I got to throw out the first twelfth pitch!

It’s 2:30 in the afternoon at the American General Life and Accident Building in Nashville Tennessee. I sat hunched over in my chair peering intensely into my computer screen and whirling away the afternoon on my Y2K project. From my humble 5 by 8 foot cubicle,


I was in charge of converting over 600 computer programs in a Property and Casualty system to become Y2K (year 2000) compliant. As a contractor, we got the little cubicles, employees got the big ones. In a moment’s time, I was removed from my ability to concentrate when the phone rang and the person on the other end delivered a message that I thought could possibly change my life forever. It was Val Aikens, from Majestic Systems, the consulting company that I worked for. “Hi, Howard, this is Val from the office, how are things going down there”. “Not bad”, I quipped, “and how are you guys doing?” “Just great, Howard.

Hey listen, we’ve decided that we need to do something fun as a company to show our appreciation to all the people who have helped us get where we are today. So I wanted to personally invite you and your family to join us at the ball park for an evening of food, fun and entertainment…it’s on the company”. (Well, I’ve never been one to turn down a freebie). “We’ll be having food catered in the picnic area behind the left field stands. Get there around 5 or 5:30. After the picnic, the game starts at 7:00”. “It sounds like fun”, I said. “We’ll put it on our calendar”.

“Great, there is one more thing, Howard”. “What’s that”? I said. “Well, since you have more service time then anyone else in the company, we would like you to represent us by throwing out the first pitch! I didn’t know what to say. I felt so privileged. I graciously accepted the generous offer with gratitude in my heart for being so highly regarded among my peers. I finally composed myself enough and said, “Well sure! I’d be honored to do that. Thank you very much”. And that was that. It was a dune deal.


I couldn’t wait to get home to tell my wife. No, I mean I really couldn’t wait. I called her on the phone immediately and told her the good news. She didn’t seem as excited about the whole ordeal as I was. Oh well, Not everyone understands this stuff. As the days turned into weeks, the vague idea of throwing out the first pitch became more real to me. The pictures crystallized in my mind and became sharper as to what this really meant. Any sports fan can tell you the significance of throwing out the first pitch.


Do you want to know what kind or people throw out the first pitches at baseball games?

Well then, let me educate you….. · Presidents of the United States of America. · Governors · Mayors · Senators and State representatives in congress. · CEO’s of Multi-National Conglomerates · Heads of International Corporations · Prestigious Civic Leaders from well known community organizations · Pillars of the community from all walks of life. · Military Generals · Heads of national charities · Dignitaries · Etc, etc, etc, · And, of course, Howard Lemmon Growing up over a 30 year period in Southern California gave me an opportunity to view first hand on countless occasions just what kind of people are chosen to throw out the first pitch at a ball game.


At both Dodger Stadium and Anaheim Stadium I have watched with studious curiosity, these pillars of the community as they “took the mound”. When they stand alone, atop the mound in the center of the infield, every eye in the stadium is eagerly fixated on this one person. Then with anxious anticipation, he winds up, and delivers what is usually a simple, slow, looping pitch that seems to float gently into the catcher’s glove.


As the anemic snap of the ball hit’s it target, the crowd erupts into a roar of approval. Not with robust enthusiasm for the performance, but out of curtsey, respect, and relief that he didn’t totally embarrass himself. “I wonder what it must feel like to be in that situation”, I would think to myself as I watched.

“I wonder if he’s nervous”? “I wo nder what he’s thinking as he takes the lonely walk across the infield to be the center of attention”. Does he fear throwing the ball over the catchers head and hear the entire stadium spontaneously erupt in humiliating belly laughs.


Though everyone knows that it’s not really part of the ball game, still, the game cannot begin without this all important ceremony taking place first. I think he’s only thinking one thing. “Just get it over the plate and don’t embarrass yourself too bad.

What if I throw it over the catchers Head? What if it’s ten feet outside the box and bounces all the way to the backstop. After all, this is not what I do”.

My mind returns to the present. I am forced to reflect upon myself, because now it’s MY turn. I am the one in crises. And in the coming days, (as my mind keeps reminding me) I will take that lonely walk to the mound, perch myself atop the lofty platform that “hall of fame” pitchers called home to deliver the pitch that I was borne to throw. This is my destiny. But wait a minute! I thought to myself. Get a grip on yourself, Howard. For over 20 years I have played on championship softball teams. Although its been 10 years since the last time I played, I vividly recall prancing around in the outfield tracking down and sucking up any thing that came within catching distance like a giant “Hoover” machine with my gorilla like size 35” sleeves. At 6’ and 155 pounds, I was neither big, nor strong.


However, I have discovered the two-fold secret to throwing out runners trying to stretch a single into a double, or trying to take third or home. Firstly, for accuracy, you must fixate your eyes on exactly where you want the ball to end up at and don’t ever take your eyes off of the target until the throw is complete. Secondly, for power, you don’t throw with your arm…you throw with your entire body. After taking a few steps toward the target, push off with your hind leg, lunge your whole torso forward, and whip your arm as hard as you can using all the leverage yo u can generate. The amazing mind and the physiology of the body working together produce a miracle when the ball goes exactly where it’s intended. So


what did I have to worry about ?

