Written by John Mark Adkison
It all begins with the awkward and anti-social not-a-child but not-a-man character being forced out of the safety and comfort of his cowboy-themed bedroom and into the untamable wilderness of a sports field. The character finds himself in unfamiliar territory, standing in a position he has no idea how to play, trying to incorporate himself into a social atmosphere of rough-and-tough hard-hitters, and praying that he does not miss the catch. Needless to say, he misses the catch and his self-esteem takes a swan dive into the depths of despair.But not all hope is lost, because he is still alive and still able to make the catch. All he needs is a little practice.And if you think I am explaining the first scenes of “The Sandlot,” that thrilling tale of boy meets sport, you could be right. But I am not here to retell the plot of a movie we have all seen more times than we can count. I am here to show you that Scott Smalls, the main character of “The Sandlot,” has a lot in common with the character from the beginning of this piece, who happens to be me.We all go through one of those stages of being the awkward kid. And we have all been on the hunt for social acceptance. And so the only way to become socially recognized is to get involved in something like student council, drama, sports, etc. And since my first drama debut involved tripping over my own cape and smacking the stage with my face, I decided to opt for sports. And this is where Smalls and I take different paths. While Smalls found social solace in baseball, I discovered mine in the ancient sport of the Native Americans: Lacrosse.Lacrosse was what you might call my initiation into teenage-guy-hood. It was a new program at school, and most of the guys my age were fairly as experienced as I was (i.e. no experience at all), and we joined because we heard large, metal sticks used for hitting were involved.Unfortunately, while Smalls ended the film as a homerun-hitter, my ending was not so happy. Put on the varsity team by default due to my senior status, I was the benchwarmer.But I was not bitter; I was still a member of the team, still a lacrosse player, still one of the guys. And while I continually missed the catches, threw the ball way too far or completely forgot how to cradle, it was simply another “You’re killing me, Smalls” moment, and I would continue on doing my best.
