Clint Hartung Remembers Working for a Living

All I ever wanted to do was make
a living. It was different back then.
We bought our own cleats and gloves.
We even bought the white socks
that went under the hose. Plumbers
bought their own wrenches, so we
didn’t think much of it. When I moved
down here to Sinton to play semi-pro
ball and work for Plymouth Oil, I didn’t
take a pay cut. Anyway, no one would know
me now if Mueller hadn’t of snapped his ankle
sliding into third.  I’m not sure why Leo
sent me into run, but he did, so there
I was taking a lead, and Thompson was up
at bat.  He had this hole in his swing,
everyone knew it. He couldn’t hit anything
up and in. I mean I might have drilled dry wells
for Plymouth that were smaller, and Branca
threw this good heater up and in, and Bobby
swings, and don’t tell me about him having
the signs either, because that’s all nonsense,
anyway, he swings and bingo, all of a sudden
it’s blind squirrel and acorn time. The ball
just kept climbing to left, over Pafko, over
the wall, and I was over the moon. I come
down the line skipping and hopping like
some kid in Hondo hearing the circus
is coming to town. National League champs!
And now fifty years later a reporter
for Sports Illustrated wants to come down
here and talk to me, and what can I say
except I was just trying to make a living.