Honkball

After a especially ugly loss, I dressed up as a soccer player and played soccer with the guys before practice. Gotta keep things loose!

Ok, the garbled rant of my last post cleared my mind and now I can get into more stuff I have done. In the last couple weeks I have done three things that are worth commenting on. Obviously the first is baseball but the two others are things that everybody expected more of out of me: going to Amsterdam and going out.

Let me get baseball out of the way. Playing has been pretty unremarkable because the level of completion was lower that I have been playing and it rains all the time. This is the most unpredictable weather I have ever seen!  For the last few weeks, it seems every other day has been rainy or completely clear. At home, I know some decent amateur meteorologist. But come on, in Portland it’s easy and in Santa Rosa the weather creeps up slowly and you can see it miles away. Here the people have booked mark the most accurate weather radar on their internet browsers and have predicting the movement of weather patterns down to a science. One game I looked at the western sky and remarked, “We should be fine.” They promptly directed me to the club house to the computer and analyzed the image of the blue grey blog moving across some static blue and green. “You see that! It’s obvious!” 

Since the first game I played the third day I was here, every home game has been rained out. That is unfortunate because, without a stage on which to perform, the excitement of bringing an American “Baseball Player” to town has given way to the nuisance of bringing an American to town. I hit a homerun my first at-bat here and in my first start, I struck out 14. Unfortunately, these games were played about an hour away in front of a home town crowd of about four. Eventually I will get to play a home game and hopefully it will be soon enough that the novelty will not have worn off.

In the meantime my focus remains on my Junioren Honkball team. The boys are ages 15 to 19 and “honk” is the word for “base” here. (No wonder this game hasn’t caught on.) Last post I referred to them as the Bad News Bears. That analogy is perfect. We even have a kid who comes by motorcycle. It has been an “everything that can go wrong, will go wrong team.” But just like the Bad News Bears, I am determined to change this. (My favorite part about this is that the people who are reading this here have no idea what the Bad News Bears is. I’m sure that one never got published for European markets.)

Our efforts are paying off. I challenge the kids here way beyond their comfort level and it is a joy to see them respond. They are a determined bunch. Kids with this kind of determination play for championships back home but unfortunately here, they have such little experience that we have a safe hold on dead last place.

Right now there remains bitterness among them because “we should be tied for last!” I will recount this funny story but first let me explain something. There are a lot of intricacies of club baseball here and just like the winner of each European futbol league plays in the Champion’s League. The winner of each league is promoted to the next higher class the following year and likewise the last place team is demoted. This makes sense because it is great at establishing parity in competition.  Side note, it’s funny, but this is an ideal model for their income tax structure and their individual capital growth incentive. (See a future “That’s Dutch) 

Anyway, I must tell the story of last game. After being blown out our last few games by anywhere between 10 and 20 runs, I made it a goal that we play all nine innings. This would be the day that we did not fall prey to the mercy rule. Baby steps. Everything looked good by the fifth inning. We were up two runs during the second rain delay. When it cleared up my team wanted to play on. I was happy to hear this. I want them to want to play the game for the enjoyment of the game.

I pulled the mud out of the hole on the pitcher’s mound and at home plate and we resumed play. Over the next three innings we gave up our lead for a two run deficit. We were playing solid defense and had our best pitcher in. The other team however, was starting to look shaky and their pitcher was perfect for batting practice. There was a stop for thunder in the distance and a brief shower. When the weather had passed I spoke with the umpire and the opposing coach. I tried to convince them that it is only fair to allow us to play the bottom half of the 8^th inning. This is when the fun started. 

Two of the parents from the other team, one of them holding the scorebook, were now complaining that they were afraid their boys would be struck by lightning. Then as they argued much of the western sky cleared up and the sun came out. Their argument then changed to worries about their boys becoming sick playing in this weather. Finally, after a ten minute debate and the parent of the pitcher not allowing her son to play, the opposing team took the field with eight players. Unfortunately, my team made three quick outs. When my team took the field for the top of the ninth inning, opposing team just began to pack up and leave. Can you imagine a better way to suck the fun out of youth sports?

Needless to say, my players were very upset. I did not realize that this had been such an important game. I wanted the game to continue because 18 boys wanted to enjoy playing baseball on their one game day of the week. This was an “Aha!” moment that solidified some peripheral observations that I had made. 

I assumed that as long as we were on a baseball field, the often preached sportsmanship of youth sports and hearty American baseball culture would be present. Although much of the issue arose because of some poor sporting parents, I realize that Holland is happy to take the game but never at the expense of its own ways. The Dutch bring to the game the club structure and social component which they value very highly.  Back home we seek personal and team success, sometimes to a fault, but often without regard for things outside the game. These cultural effects on baseball are probably found everywhere the game is played. As an American, knowing it only as “America’s favorite pastime” it was hard to see it at first, but the game; the bat, the ball, and the bases, are just is just a medium. Depending on where you are and who has them, something entirely unique is going to appear.

