Ready or Not
At the bend of the road in my subdivision, not quite two doors down and nearer the sidewalk than the middle of the road, sat the manhole cover. I knew it better as home plate during the day or the safe zone at night. This was the place that we always gathered to choose our teams or the spot where the person who was it would count while the rest of us scattered around the neighborhood. If the sun was out, we would play baseball or kickball, but when the moon ruled the night we would play hide and seek or kick the can.
During summer break there was always a game being played in the middle of the street and you could always join in, even if you missed the start. Games would start when someone went outside and waited by the cover. Within a few minutes one or two friends would always show up and we'd warm up with a catch or a game of hot box. Once five or six kids gathered we'd start up a game.
Because we were in the street we would often change to a tennis ball to avoid shattering windows and denting cars. This made it possible to field the balls during a close-quarters game. But the size of the playing area made it too easy to hit an endless streak of home runs once anyone glimpsed puberty. In order to make the games fun, we had to create our very own version of the rules of the game or else the first people at bat would be the last people at bat with nothing in between.
Fortunately we were open minded enough to make the necessary changes so we'd all have fun. Anyone older than twelve who hit a ball over a neighbor's fence was automatically out. Also because second base was in the middle of the street, nobody could be called out for leaving the base if a car was coming. When we had a shortage of players we also made each hitting team pitch for themselves. The one rule that we never resolved was whether the pitcher was required to field against his own team. That question remains unanswered until this very day and I think everyone who ever argued defended both sides depending upon the game.
There were only two things that ended our games, dinner time and nightfall. Of course, when it was dark we'd just change from one game to the next. My neighborhood preferred kick the can because there was never an argument whether the runner reached the safe zone before being tagged. The clanking coffee can announced to the whole neighborhood that someone had reached the safe zone. We would have played all night if the adults would have let us. But my family's curfew simply reflected the time when all our neighborhood friends had to go home. Once they were gone we returned home to rest up for the next day's games.
During summer break there was always a game being played in the middle of the street and you could always join in, even if you missed the start. Games would start when someone went outside and waited by the cover. Within a few minutes one or two friends would always show up and we'd warm up with a catch or a game of hot box. Once five or six kids gathered we'd start up a game.
Because we were in the street we would often change to a tennis ball to avoid shattering windows and denting cars. This made it possible to field the balls during a close-quarters game. But the size of the playing area made it too easy to hit an endless streak of home runs once anyone glimpsed puberty. In order to make the games fun, we had to create our very own version of the rules of the game or else the first people at bat would be the last people at bat with nothing in between.
Fortunately we were open minded enough to make the necessary changes so we'd all have fun. Anyone older than twelve who hit a ball over a neighbor's fence was automatically out. Also because second base was in the middle of the street, nobody could be called out for leaving the base if a car was coming. When we had a shortage of players we also made each hitting team pitch for themselves. The one rule that we never resolved was whether the pitcher was required to field against his own team. That question remains unanswered until this very day and I think everyone who ever argued defended both sides depending upon the game.
There were only two things that ended our games, dinner time and nightfall. Of course, when it was dark we'd just change from one game to the next. My neighborhood preferred kick the can because there was never an argument whether the runner reached the safe zone before being tagged. The clanking coffee can announced to the whole neighborhood that someone had reached the safe zone. We would have played all night if the adults would have let us. But my family's curfew simply reflected the time when all our neighborhood friends had to go home. Once they were gone we returned home to rest up for the next day's games.
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