Bob Stanton's Page

A short story for all.....

Associate Hero
Welcome. Welcome everyone. Yeah, I know you can’t hear me, but my inner pride forces me to talk to you anyway. Did you read that sign before entering? You are going to be reviewing a history of your hero and me. That’s right. I said “Me.” You don’t really believe your hero could have done it without me, do you? Let me tell you where it all started.
I feel like only yesterday I was a young whippersnapper of a sapling struggling in a forest to get bigger and stronger each day. Although most of my friends growing around me envisioned reaching record heights into the sky, I always knew I wanted to be a baseball bat. That’s right! I said baseball bat. The thought of assisting some young unknown player to great accomplishments thrilled me to my very roots. The last thing I wanted to do was remain in that forest fighting off wild animals, bugs, bacteria, and my fellow neighbor trees for sunlight, air, and rain.
Then came the fateful day. I spotted him immediately and began waving in all directions to get his attention. Since there was no wind blowing this day, you might say I stood out like a sore trunk. Once he spotted me, his mind was made up. He came alongside, set his axe down on the ground, and began sizing me up. He put his massive hands around me. A chill ran up and down every tiny limb I possessed. He then pushed against me to see how much pressure I could withstand; how much resilience I could deliver. I rebounded against every push, nearly knocking him down with my last effort. He took a step back, gave me one more look, nodded, then picked up his axe and as compassionate as a skilled surgeon, began the creation of his partner in history.
He carefully carried me on his shoulder and gently placed me into the back of his truck. After transporting me to his home, he took me into his basement. Next, he placed me on some sort of machine that soon had my head spinning. With the skill of the craftsman he was, he created the perfect companion for his baseball career. He stepped back from that machine thing he referred to as a lathe, admired his work, then said, “Bat, we’re going to make history. We’ll be working together for the rest of our lives. I know you won’t let me down.”
I think in human years he was about the same age as I was in tree years. This only added to the ease of our understanding each other. What a man. Those gigantic hands were attached to such powerful arms. There was no way we would fail. He did have one quirk I never quite understood. He swung differently than most other players. I think they said he was ‘left handed’. Didn’t matter though. His swing looked ‘splendid’ and my unique ‘splinter’ formations ensured we would be knocking balls out of every park we played in.
He always made me feel so important too. After every game, I would get a thorough rubdown. His hands, although very strong, could also be so relaxing and I looked forward to those tender moments with him at each day’s end. How could I not come through for him when he needed me?
With each game, we became more and more famous. The procedure was simple. He swung and I pushed the ball over the fence. The baseball world was in a frenzy over our hero. There never was any mention of my role in his accomplishments, except the praise he would give me each night before putting me to rest. But I knew I was the wind beneath his swings.
Life moved along just as I always envisioned it would. My hero took the country by surprise in high school, setting national batting records. In a moment of sharing, he confided to me that he did not want to go to college, but rather jump right into the Minor leagues of professional baseball and work his way up quickly. Fine with me. I longed for the bigger crowds and their noise every time we would hit a home run. What more could I ask for? We were presently playing in a class AA league, but we knew it would only be a matter of time before we got picked up for AAA. Next step after that would be the Majors.
Then it happened. We arrived at the park one morning for practice. As my hero dressed in the locker room, I kept hearing a ‘pinging’ sound. The pinging increased. It sounded like hailstones bouncing off a tin roof.
Ping! Ping! There they were again. What the heck was making all that noise out there? Even my hero would stop dressing each time he heard it.
Now in full uniform and ready to get started, my hero gently picked me up and rested me on top of his shoulder. I took great pride in the way he carried me, showing me off to all who looked. The pinging increased in frequency and intensity. We walked on to the ball field and my worst nightmare materialized. That pinging was the sound aluminum bats made when striking a baseball. ALUMINUM BATS! Who ever heard of anything so crazy? I soon learned they would be my nemesis, my downfall. They were lighter. They could be swung faster. And at the rate the guys were knocking the balls over the fence, appeared to have more propulsion power upon contact with the balls.
I didn’t really worry too much. I knew my hero and I were tight. He would never leave me for some metal creature that in my mind made a terrible sound and must have left some pain in the hands when contact with a pitch was made. I have to give my hero credit. He abstained from those bats as long as he could. Eventually he was forced to try one. “General Manager’s orders” he told me that evening.
