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0 of 3 Premium Clicks used this month SUBSCRIBE Print + Online Subscriber Activation | Register x Forgot Password | Need an Account? e-edition | subscribe | newsletter | deals Classifieds Jobs Autos Real Estate FEATURED » NEWS NOW Ashland councilor was in Paris during Friday's attacks ... Medford pot growing ban would affect 1,942 growers ... Medford man charged for stealing water-filled gas can ... Ashland councilor was in Paris during Friday's attacks ... Medford pot growing ban would affect 1,942 growers ... Medford man charged for stealing water-filled gas can ... Peter Costa: Baseball season opens, and memories pour in Comment By Peter Costa More Content Now MailTribune.com By Peter Costa More Content Now Posted Apr. 9, 2015 at 7:13 AM By Peter Costa More Content Now Posted Apr. 9, 2015 at 7:13 AM » Social News The opening of professional baseball reminds me of happy days when I played in the infield in junior high school. I was encouraged to play by my mother, who thought it would be good for me to learn how to play on a team. I played, but I wasn’t really very good. I was quick and I could catch almost any ball hit to my direction. Throwing the ball to first base was very challenging for me. I was always wild. As a batter, I was hopeless. I was the worst hitter on the team. I would either swing my bat just as the ball was leaving the pitcher’s hand or swing two seconds after it landed in the catcher’s mitt. One day stands out in my memory. My childhood sweetheart and her father were coming to see me play. I was so nervous during infield practice that I threw the ball at the second baseman with such fury that it knocked him down. The coach walked into the infield and spoke to me. He told me to calm down and to try to throw my infield catches to the first baseman in an arc. Somehow I could do that as long as it was a slow runner. I needed the time to make such a slow-motion throw. The game started and I struck out two times. My girlfriend’s dad yelled encouragement to me from the bleachers. His daughter said nothing. She smiled a couple of times and I felt better. I was up at bat the third time and had fallen behind the count two strikes. The pitcher who was big for his age didn’t bother throwing fast balls to me because he could get me out easily with a slow pitch. Anyway he wound up and tossed a soft pitch that was headed right over the plate. For some reason I closed my eyes and just swung. The ball flew off the bat in a high parabola. It zoomed across the field and hit the outfield fence and fell into play. I realized what had happened and ran toward first base. The ball had rolled to a stop at the bottom of the fence. I rounded first base and chugged my way to second. As I approached the bag, I started to straighten up but heard the loud calls from my coach urging me to keep running, keep running. I arrived at third base standing up. The crowd went wild. My girlfriend’s father was on his feet clapping enthusiastically. That was the only game he ever saw me play, and for years later he considered me an athlete. I never said anything to the contrary. My one-hit season seemed to impress the coach enough to name me to the all-star team. At the all-star game I was a defensive standout and caught seven balls for outs. It was the last time I ever played baseball. My girlfriend’s father was later to become my father-in-law. Peter Costa is a columnist for GateHouse Media. He has published two books of humor and a novel. By Peter Costa More Content Now MailTribune.com By Peter Costa More Content Now Posted Apr. 9, 2015 at 7:13 AM » Comment or view comments Reader Reaction » STAY INFORMED Email NewsLetter Sign Up Today Sign up for our newsletter and have the top headlines from your community delivered right to your inbox. Southern Oregon Directory Featured Businesses Loading... 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