March 15, 2023

Remembering Billy Baseball

I was twelve years old when I first met Billy "Baseball" Romaniello. My father was my coach for most of my Little League career. When he returned from the annual draft, I was eager to hear who he selected for our team. Dad was very excited, because he had drafted a "two-for-one" deal: two brothers who had just moved into town. One was an 11-year-old left-handed pitcher, and the other was his 12-year-old brother who Dad described as a "good all-around ballplayer." That was Billy. Not only was he a good all-around ballplayer, but a good all-around guy.

Billy and his brother, Jerry, lived close enough to our house that I could easily bike there. We visited each other's homes constantly, and practically became members of each other's families. Billy and I spent hours in my backyard playing wiffleball. We played catch and practiced pitching and hitting for hours, until it was too dark to see the ball.

That season was the highlight of my Little League years. Our team, the White Sox, didn't win a trophy, but we came close. Billy and Jerry were good ballplayers, as advertised. To Billy's chagrin, however, Jerry was a little better. Their brotherly rivalry peaked one day when my father visited the mound to remove Billy from the game as pitcher. Billy refused to hand him the ball if Jerry was coming in to relieve him.

"Anyone but Jerry," he said, clinging to the ball with all his might. Dad had to summon his assistant coach, Bill (Billy's dad), to help him out. Eventually, they somehow wrangled the ball out of Billy's hands and gave it to Jerry.

I introduced Billy to the computer baseball game I had been playing alone for over a year, called (creatively-enough) "Computer Baseball." I soon learned that it was more fun managing against an actual person than against a computer. We drafted our own teams and played many games together, wasting away countless days of our youth in my dark basement bedroom.

I believe it was Billy's idea to expand our two-man league by including some friends from high school. Eventually, we found eight others to join our league, which we called (creatively enough) the "Computer Baseball League." To my knowledge, it was one of the first fantasy baseball leagues in existence, and certainly one of the first to use a computer to simulate the games.

Since I owned the computer, it was my job to collect everyone's lineups and rotations, and then to sit through the simulations of each and every game. These games had to be played in real-time. No quick-sim option was available. We somehow managed to play three seasons before we graduated that summer. A smaller group of us continued playing through our first two years of college before the league finally disbanded. Roughly a decade later, I phoned my old friend Billy to tell him about a brand-new computer sim league I was forming, which I called the "Big Daddy Baseball League." The rest is history.

Billy and I played ball together all through high school. He wasn't a great ballplayer, and didn't even start many games through all four years, but he was the most determined and passionate ballplayer I've ever seen. He hustled his ass off at all times. He practiced more than anyone I've ever known. He worked at the batting cage in our town. During the winters, he would shovel the snow from one of the cages and run the machines so he could practice hitting.

His passion for the game, and his constant hustle on the field, earned him the well-deserved nickname of "Billy Baseball." That name stuck with him for life. In fact, when I saw him only a few weeks ago, I greeted him the same way I have for the past 41 years, by shouting "BILLY BASEBALL!!"

Billy moved to Florida many years ago. One of the first things I did when we moved here in 2020 was to text Billy and plan a get-together. Over the past three years, we've met several times, usually to watch a ballgame together. A few weeks ago, my wife, Karen, and I met Billy and his wife, Debbie, for dinner. Afterward, we all watched an old mutual friend of ours from high school perform a stand-up comedy act. Billy and I planned to get together again next weekend to watch a spring training game.

A few hours ago, I learned that Billy passed away over the weekend. Hours later, I am still trying to process that news. Which is why I'm writing about it. Writing helps me to articulate what I'm feeling. Unfortunately, it isn't helping right now.

Dr. Seuss wrote one of my favorite sayings: "Don't be sad that it's over; smile because it happened." I am very grateful to have had 41 years of friendship with Billy Baseball. We shared so many laughs and fun times that I couldn't possibly count them all. Somehow, however, that doesn't make it any less sad that it has ended. I understand that it must end for all of us, but why now? And why him?

I know that I have said in the past that no BDBL owner will ever be inducted into our Hall of Fame, but I'm making an exception for my lifelong friend. It seems like the least we can do to honor his contribution to this league. Rest in peace, my dear old friend.