How Baseball Has Run My Life

By Hal McCoy

Most of this happened between 65 and 75 years ago, before there was a McDonald’s in every neighborhood, when television screens were black—and-white and the size of the glass door on a dryer.

And I rode around in my dad’s Henry J, then his Packard, then his Mercury, then his Edsel — a car I inherited.

While I sometimes can’t remember why I walked from upstairs to my home office, what I am about the reveal is as fresh in my mind as if it happened the morning after.

Many, many times over the course of my writing career, I’ve been asked about my baseball background. What qualifies me to write about baseball for the past 55 or so years.

At the risk of sounding self-serving and egotistical, here it is. I am difficult to shame. After all, Nadine calls my home office that is populated with trophies, awards and memorabilia, “Hal’s personal shrine to himself.” She seldom goes into it.

It all began in 1952 when Little League baseball came to Akron, eight teams scattered all over the city.

I tried out for the Hoskins Oldsmobile Giants, the team from East Akron at Resevoir Park. More than 200 kids showed up and I was forrtunate to be one of the 15 picked.

In one of our first games, I hit an inside the park home run, but was called out for missing first base. As I sat disconsolate on the bench, coach Dinky Barnes told me, “It’s OK. You missed second base, too.”

We were 17-0 heading into our last game against the Dodgers. In the last inning, we were down, 2-1, and had a runner on third with two outs.

It was my chance to be a hero. I hit a hard line drive. The second baseman caught it. I cried until Dinky Barnes bought me a three-scoops ice cream cone.

I made the All-Star team for the tournament that led to Williamsport. I played first base all season, but the Dodgers had a high-average, power-hitting first baseman named Tom Fiocca, so they stuck me in center field.

In the District Finals against Ellet, we led 5-4 late in the game. Their best hitter, Gerry Glinsky, blasted one over my head toward the wall. I drifted back to the wall, reached over it and robbed him of a game-tying home run.

The next inning I doubled over the third base bag, but twisted my ankke on a late slide into second base and had to leave the game. We won.

In the Regionals, we were tied with Canton, 1-1, with two outs in the bottom of the last inning with a runner on second. My turn to bat. Then the rains came. Hard. Game postponed.

Canton had to make the half-hour drive back to Akron the next day. We took batting practice and infield practice. Then the game commenced and on the first pitch I hit a walk-off game-winning double to left center.

But we didn’t make it to Williamsport.

Then I played for American Legion Post 209 and we were very good. My highlight was a walk-off grand slam home run against Cuyahoga Falls.

And there was a game against the Akron Red Devils. I tripled down the right field line. My next time up, the catcher flashed the pitcher a sign and he shook his head and nodded toward the right field corner. Obviously, the catcher was calling for the pitch I hit for a triple. Made me feel proud. . .until I struck out.

We played a game against the inmates at the Mansfield Reformatory, where they filmed the Shawshank Redemption. I fouled a ball over the screen and broke a window in the mess hall. I received a standing ovation.

At Akron East High School, there was a game when there were several major league scouts. I had four hits and when I completed a double play by throwing a runner out at home plate, I noticed a couple of scouts scribbling in their notebooks.

A few days later I received a letter I still cherish. It was from legendary scout Tony Lucadello inviting me to a Philadelphia Phillies tryout camp.

At the same time, I received a partial scholarship offer to Kent State and took it. My dad was furious and said, “You could have made it to the big leagues.” I knew better.

While at Kent State, I returned to Akron to play an alumni game againsst East. The coach was Dom Patella, the football coach who spent time on the baseball bench drawing football plays in the dirt.

When I came up, he yelled, “I know this guy and how to defend him.” He aligned his defense and I singled to center field. Second time up I singled to right field. Third time up I singled to left field.

Dom threw his hands up in the air and said, “I’ll show you.” Next time up he walked me with nobody on base.

But that was it. At Kent State my freshman year it became deadly honest to me that I couldn’t hit good breaking pitches.

That’s when I joined The Daily Kent Stater and decided to write about baseball rather than try to play it.

When I was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame, I told my dad in Cooperstown, “See, I did make the Hall of Fame. Just not the way you envisioned.”

Deciding to write about baseball rather than play it was a decision I’ve never regretted. There are no 85-year-old baseball players.