My across-the-street neighbor, Spike Gonard, is reputed to be one of the best softball players in his league, even now in his 60s. I repeatedly tried over the years to convince him to play for both my 45+ and 55+ Cougars, but he inevitably declined. Funny thing, he has always been an avid reader of our own CDMSBL bulletin board, nonetheless. I recently reached out to Spike to see if he'd like to join the Haymakers, and I have reproduced his refreshingly direct, occasionally irreverent response in its entirety below. And let me tell you it wasn't easy getting his permission to post it here, as the unapologetically macho Spike seems to be feeling abashed at having waxed so poetically rhapsodic on the subject of aging.

So, why have I decided to share it on this forum? Because herein Spike calls for what at first blush sound like radical changes to the structure of our League--specifically, the creation of "private" divisions--which upon closer examination, turn out to be not so radical after all, as current trends would appear to be leading us in that very direction. The question thus becomes, will his proposals remain nothing more than the idle musings of an overactive imagination, never to be put into practice, or do they betoken changes that actually lie right around the corner for the CDMSBL?

Naturally, Spike's stated opinions on various matters are entirely his own, and do not necessarily accord with mine. And please know that while Spike can sometimes be bumptiously outspoken and more than a little competitive, most people will tell you he is actually a peach of a guy and the best of teammates. He'll bust my chops unmercifully--as you will see below--but I would never question that Spike always means well. By the way, Spike got his nickname for his distinctive style of sliding into bases.

And, as an original Haymaker, I would be remiss in failing to acknowledge the tireless team-building efforts of the Haymakers' founder and guiding spirit, my baseball brother-in-arms and the master recruiter who brought me into the CDMSBL back in 2004, Mike Hart. As everyone knows, Mike is an exemplary human being and a credit to our League, and I look forward to having him join me on the field for my third year of participation in the well-run, thoroughly enjoyable Capital Division.

And I, for one, remain convinced that Mike will live to manage in this League again.

F.M.

********** [Begin message from Spike.]**********


Dear Frankie,

Ah, here we go again! Forgive me, but I sense that I would not be a good fit on the Haymakers. But thanks for asking, I think.

I feel as if we've danced around this subject on a number of occasions, so perhaps it's time for me to spell it out for you. So, with all due respect to you and your friend Mike Hart (who I know to be a really good guy), I'll now do exactly that.

So, Mike wants to put together a team composed of players nobody else wants? Ouch! Good luck with that! That's the last thing League officials should agree to. After all, your League should be endeavoring to raise the standard of play, not lower it. And, tell me, what self-respecting 62+ team would even want to show up for yet another excruciating 27-to-zip shellacking of such a singularly sorry squad of senescent senior citizens? Sheesh!

Anyway, I'd bet my batting gloves that Mike won't be able, on his own, to find enough players to form a team. I hope he doesn't expect to get help from the League, as I strongly suspect that none would be forthcoming. There's probably little that League officials can do for him anyway; besides, I can't imagine that they'd go out of their way to facilitate the formation of a team that is destined to finish the season without a win--but I could be wrong. And don't assume that just because you and Mike have been loyal members of the CDMSBL for decades, managing teams and helping to build up this organization, that the League owes you guys anything. Baseball isn't about debts of gratitude; it's about winning, and rightly so.

Moreover, instead of expanding, your League should be contracting, opting for quality over quantity, especially in the 62+ division. The goal should always be to put the best possible product on the field, and that means maintaining high standards in personnel. To be blunt, the League should act to encourage the better players, and gently--or not so gently--discourage the rest. Ideally, every game should be competitively juicy, and the only way to guarantee that is to permit only the most talented, most worthy individuals to play under the aegis of the CDMSBL.

Accordingly, a revamped 62+ Division would comprise no more than three teams. That way, you'd be assured that only the most driven, most grimly fanatical players would have the honor of participating. What you want is a passionate warrior who has so thoroughly internalized winning and losing that a bitter playoff loss could send him into an emotional tailspin for a month, and a losing season could very well land him in a "rest home" over the winter. Typically, such guys will seemingly have nothing going on in life other than baseball (sort of like you, Frankie!). These are your worthy players, the only ones who genuinely merit a place on a next-generation 62+ roster.

A perfect model for a new 62+ Division already exists in the form of your League's Matinee Division. It's what I call "boutique baseball," and I heartily endorse the concept: as I understand it, the Matinee Division is more or less a private division, made up of two teams of established, high-quality players. If it were up to me, the entire League would be organized in this way; every division would be essentially private, which ensures that no interloping, less than worthy teams make their way in.

With just a three-team 62+ Division, competition among prospective players for open slots would naturally be intense. A candidate for selection would be expected both to dominate on the field and "know his place" in the dugout, or he simply wouldn't stand a chance of being tapped. And there's no need for formal tryouts, as the most highly-valued prospects are easily identified and already well-known to everyone, having made a name for themselves over the years in other divisions. Simply put, if you have to ask where the party is, you're not invited.

