My Baseball Mitt

I admit it, I love my baseball mitt. My mitt has been with me for so many years and has been there for all the ups (game saving catch in front of the big rock on St. Margaret's field) and downs (missing four foul balls, through the years, at good ol' Shea) of my entire sporting life. To most, it may seem to be just a piece of sports equipment, but to me it has been more than that.

Growing up,I was fascinated by the way the way they were made and how very different each glove was. A catchers mitts was so flat and seemed impossible to catch with (a catcher's mitt that you can't catch with...weird). The first baseman's glove was such a strange shape, it looked a little alien like to me (the blue ones were popular when I was a tyke). Outfielders gloves were just big, it was like catching with a basket. The infielders gloves were my choice, they were small and very flexible, just like an extension of your hand. My Ron Cey model was perfect.


My mitt went through hell. I would never do anything to any other item I owned that I have done to my mitt. We all follow some simple rules when you first get a new glove. First your supposed oil it, then your to put a ball in the mitt and wrap your glove closed with a rubber band. That's pretty much the rules of getting a glove in shape as directed by the Major League Glove Manufacturers.

Now here are all the other rules-rituals that made my mitt, my mitt.

Punch your fist in it, hay maker after hay maker, year after year, you really can't stop doing it when your glove is on your hand. Throw the ball into the glove 91.84 million times(my Mom would yell to stop playing catch in my bed and go to sleep).
Did you write on yours? I signed my name on the thumb. I've seen some with names and addresses, telephone numbers, player #'s, favorite team names. Even saw someon write their grilfriends name in it.

I threw my mitt a million times, sometime base to base, threw it on my way to home plate to bat from the mound. I threw it trying hit someone with it (sorry, baseball gets rough some time). I rolled it down the hill (hey I played on a hill, it rolled pretty good) I ripped it on the fence and then repaired it with shoes laces. shoe laces are the glue for baseball mitts. I hung it on the end of the bat, hit it with the bat, caught rocks with it.

I liked the taste of my mitt too. I chewed the leather. Come on... tell me y'all didn't do it too. I never spit in my mitt. Not sure why they do that, just kinda gross.

I always hated when my mitt got wet. The grip would turn too slimy.
Your glove is a perfect fit for your hand. I occasionally forgot my glove or needed to use another replacement glove during a pick up game, it was like playing a completely different ball game. You just don't just feel comfortable. Like your missing something. Missing a part of you. You miss "your" mitt.

I can't say I'm embarrassed, but I cried when I left my mitt on the field over night. I was like a kid on Christmas to find that it was still there the next morning.

Adults should never bring their mitt to the stadium. I heard this once or twice. Never sure who said it or why. But I am her to tell you that it makes my heart fill with baseball joy when I see a ten, twenty, thirty, forty, fifty year old fan carrying his mitt into the stadium. I know he is just hoping...just wishing that a foul ball come his way. They may close their eyes, they may have their eyes and mouth wide open can't really believing that the ball is coming right at them, as it approaches....do they catch it? ..That's joy is priceless.

I will cherish my grandpas old mitt,a 1930's model, I love that is still held together with a few shoes laces.


When I feel a little stressed or a little down, I pick up my mitt, give it a few pounds with my fists. For those few seconds or minutes, it will take me away to a time and place where everything is right in the world.



That's why the sportsfreak loves his mitt.