Jockstraps

When I was in the third grade my folks signed me up for little league baseball. What is that, 8 years old? I was a big fan of Ron Santo with the White Sox and Ernie Banks with the Cubs, so I was looking forward to it.

I showed up for the first game with the full uniform on and came prepared with my bat and glove. The coach had the team line-up on the third base line and asked “Who has a jockstrap”? I looked down at the ground and thought through my inventory of gear: hat, shoes, socks, shirt, pants, underwear, belt, bat and glove, but no jockstrap. By the time I looked up every kid’s hand was up but mine, and the coach was looking at me. I shook my head “no” sorrowfully, as I was pretty sure I didn’t have one, even though I didn’t know what a jockstrap was.

I was surprised that all the other kids knew what this arcane piece of gear was, and to top that, they all had one. When I went to the local park for pick-up baseball games we all brought our bat, ball, and glove. One time a kid brought a catcher’s mitt, and that was new and different. I didn’t know these specialty gloves existed. Another time a kid brought a first baseman’s mitt. I’d never seen one of those before. But I couldn’t recall a single instance of someone bringing a jockstrap to a pickup baseball game. Nobody ever said, “Hey guys. Wanna see my new jockstrap? With this jockstrap I can play right field like nobody’s ever played right field before!”

But getting back to my first organized baseball game, when I looked at all the other kids I noticed they all had a belt on, as did I, and perhaps I’d made a mistake in answering “no” to the jockstrap question. Sometimes sports had strange names for normal pieces of equipment. Maybe jockstrap was baseball’s code word for belt. Anyway, I didn’t dwell on the word jockstrap for more than a moment or two and quickly forgot about this strange and apparently useless piece of equipment.

I didn’t play a single inning of that first game. It didn’t bother me in the least. At the end of the game they gave each of us a ticket that was good for a hot dog and a beverage at the concession stand. I couldn’t have been happier in my life. “A free hot dog and a grape Nehi? There’s nuthin better in the world than that!” Little did I know; I still thought girls had cooties.

At the second game it was pretty much the same routine all over again. This time when the coach lined us up on the third base line he looked directly at me. “Is anyone here NOT wearing a jockstrap?” This time I knew the answer immediately even though he’d changed the form of the question. I’d been through my entire room, looked on all the shelves, pawed through all the drawers, and even looked under the bed. I knew the name of everything in my room and everything I was wearing. There wasn’t a single thing on me I couldn’t name, so I couldn’t possibly be wearing a jockstrap, whatever that was. My hand shot up confidently as I knew the answer this time, but it did not generate a positive response from the coach. The coach scowled. Once again I did not play a single inning, but I did get a free hot dog and a grape Nehi. Baseball was great!

At the concession stand after the game the other kids were making comments about how long and fat the wieners were, and everyone seemed to snicker but me. I had no clue what the joke was. I was just trying to wolf mine down before some mean kid could steal mine or knock it out of my hands. While I was at the concession stand my dad was having an agitated conversation with the coach. I wondered why.

When we were walking toward the car to go home Dad was clearly angry. I figured he was either mad at the coach, or was mad at me, but I had no idea why that might be. I couldn’t think of a single thing I’d done wrong.

“Tom! Why didn’t you tell me you needed a jockstrap?”

“I need a jockstrap?”

“Yes. League rules say you can’t play unless you’re wearing a jockstrap.”

“Coach asked me if I was wearing one, but he didn’t tell me I couldn’t play without one. What’s a jockstrap, Dad?”

Dad’s head snapped around to look and me, and he paused before answering.

“A jockstrap is a piece of underwear designed to protect your penis and balls.”

“Really? Never heard of it. Can’t see why you’d need one. Do you know where I can get one?”

“Yeah. I’ll take care of it.”

Dad cooled off as he realized the true nature of the problem.

“Thanks, Dad.”

I was impressed. My dad knew how to obtain this strange piece of baseball equipment I’d never seen or heard of. I just knew he had to be the smartest man on the planet.

I still like baseball.