Where Baseball Is Still a Game

To return to baseball Sunday, Mike Gutierrez bought cleats, a new glove and stretch pants large enough to accommodate a waist that has expanded since he pitched for San Fernando High in the late ‘80s. No need for a new bat, though. Gutierrez, 30, brought his old “Black Magic” to the Pacoima White Sox season opener.

The aluminum Easton bat was a gift from his parents during his days as a Little League slugger. Gutierrez’s parents were rooting him on once again Sunday. So was Mike’s grandfather, and his grandmother, who once bought a tiny Dodgers uniform at a rummage sale that Mike insisted on sleeping in night after night.

Running around the stands at the dusty ball field in Encino was Gutierrez’s 6-year-old son, Brandon. He is the reason the computer analyst decided to suit up after nine years.

“I figured if I started coming out, he’d get away from the computer screen and the Game Boy and want to play,” Gutierrez said.

Sunday was opening day for the Los Angeles Department of Recreation and Parks’ adult baseball league. The city’s softball league has more than 500 teams, but for hardball, only 27.

A few of the baseball players spent time on minor-league teams, but most threw out their dreams of playing professionally along with their baseball cards and pinstripe pajamas. They play for the camaraderie. They like clicking around in cleats and saying everything twice: “Hurry up, hurry up. Hustle, hustle. Get a helmet, get a helmet.”

For these working men, amateur baseball is a way to have fun and “forget about their problems at home,” said umpire Encarnacion Arellano, officiating city league games since 1970.

The Pacoima White Sox and their Sunday opponent, the Glendale Reds, had dismal records last season. They made a few lineup changes, brought in some guys in their early 20s and are hoping for the best. Whatever happens during the 12-game season, they’ll get a little exercise.

Since a practice game last weekend, Gutierrez had been slathering balm onto his sore muscles. His wife complained that its odor gave her a headache.

In his more limber days in high school, Gutierrez was fast enough to be his team’s leadoff batter. They could count on him to get a hit and make it to first base.

“Now, I still get on base, but it just takes a lot longer to get there,” he said.

Limping back to his team after scoring a run, Gutierrez said, “I’m glad I type for a living.”

By the eighth inning Sunday, play had gotten sloppy with enough errors to keep the wives laughing. Fly balls came dangerously close to denting cars. The pitchers were walking one batter after another, players were calling their buddies to check on the score of the Lakers game and others were itching to get their families to Dodger stadium.

Umpire Arellano called the game when it had reached its time limit of 2 hours and 45 minutes. The White Sox won 18-8. Gutierrez scored twice, launching his return to baseball with a perfect batting average.

Said George Reyes, his brother-in-law and the team coach, “How ‘bout them White Sox?”