It’s just a little pitch, 60 feet six inches. How hard can it be? Before I knew it, the night before the ball game had arrived. I called up Ron Sanders, who lived down the street to join me for a little practice. Our sons, Jonathan and Warren were the same age, so we all took our gloves, bats and balls down to Charlie Daniels Park to do a little pre-game walk-through. After many years “off the field”, it’s always a good idea get all your ducks in a row, all the wrinkles out, and make sure your bases are covered.


We arrived at the park, walked onto the empty well manicured diamond used by community baseball leagues and assumed our positions. Ron took his place behind the plate in the catchers position and I in my rightful role atop the mound. He lifted his glove to the perfect height and formed the target. I wound up and let it go. It bounced in the dirt half way to the plate! I gasped in disbelief. I don’t know what happened! It just came out of my Hand at the wrong time. I wound up and delivered another one. This one went over His head!!! I couldn’t believe it. I grossly over corrected. I pitched a third one. It was so far outside that he couldn’t reach it. Then I launched pitch number four. It was wide to the other side and he barely got to it. I jumped back in shock and bewilderment. What was going on here! I played softball on championship teams for 20 years and suddenly I can’t hit the broad side of a barn. Then it dawned on me what was happening. I spent decades playing softball, but this was not a softball.


It was a hard ball. It’s half the size of a softball. Half my lifetime was spent hard wiring into my neurological network, just exactly how to throw a softball. Now I have an hour or two before the sun goes down to unlearn everything and reprogram my physiology to throw a hardball instead. Fear and trepidation struck deep into my heart as the stark realization set in. I am unprepared, and time is running out! For the next two hours, I threw as many pitches as I could to get the feel of it. Even after Ron and Jonathan went home, I stayed late and threw the ball over and over against the chain link fence trying to hit the same spot each time with dismal results.


Finally, when it was too dark to see, we called it quits. The next day was beautiful; sunny, clear, and no chance of a “rain out”. That day at work, all I could think about was how was I going to get this baseball over the plate without making a total fool of myself. Using the old trick of “psycho-cybernetics”, I mentally envisioned myself throwing the ball over the plate. What else could I do? It’s the next best thing to being real and I know they don’t let you practice baseball in the office. After work, I showed up early to the ball park for the picnic.


It was at Greer Stadium here in Nashville Tennessee, behind the left field bleachers. That is where the panic area is that’s used for catering group events. We had our fill of hotdogs, hamburgers, chips, sodas, cookies and ice cream sandwiches catered by the stadium. The president of the consulting firm then made some general remarks and recognized me as the employee with the longest service record (four whole years!) and would be representing “Majestic Systems” at the game tonight by throwing out the first pitch. A rousing applause filled the air from about 50 fellow consultants that I had never met before. Following the picnic, of course was the main event.


A night at the ball park, to see the Nashville Sounds in action and enjoy the entertainment on the field as well as off that only a minor league base ball team can do so well. My time had come. The moment was at hand. The butterflies started to mount in my stomach. After the Star Spangled banner was sung, it was announced through the stadium load speaker... “will all those who have been asked to throw out the first pitch please make there way to the mound for the ceremonial first pitch” That was my cue. I started my lonely walk toward the mound. But beating me through the gate was a line-up of 11 kids running out to the mound with eager enthusiasm.


They seemed to know exactly what they were doing as if they were “old pro’s” at this. They lined us all up in a predetermined order by height and one by one we took our turn throwing out the “first pitch” on the announcers cue. First there was little bobby, he was voted best player by his T-ball team. He got to throw from 15 feet away from the plate. Then there was Joey, He was elected to the little league all star team from his team, the tigers. Then of course, there was little Suzie, in pigtails. She was student of the month at her elementary school in June.


Oh, and then came Sally. I think she sold more Girl Scout cookies than anyone else in her brownie troop. On and on it went. Until finally it came to me As I prepared to take the mound, I heard blaring through the load speaker….“REPRESENTING MAJESTIC SYSTEMS……, HOWARD LEMMON”. Then I heard the entire company sitting just behind the visiting team’s dugout, along the first base line, erupt in a crazed roar of approval and support. This was it. It was all on me. As I ascended the mound, I said a little prayer.


Dear God, please, just help me get it over the plate. After all, this is not what I do. I looked at the catcher. He looked like a little plastic army man sitting on the ground behind the plate a quarter mile away. I wound up, and let it go with about 70 percent strength, and watched the ball sail about three feet to the right side of the plate. Not good……... But not bad either.


The catcher came out of his crouch, extended his left arm into the batters box and caught the ball without making it look too bad. It was over. I survived. I was able to walk off the field with my dignity intact. After all that I have been through, I considered it a success. But the most important success that day was the lesson that I learned.
What do you think it was?