Birchwood and Mr. Packer's Balls

Catching Mr. Packer's balls was the highlight of my elementary school career.

Actually, my own balls were surgically repaired when I was 6, but that is a memory for a different time.

Packer was the beefy gym teacher at our South Huntington Wildcat elementary school where dressing out was wearing the maroon and white wit the big Wildcat face on a white Y-shirt.

We played Bombardment in those days, a version of the Dodge ball made popular by the Stiller-Vaughn movie of a few years back.

When Packer inserted his Tarzan frame into our game it was like a grown man playing against little boys. Maybe that was because in fact it was a grown man playing against little boys.

The red rubber ball looked like a grape in Packer's meaty hands. When it left his hands, it seemed to travel like a missile until it shattered whatever and whomever was in its way.

Since I was one of the best athletes in the school. the rumor that day was that Packer was gunning for me.

It was a year before my own balls went on strike (as I said material for another entry) and I was ready for Packer.

I didn't have to wait long. Most of my teammates had been pulverized by Packer's sizzlers and they sat in degrees of writhing pain on the sidelines of our little gym.

Now the ball came at me, cutting through the air and causing a whooshing sound like the precursor of a coming storm. I smothered the cannon shot in my little body of all of 100 pounds and fell to the ground, clutching my trophy.

I had become the first boy in school history to catch a Packer fastball.

The cheering boys engulfed me in celebration.

Packer was standing defiantly with his hands on his hips. He had the look of Apollo Creed (of course years later) when he knocked down Rocky Balboa, only to be amazed that he had the audacity to rise again.

Packer quickly signalled another game to begin and once again, the outcome came down to Packer and me.

I could tell by the veins popping out of his size 22 neck that he was serious this time. He pointed to me like Ruth in the 1932 Series and made a gesture which I am sure would have had him in front of the school board if it hadn't been 1959.

With a deranged gaze, he approached the dividing line and gave a little extra effort as his ball came whistling through the quiet gym.

I could tell that this one had a little extra mustard on it. I went down to one knee like a catcher readying himself for a Sandy Koufax (another future reference) fastball. I held my ground and perfected my balance. All the weight was on the balls of my feet. It seems like a plethora of balls references in this piece.

I caught this one even easier than the first. The Packer curse was over.

And so was the class as was most fitting. The last time anyone saw Packer that day it was walking off the gym floor, shaking his head like Ralph Branca after giving up the shot heard around the world.

My classmates carried me to the locker room, enjoying the moment as much as I.

But the best was yet to come.

Mr. Wagner, the principal, summoned me to his office and was quick to shake my hand.

"Congratulations, young man, it seems like you have done something today that has never been done around here before."

I just gushed.

Just then the principal's secretary appeared at the doorway.

"What did Steve do?" She inquired.

"Well. it seems like Steve is the first in school history to successfully handle Mr. Packer's balls."