On Feb. 1-4, I had the chance to relive a very important part of my youth and time as a young adult, when softball was an integral part of life in the Battista household. We traveled to all parts of Pittsburgh and throughout Western Pennsylvania and surrounding states playing “travel” baseball and softball. Tournament play was a way of life for us and the memories of that time with my parents, brother and friends from the neighborhood, and later on from high school and college, created memories that have lasted a lifetime.
It was “déjà vu all over again” for me as our Sun City 60s travel team (Bluffton, S.C.) finished fourth at the ISSA World Tournament of Champions in Plant City, Florida, just east of Tampa, that first weekend in February. I was an addition to the roster to replace an injured player and was pleasantly surprised to be asked to join the team. Until I figured out that maybe I was asked because I was “expendable.” Let me explain.
I found out that I was going to play third base and, given the unrestricted flight softballs and hi-tech bats used in the tournament, I soon realized I was cannon fodder for the big hitters. With team names like the Texas Tornadoes, Minnesota Lumberjacks and Beltway Bandits I should have figured I was in for a rough time. I saw other third basemen wearing full shin guards, wrist and chest protection and athletic fielding masks. What had I gotten myself into?
Well, I survived, barely, and have the bruises to prove it really was the hot corner at third base. After one game, I had ice packs on my ribs, knee, thumb and wrist and literally had the stitches from a ball that ricocheted off my knee. I was “rewarded” for my sacrifice by being named to the All-World Tournament Team, probably because I survived all the projectiles our opponents sent my way that hit me. They should have just given me a Purple Heart! In all seriousness, it was an absolute blast being a part of a team and that travel ball culture. Ah, glory days.
My sudden resurgent interest in playing ball led me to recently watch the 2022 documentary “It Ain’t Over” about the amazing life and career of baseball legend Yogi Berra. The subtitle for the film was “When it comes to Yogi, you don’t know nothin’.“ They weren’t kidding! The Netflix film was a tribute to Yogi that came to be in part through the efforts of his sports journalist granddaughter, Lindsay Berra. Lindsay, rightfully so, believes Yogi’s accomplishments have been undervalued.
For you younger readers and those who aren’t into history and trivia about our nation’s pastime, Yogi Berra was a bigger than life catcher for the New York Yankees where he won an astonishing 10 World Series championships as a player and an additional three as a coach. He’s a member of the Baseball Hall of Fame and was named to the All-Century team. Yet despite his accomplishments as a player and coach, he is probably best remembered for his persona off the field as a lovable but oftentimes misunderstood spokesperson and celebrity.
He is probably best known for what has become known as Yogi-isms. Perhaps his most famous Yogism of all is: “It ain’t over ’til it’s over.”
Other witty gems from Yogi include:
- It’s déjà vu all over again.
- I knew the record would stand until it was broken.
- You can observe a lot by watching.
- Nobody goes there anymore. It’s too crowded.
- Never answer an anonymous letter.
- It gets late early out here.
- Baseball is 90 percent mental. The other half is physical.
- When you come to a fork in the road, take it.
- I never said most of the things I said.
One thing we know for sure about Yogi: “If you can’t imitate him, don’t copy him.”
As I was watching the movie, I found myself thinking about my father and his passion for baseball and softball. He grew up watching and admiring the players who played in Yogi’s era like Ted Williams, Joe DiMaggio and Mickey Mantle. I messaged my mother and brother and said you gotta rent this movie for Pops.
You see, I grew up watching my father (now almost 92) and Uncle Frank Battista (83) play competitive slow pitch softball for the Brookline Young Men’s Club and Julie’s Bar in the Dormont and East Liberty sections of Pittsburgh. My dad and my uncle were my early heroes and all the families hung out together. In my late teens and early 20s a number of my high school and college friends played competitive softball along with me for my dad when he managed JJ’s, a team that was named after our family dog. My Uncle Frank actually played on the team despite being 20 years older than most of us. We had a blast and were very competitive despite playing mostly older teams.
My dad’s more competitive team was called JoJo’s. That team featured my older brother Jan and most of his friends, and they were essentially the “varsity” team. He also coached Hippos Pub (named for a former bar in Penn Hills) and those teams regularly competed in regional and national tournaments with, trips to Mansfield, Cleveland, Dayton and Cincinnati, Ohio, Niagara Falls and Buffalo, New York and throughout Pennsylvania.
As we got older, and I moved away, my father’s passion for competition and playing and managing ball didn’t fade a bit. In fact, my father was instrumental in starting the Penn Hills Senior Softball Association, which he was still involved with as of this past fall season.
The memories are more vivid now, especially with my uncle battling cancer and my father in a senior care physical rehabilitation facility after fracturing his right ankle and left leg in a fall last week. The two elder Battistas were outstanding athletes in their heyday, and they set the bar high for doing your best and to be a champion no matter the sport or the level of competition. I am so fortunate to have my dad and uncle still around. Their father, my grandfather Jan, passed away in 1965 at 65 when I was just 5 years old. The fact that my father has lived this long is a testament to his spirit and my mom’s care (especially her cooking!).
I had quite the hiatus (25 years) from softball, only playing a limited amount in State College at Hess Field, with the St. Paul Saints church team, and a couple of summers of intramurals at Penn State with some former colleagues including Lt. Col. Dick Bartolomea and members of his Penn State summer camp and Multi-sport Facility staffs. Never did I expect to be this re-engaged in a sport I hadn’t played in 25 years. It was supposed to be golf, pickleball and biking! Oh, how I enjoyed the return.
I was talking to the third base coach of the Beltway Bandits, a hulking guy still in great shape who was clearly a former stellar athlete in his youth, as our game was about to begin. He smiled and said, “Isn’t this great? We get to play a kids’ game today.” It was a common feeling throughout the four-field complex. The joy of being outdoors with my awesome teammates, the respect between opponents and former athletes, the camaraderie, the group meals at restaurants and the storytelling around the pool and in the hotel lobby where a few alcoholic beverages may have helped embellish a few tall tales from our younger days.
While waiting out a fog delay, I spotted a player from the Texas Tornadoes who was wearing a Chicago Blackhawks jacket, so naturally I introduced myself and struck up a great conversation, given our common interest in hockey. Dave Kruse, a delightful 68-year-old from Austin, Texas, who was originally from Chicago, and talked hockey, jobs (he owns an import business) and our love of softball. Turns out we both played third base so we could laugh about how crazy it was to have rockets hit at you at this stage of our lives. Dave had already played in the 65 and over tournament Tuesday to Thursday. Here he was again playing with the 60s just a few days later and the man could flat out play.
Another amazing sight for me came after each game, when the teams all gathered around the pitcher’s mound and, win or lose, said a group prayer thanking God for allowing us to play this kids’ game again. I made a lot of new friends and am looking forward to our Sun City spring league to begin, as well as traveling with my 60s teammates in April to the qualifying tournament in Myrtle Beach. When I call my father these days, the first thing he asks me is, “How many hits did you have today.” Thanks Dad and Uncle Frank for instilling the love and passion for softball and thanks to my wife for letting me experience déjà vu all over again, again.
