Finally, spring baseball is in the air

I grew up playing baseball in Maine. Now, Maine summers are known for their gentle winds, moderate temperatures and cool nights. In other words, perfect baseball weather, as any number of tourists could tell you.

Spring baseball in Maine was another animal altogether. Spring in Maine would last from roughly the first of June until the summer solstice when it would be considered summer even though the weather hadn’t noticeably warmed. Year around residents would figure that taking a dip in the ocean for the first time should be one of the ways to celebrate the Fourth of July and that trying the waters any sooner was best left to ignorant teenagers and polar bears.

What we would call spring baseball or school baseball was actually played in the tail end of the Maine winter, and that tail was long and bushy. It is not true, as some claim, that players were expected to bring cross country skis to early practices, but it is absolutely true that we were expected to bring snow shovels just in case some digging out was called for. I remember that in my junior year spring season, my shovel was in quite some demand.

Once we had shoveled ourselves something that looked like a baseball diamond, we would commence some drills and have batting practice. In those days, everyone used wooden bats, and when the temperature was right around freezing, or worse, wooden bats would splinter like kindling being attacked by a 20-pound maul. Since we were supposed to supply our own bats, batting practice could become a financial torture session.

Well before the season began, the coach would call a meeting, and he would fill out a bat order to H&B, the premier bat maker of the time. They would offer us a school discount pricing bats at $3 apiece instead of the $5 you would pay at the sporting goods store. If you ordered a dozen, they would give you a further discount of $30 a dozen. These were not the top of the line bats that the pros used, but I still had to work all of Christmas vacation to have the money at hand.

I ordered the biggest, thickest bats I could find, hoping that the dozen would last through the spring. When we ordered the bats, I took careful note of who would order only two or three because I knew that those fellas would be coming around in a month or so asking, “Can I borrow your bat?” 

I would say, “Sure, use this one.” This one would be one that had previously split on me, and to which I had taken the expedient of nailing back together. You could hit a ball with one of those make-dos alright, but your hands and arms would be telling you about it all night long. 

Yes indeed, early season baseball Down East was more trial than triumph, and I doubt you will ever see a book about Maine baseball called The Boys of Spring.

Millerton resident Theodore Kneeland is a retired teacher and coach.