Tilburg & Hertogenbosch/ That's American Part I

The blog has missed some love lately. I stopped it and deleted my last post after I found that the site address had been shared with all the member of the baseball/softball club. I hope I can still make things funny and honest even though there is an almost equal audience on both sides of the pond. Here is one of the posts I decided to finish. 

Friday

I’m sitting on the train back to Meppel.  I’m tired but chocolate is keeping my eyes are wide open. My hands smell like Haring and Onions with a little bit of garlic still in my fingernails. My body has the hollow feeling of still processing the beer from last night.  My stomach aches and my mouth feels like heavy whipping cream residue. I had a great time.

Yesterday I visited the family of one of my dad’s high school classmates. I took a train from Meppel in northern Holland to Tilburg, near the southern border. It took two and a half hours. With a little luck, I was unable to sabotage my efforts to travel.

They asked what I wanted for dinner and the answer was obvious. “I’ll cook.” I said. I chose my favorite dinner; an American classic: fried chicken, mashed potatoes and gravy, and green beans. I was inspired by my grandmother’s classic cooking but since living here I am out of practice. The chicken got to the table cold and needed more garlic and pepper and the mashed potatoes and gravy where both lumpy. It was delicious. I had forgotten how happy my stomach could be.

After dinner I got a chance to practice with their local club. It is funny to see reactions of the people here when they see me play. By professional measures in the US my arm strength is about average. Here it is almost never seen. I got to throw a bullpen and at first they told me a 13 year old catch would catch me. After two warm up throws I switched for the brave kids safety. I continued to throw with a different catcher. I felt pretty good and actually knocked his glove off. He was frustrated but afterwards he told me how much fun it had been.

Practice concluded, as it often does, with a beer. The evening continued that way as I checked out the nightlife of Tilburg with Eddy, the son of the woman my dad knows. After sometime standing shoulder to shoulder with a bunch of 16 to 21 year old kids in a bar listening to a dj  butcher American pop songs, I persuaded him to change scenes. We sat on the patio in cobblestone street of one of the Café/Pub places. Two comments about the last sentence: every street is cobble stone if it is not a major thoroughfare and there were eight of these establishments in a row, nearly identical to each other, but they were all full. I asked how they are different and how people chose. Apparently they just go to the same place every time. 

Can you imagine this happening in America! That is like having a McDonalds, Burger King, Jack in the Box, Carl’s Junior, Sonic, and three others on the sharing walls on the same street. All have the same product and price. In America, one company would offer free fries with a burger and the rest would lose their business and have to follow suit until every last detail was fought over tooth and nail. Labor cost is cut. Quality is forgotten. Marketing takes a hold. Customers pay 20 cents for a tasty TV commercial and four cents for an “all beef” patty that cost 25 cents. The workers, low on income and short on time, buy the burgers and go home fat and…fat. By the time they get home, three of the places have a golden M and two are abandoned and the last three are a Walmart.

As an American I love my freedom. But I hate our ignorance.

That tangent was irresistible. Anyway, we sat down and had a beer at Walmart and watched people stumble in an out. The girls were nothing to take a second look at so we made fun convincing a kid that I was here as prize fighter. 

The next morning I went with my hosts to Hertogenbosch. It is a beautiful city dating back to the 8^th century it think. There are remnants of the cities outer walls. The cathedrals outside was astonishing. (see pictures) The inside was beyond words. I have never stepped into a place so immense and yet so silent. I felt minimal in space in time. Every aspect, EVERY last bit of the place was created with the care that can only be found in those seeking to please God. It is like if you opened a door and you were alone in the Grand Canyon, Yosemite Valley or Crater Lake. I was loving the complete loss of self-awareness until someone said to me. “This church was built in….” Damn it! It was gone.

We had to pack a lot into a short tour of the city so I could catch my train.  Trying to see such a great city in such a short time makes me understand the phrase “(see) your cake and eat it too.” (see picture below) By this time, hold you back your astonishment, I was hungry.  I asked as I usually do if we could get some typical Dutch food…

I was warned by my American connection about this Dutch specialty. As it turns out “new Haring” is the freshest and most delicious sushi I have ever had. It was caught probably the day before and served with chopped onions. It was so good. You can taste the fat that has not deteriorated yet and it doesn’t taste fishy at all. As long as you get past the fact that the fishes tail feels as slippery as if it were alive and you just watched a guy scale and gut it, it’s fantastic.  Thanks for the warning Greg.

To round out the meal we sat down for a “Den Bol” which is named after the cities abbreviated name “Den Bosch.” (old Dutch for “the forest.”) It is the definition of indulgence. Covered in riiiiich Belgian milk chocolate, a thin layer of puff pastry encases a filling of riiiich sweet whipped real cream. I my mouth is watering thinking about it but my stomach is already beginning to hurt.

I didn’t have enough time to wash my hands in one of the pay bathrooms so. I pissed in one of the four-way outdoor pissers. (I need to get a picture of one of these.) Finally, I made it to my train with three minutes to spare.

The trip was a great success in the experience to time ratio measure. It feels like it took me as long to write this as it did to do it. Have a nice day.