The three-dozen or so players of a pared-down 62+ Division would constitute what amounts to a retirement-aged royal family, a blue-chip, battle-hardened band of balding and bespectacled, Bud-Light-imbibing ballfield brothers. In such a rarefied, competitive yet congenial atmosphere, discontent among players would be virtually unknown--for these virtuosos have officially made it into baseball heaven, where they are duly afforded the luxury of playing nothing but closely-fought, memorably dramatic games. Lopsided drubbings would thankfully forever be a thing of the past. And what more could any player want? This is senior baseball as it should be.

Of course, just as with any competitive team, there will be turnover. Ideally, as a player ages, he will at some point transition to the role of spare part, getting limited playing time, but sticking with his team nevertheless; this multi-season path to closure allows him ample time to enjoy an extended farewell tour of sorts, an appropriately solemn and ceremonious parting not just from his guys, his beloved teammates, but from his worthy opponents, as well.

For example, I believe you've met my good buddy and teammate Ronnie (Ron Jeel) who, despite a long and illustrious playing career, is now obliged to sit on our bench--and he's happy to do it! Any self-respecting player would be grateful to wind down his career with dignity, like Ronnie, as a white-bearded bench gnome on a championship team. Never mind if he hasn't used his glove in a game since 2022--at least he hasn't compromised his personal standards by taking a step down to play on some lackluster second-division squad.

And have no doubt that Ronnie remains an active, valuable teammate: if he's fully awake, he'll do a commendable job at keeping our scorebook, and I'll gladly attest that no one delivers a lineup card to the opposing team with more panache, more pure joy and amiability than Ronnie; as he makes his way to the other side, he never fails to throw in some jaunty dance moves, followed by a theatrical bow to the home plate ump, which is usually good for some cheap applause. What a gamer! Best of all, Ronnie does an eerily spot-on impression of legendary Yankees shortstop and broadcaster, Phil Rizzuto. "Holy cow!"

Alternatively, a guy in the sunset of his playing career can always opt to submit to "internal exile" within your League's own version of Siberia, the motley (all ages and skill levels welcomed), strikingly realistic simulation of competitive baseball that is the Capital Division. And don't pay any attention to the devilish smart alecks who compare those somewhat juiceless Sunday afternoon pick-up games to the famous Bruce Willis movie from 1999, The Sixth Sense, in that if you're playing in the Capital Division, you're probably already dead, but you just don't know it. (Actually, that's pretty funny!) Chances are that you, Mike and the rest of your Haymaker brethren would be happy ghosts playing there! (Sorry, I couldn't resist!) Face it, Frankie, it's either that or hang 'em up. Like the kid in the movie, I see dead people--and they're carrying baseball gloves!

There's no getting around it: advancing age brings about dramatic changes in everyone's life. For an aging ball player, change means becoming incrementally less worthy with each passing year. Some veterans, conceding that discretion is the better part of valor, prefer to avoid this manifest decline, its pains and indignities, and so will choose to retire sooner, rather than later. In moving on, they'll have to find glory elsewhere, if they can.

Then there is the growing contingent of never-say-die stalwarts, like you and Mike, who have made their peace with change, and who still feature the raw gumption to step onto the field and give it their all, remarkable as that is. For guys like you, senior baseball is all about carrying on despite the sobering changes that come with age--and even turning back the clock, as it were, recapturing a bit of one's precious, long-lost youth. Baseball allows us to feel like kids again, at least for a few hours a week; as they say, it's all about "big kids" playing a kids' game.

But, then, the CDMSBL's resident comedians would be apt to tell you that many of your League's most talented and respected gray-haired veterans are not, in fact, big kids so much as spoiled brats--ridiculously smug, silly old farts who should be thankful just to finish a game with their bodies still in one piece. Yet I prefer to view these proud, wrinkled all-stars simply as eternally youthful blithe spirits; and yes, these delightfully overzealous alpha-primates are truly my kind of guys. At the risk of sounding like a booster, I'd assert that your League should be saluted for affording these rickety, overgrown ten-year-olds one last chance for glory, courtesy of the 62+ Division--as long as they're still worthy, that is.

Let's go Mets!

Spike

PS. I just want to add that I love reading the CDMSBL bulletin board. Yes, the chronic complainers will surely label several of the older managers as self-infatuated blowhards (just like me!) for posting voluminous, pitch-by-pitch accounts of their games--but that's just envy talking. The dedicated skippers who author these helpful transcriptions of every last detail of their scorebook are doing the important work of writing the history of both their team and the League, memorializing for the ages the heroic exploits of this generation's most gifted players. And if you ask me, I'd say too much is never enough, so bring it on! Indeed, rumor has it that more is on the way, as apparently, these thoughtful, engaging managers will soon be posting minute-by-minute accounts of their team's on-field practices.


-- Edited by Frank Montagano on Friday 16th of May 2025 02:07:55 PM

-- Edited by Frank Montagano on Friday 16th of May 2025 02:09:45 PM