T GAMBLE: In sports now, the ring’s the thing

Well, my old high school football team is going to Mercer University this weekend to play for the state championship. I’m very proud of this young team as it seeks the right to wear the ring. Yes, the right to wear the ring.

I don’t know exactly when state championship teams started giving kids championship rings. I only know it sure as hell did not happen back when I was in school. Getting a senior ring was tough enough, but there were no prizes for those who played on the state championship team.

Now, I could fill these pages with my great high school exploits, but I won’t digress to that level of bragging, mainly because there are too many people still alive that remember my high school days and they would immediately call my hand. I plan to write an article when I am about 90 concerning my great accomplishments, figuring I can tell whatever I want at that age and there will not be anybody left to challenge my story.

When I was in school, we did not win the state championship in football. We almost won in basketball several times, just falling short in the finals or semifinals each time, and in baseball we almost won state my freshman year.

Yes, my freshman year of baseball. I was 6-foot-4 tall and weighed 128 pounds. Every time any movie producer made a movie about starving kids in Africa, they came to see me first. I had a 26-inch waist and 36-inch inseam. This impressive physique was magnified by the very tight striped baseball pants we wore. I still have not forgiven my mother for allowing me to go out in public in such a state.

One of the major drawbacks of high school baseball is the inevitable heckling that occurs. Ballplayers can be relentless, and I was called everything in the book from ostrich to granddaddy long legs, to unprintable words. The comments from the other teams’ players were even worse. I was self-conscious and unskilled, which is a very poor combination for a ballplayer.

Our team made it to the state playoff finals, and we played the championship game in Waycross. We reached the final inning down by two runs. We had used every player we had to pitch. The bases were loaded with two outs when our scheduled batter hurt himself somehow, leading to the need for a pinch hitter. Coach Daniel looked down the bench to see who it could be. His eyes met mine. Could this be the moment? Could I rise to the occasion and become a legend, driving in the winning runs with a big two-out hit? After all, I was batting .500, having gone 1-for-2 for the entire year.

I was petrified. The bases were loaded. If I walked, a run would come in and our leadoff hitter would come to the plate. But if I took pitches and they were strikes, I’d be the legend of the wimp who was caught looking with the bases loaded and two outs. I had already decided, too big a risk to take a pitch. I would go down swinging no matter where they threw the ball.

But then I caught coach’s eye again. He looked like someone who had just bitten into a lemon. He scanned on down, finding the only other available reserve, fellow freshman Cal Prescott. He didn’t even glance back one more time at me but instead nodded to Cal. I was immensely relieved and devastated, all at the same time. Cal promptly went down swinging on three straight strikes.

We did not win state. I was not a legend, but I also was not the loser wimp of all time. I did not get a ring then or any time since. Here’s hoping the boys get theirs Friday night in Macon.

Email T Gamble at [email protected].