Sadly, I admit it made a difference. My hero, an exceptional athlete to begin with, excelled exponentially by placing a tool of this magnitude in his hands. Even though it was understood these bats were experimental at this time, they became more of a challenge than I could meet. That evening we talked at length. Well, he did the talking and I listened. As he spoke, I noticed the formation of a tear in his eye. “Well old buddy, technology has caught up with us and appears dead set on separating us. Those danged new aluminum bats are just so much more explosive than wood. You’ve been a great companion and I will never forget you. I’m going to place you in my trophy room. Rest assured, you will sit in a place of honor. I will never forget you, old stick.”
Well folks, the next couple of years were very lonely for me. My hero stampeded through the league with these new confounded aluminum bats while I comfortably sat in his top trophy case. Yet I never felt thrown away. My hero continued to give me those wonderful rubdowns even though I was no longer out their in the field of battle with him. Additionally. he now added some kind of oil to my skin to keep me young. I loved it.
We both knew he would not remain in the minors very long. True to our beliefs, they called him up to the majors in 1936. I’m not exactly sure what that 1936 means, but he was on his way. I remember how jubilant he appeared when he came home. He carefully took me out of my case and gave me the news of his good fortune. I was so happy for him, but I had no idea just how much this news affected me. Then he told me. ‘Partner, we’re back in business again. I am to report to my new team next month for Spring training. And guess what? It is illegal to use aluminum bats in the major leagues. This means all those rubdowns and oils I’ve been giving you to keep you young and virile are now going to be put to the test. We’re back together and headed for the big time’, He actually hugged me, took several practice swings, then held me high over his head. I was ready. I knew we would be together again. The majors. Wow! Every ballplayer’s dream. My dream.
The next morning, doubt began to set in. I had not smashed into a baseball in quite some time. Would I still have the resilience to send them screaming over that big green wall? I concentrated in thinking positive. This is a lifetime goal and it must be realized now. Then I thought about my hero. What the heck did I have to worry about? He would have to do all the hard work. My job would be to simply push those balls off of me when he hit them. Piece of cake.
The rest is history as you all know. My hero continued to break one record after another. I have to admit, the balls were hitting me with much more force than ever before, but the tender love and care my hero gave me all those years made it easy to withstand. Still, at the end of each season, I looked forward to the rest; not to mention my hero’s everlasting evening rubdown rituals.
Just as my hero was making a mockery of all the pitchers throughout the league, and at the height of his baseball career, he put me away again for a few years. The aluminum bats had nothing to do with it this time. In fact, they didn’t become legal in the minor leagues until some thirty-five years later and to this day, still illegal in the majors. No, this time it had something to do about a war and him flying planes or whatever. I never quite understood it. However, when he returned, we jumped right back into the game again and continued our march to fame.
I say “our march to fame” because my hero consistently told the fans and the media that I was his associate and he could not have accomplished any of it without me. I never really believed that, but still loved hearing him say it. I DID become famous as his bat. We DID set or break numerous hitting and slugging records throughout our career. He DID become a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame. I could have become even more famous if he placed me next to his statue in the Hall of Fame, but he refused to do it. He offered one of his ‘assembly line’ bats to the Hall when they asked for me. Back home, as he placed me in his honored trophy case, he said, ‘Sorry, pal. We have been together too long for me to lose you now. I know it would have given you more glory, but I just can’t let you go. I want to always be able to look up to my case and see you resting comfortably, as you so well deserve. There will still be throngs of people coming through my trophy room and there you will be, at the top, where you belong. The world will know and be able to see who helped Ted Williams become such a prolific hitter and the star to so many kids when they see my associate hero as the centerpiece of my trophy room.
Most days now I am relegated to being on display whenever he opens his trophy room for visits. I am thankful it’s not an every day occurrence. Mr. Williams is the only one who always handles me with care. Even though there are many signs saying not to touch the memorabilia, kids often pay no attention to them. Every once in a while, my hero will decide to take me on one of his fishing trips. We spend hours talking about our days in baseball. Well, once again, he talks and I simply bask in listening. That’s what associate heroes do, you know.