A Grand Slam Life

What do you say when a good friend dies and you miss it? I just found out a guy I knew from the time he was about 9 years old until now died a month ago. I knew him through little league baseball. He was after my time as a little leaguer but I had the chance to watch him and his two brothers play and grow up.

I watched him start out pretty bad, and end up one of the best. His coach called him Corny. I never quite knew why, but knowing his happy go lucky personality and pension for joking around I suspect it was related to that. He had a way of being at bat when the bases were loaded in his last year of little league. I’ve never seen someone hit so many grand slams in my life.

I remember watching him in an all-star game….the bases were loaded. I turned to the score keeper next to me and said you watch he’s going to belt it out of here. She didn’t appreciate that because her son was pitching I think. Corny not only belted it out of the park he smashed that ball to bits. It was a long homerun.

I remember talking to him a few years later about religion. He was about 15 and wondering. He never came to terms with it that I ever knew. I lost touch with the family for years. Though every now and then we’d run into each other.

I last saw them at my father’s funeral. They all came. Being a member of the family I really didn’t get to sit with them all that I wanted to. My wife told me afterward that his mother told her that Corny had cancer. After things settled down I desperately tried to find email addresses, I did find some home addresses. I should have written. As usual I struck out. Face Book finally came through, but a month too late.

In life he and his family are in my mind the equivalent of a grand slam; kind, generous, friends, almost family. But, I’m upset that I missed his funeral, and wasn’t there for them after they were there for me. I will always remember his happy smile, his fun loving character, and his love for his family. He is missed and one day I hope to be able to announce another of his ball games, talk to him about life, about work, about him with him.

Corny isn’t wondering about religion anymore, except perhaps to pick up things he didn’t learn here. As far as I know he was as knowledgeable as any bishop. But if he didn’t he now knows there’s more than what is here on this earth. There are friends and family that he may have never met there with him now. Maybe he looked my Dad and his old coach up. One day I feel sure I’ll see him again. I know he’ll live again in a resurrected body; one that won’t betray him again. Don’t keep the bench warm for me Corny, I’ll be there soon enough, but make sure the microphone works when I get there.