got a new London Fog coat he told me I looked like I was trying too hard to be cool. Then he said my mother wore army boots. I couldn’t argue with that; her choice of shoe fashion forever embarrassed me. The cleats were ruined. I think I wore them to practice once, but the Sloppy Joed cleat smelled like rotten meat when it got wet, so I went back to wearing my old pair of sneakers.

May 9, 1978

While bending over to field a ground ball, my pants split at the crotch. Fortunately, the sound of the fabric tearing wasn’t that loud and nobody noticed. I faked an injury and went home early. My mother refused to sew my pants, so I had to do it myself. I hated her for this. She’d taught me how to sew, but I never could maintain a straight, clean stitch. The only thread color we had enough of was light green. The whole thing sucked.

photo by Michele McCarthy

May 26, 1978

We made the playoffs and to celebrate our sponsor bought us new uniforms. They were sweet: dark gray with red lettering and trim. The socks were red, too. I never cared for the socks, mainly because I didn’t know what to do with them. It was fashionable at the time to stretch the stirrups high up my leg, but I’d always wind up popping the seams and they’d lose their elasticity. Still, I had to look cool, so under my pant legs I’d place a rubber band over my calves to keep my socks up. It took some time, but I got use to the numbness.

June 5, 1978

We were losing 4-2 in the championship game heading into our last at bat. Most of us were pretty dejected, already smelling defeat. Then Benji Howard came by our dugout and offered some words of encouragement. Benji was the star player for our team the last time we were league champs. He’d since gone on to the 10-12 year-old division. I forget what he said exactly, but I do remember that he used the word “fuckin’” a few times. Benji was tall and always looked like he had a tan. Rumor was he’d touched a girl’s breast. A lot of my teammates looked up to him. I didn’t know him that well, so I can’t say I was as in awe of him as the rest. Still I couldn’t help but be impressed by the League Champion’s jacket he wore. It was a bright red nylon Barracuda-style jacket with a shiny zipper and golden lettering. His name was even embroidered on the back. Man, what a cool jacket. I was immediately inspired and motivated. I would not let us lose; I had to have one of those jackets. I’d always heard about how when athletes get in a zone everything seems to slow down for them. Well, as I stood in the on deck circle, everything really did seem to slow down a bit just like they said. Sounds were a little sharper, colors a little brighter. In fact, the colors were so bright that my sweatshirt suddenly no longer matched my uniform. I also noticed my mother sitting in the stands. She’d never come to a game before and I was touched to see her, even though she was doing a crossword puzzle and not paying attention to the game. I waved to her to get her attention, but she didn’t see me. Mom loved her crosswords. Anyway, between the bright colors and my mother’s presence I became distracted and loss my focus. I struck out looking and we lost the game. The next spring I gave up Little League baseball and joined an after school improve-theater class. Everyone wore black. It was a relief not having to worry about what to wear.