Stickball

Basketball is widely regarded as the premier sport in urban scrawls and metropolis’ everywhere for reasons that make much sense-a hoop (home made or playground issued), a ball that bounces, and a few willing bodies are the only prerequisites. Before Dr. Naismith invented round ball, generations of street athletes took the field/concrete pavement of New York City with their own brand of inventive sport.

Long the backdrop for 1950’s period flicks and DeNiro movies, stickball has been as much a part of the Big Apple as Lady Liberty and the Disney-fied Times Square tourist traps. Picture baseball-with some slight adjustments. The bat was a simple broom handle, simultaneously rendering the neighborhood hardware store a sporting goods enterprise. The bases took form in manholes, fire hydrants, and perhaps a Nathan’s hot dog cart, the last one dependant upon the vendor’s temperament. Forget the rawhide baseball, a simple tennis ball or rubber ball would suffice-spaldeen, high bouncer, whatever was around. The rules were…regional. Depending upon the alley or road traffic, homeruns were marked by landmarks, and balls and strikes were judged on a chalk outline, typically on the ground in front of the batter or a wall (if lucky to find one) behind him. 

Also contingent upon extenuating circumstances was the style of play. Fungo was entirely up to the batter, who would simply toss the ball and take a whack. Broken windows or rooftops were generally considered to have left the park. More traditionally the pitcher would stand 40 to 50 feet away and toss a one bounce pitch, leaving the batter and his hand/eye coordination the deciding factor as to whether he would wallow in World Series shame like Bill Buckner, or Fall Classic fame like Kirk Gibson.

Beyond the stats was the now lost art of neighborhood unity and family tradition. Stickball did not care whether the player was a shoe shine boy or the borough bigwig with the shiny Lincoln Town Car, as anyone could be a hero. The game was an heirloom that fathers, sons and daughters could share together on a pleasant summer night while the sounds of the city took over the air and the hot asphalt and local pizzeria merged to emit a surprisingly pleasant aroma. The lasting image of the game is its legacy of what America was and could be, an era when everyone banded together to make the best of the situation they were in. The aspiration of many to play baseball, or at least a version of it, regardless of venue or equipment, resulted in a successful strike against the odds, and symbolically showcased American ingenuity.

Beyond the sentiment and nostalgia, any game that can be interrupted by a booming voice proclaiming “Car!” is pretty cool to me.