CityView Magazine

52 | July/August 2019 tying the score in a game that the Braves would go on to win. As Chipper crossed the plate, this mesmerized 13-year-old told him, "Nice shot." Chipper's response? "I know." It was then that I realized professional baseball was a completely different ballgame. However, if I'd been a 19-year-old budding superstar, playing the game that I loved, there is no telling how I would have acted. At the end of the Braves series, something strange happened. e trainer for the Generals was in charge of scheduling batboys at that time. He called me into the training room and said he was impressed with my work ethic. He asked me to come back to work during the next homestand – which began the next night. rilled, I said I would work whenever he wanted me to. Neither I nor my parents realized what I'd just gotten all of us into. Aer this next homestand, the trainer said I would be working every home game for the rest of the season. is was mid-July. e season would stretch into September. Here's what my duties entailed: As a batboy, I had to arrive at the stadium two to three hours before a game. I'd go to the locker room, change into my "uniform" and begin my responsibilities. I should note the pants I was issued were way too big. I had to wear a belt tightened as much as possible and tuck the waistband under so the pants would somewhat fit me. Next, I had to get the water ready. ere were no water fountains in the dugouts so I had to take four giant 10-gallon coolers into the concession area and fill them with ice and water. en, I had to get the coolers back to the dugouts. For a 5-foot, 90-pound 13-year-old, this was an ordeal since each cooler probably weighed 75 pounds or so once filled. Each dugout had to have two of these coolers. And, if one went dry during the game, I'd probably have to refill it. If you know Fayetteville in July, you know they went dry. I also had to make sure the players' needs were taken care of. If they wanted hot dogs, I got them hot dogs. If they wanted fries, I got them fries. I made sure the rosin bags were placed behind the pitcher's mound. I still remember a Generals' player telling me to go to one of the other team's players and tell him, "Salty wants some of your chew." Mind I treasure memories of my days as a player and also as a batboy. I will never forget the smell of pine tar lingering on my hands for days after I'd worked a game or the smell of Copenhagen chewing tobacco wafting out from the dugouts. – Chris Foster

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