The Loser's Ball

Chapter 14: Beginning in the middle of the next to last paragraph on last page. “I don’t remember just how long I stood in front of that bank window staring at all of the prizes to be handed out to the championship team. In front of me was the giant Quaker Oats Championship trophy, the AABC National Championship banner stretched on display on the back wall, the individual winner trophies, and the black bats that would be engraved with the player names of the champions and shipped to each player after the tournament. For a little farm kid from the Glade, who had to be creative, working with limited playing experience and resources, and suffering Loser’s Balls at every corner, there was no rush to leave the view that I was enjoying right now. So many people had worked and supported me to make it possible for me to be standing in this spot. I finally walked slowly away, stopping to turn and look back briefly, then returned to the hotel with the picture of that bank window display in my mind. Tomorrow it begins. Chapter 15 I must confess that my next two years as a Volunteer baseball player were put on a temporary shelf in anticipation of what was now before me. I had two more years to play as a Vol, but right now, I am consumed with the greatest opportunity that I have ever had. To play for a national championship doesn’t happen too often for most athletes. I was as prepared as I thought I could be. It reminds me of a quote from our former great President, Abraham Lincoln, who said, “If I had nine hours to cut down a big tree, I would spend the first six sharpening my axe.” I just hope that my axe is sharp enough. It’s for sure that I have worn out a bunch of axe handles hitting rocks. We were scheduled to play our first game with E.B. Chevrolet from Portland, Oregon, on Thursday, September 17, at 5:30 pm. Portland had previously won back-to-back National World Series Championships as the Pacific Northwest Regional Champions in 1961 and 1962. Our game was to be played at Bailey Park in Battle Creek, Michigan. The weather was not cooperating with the tournament’s schedule at all. There had been a misty drizzle most of the day. The field was damp but playable, not what any team had hoped for to start a big tournament like this. The outfield grass was like a dew had covered it. The balls would have to be replaced more often than with a normally dry field of play. Our ace, Earl Lawson, pitched that night for us. Portland got off to a good start, leading us 3-0 after five innings. Later in the game we took the lead 4-3, and headed into the bottom of the ninth with Portland getting their last at bat. I was feeling pretty confident at this point. We just need three outs to win our first game. I was in center, Pritch was in left, and Oody in right field. Portland started the inning with a single by their second baseman. He tagged up and went to second on a deep fly ball to Oody. With one out and the tying run on second, Ron DePlanche, their nineteen-year old shortstop doubles to tie the game at 4. A pop-up results in out number two. Portland’s next hitter, Jim Satlich, their best hitter, came to bat. Satlich was the main reason Portland had won their championship in 1962. They had their best man right where they needed him. We had a lot of decisions to make in the outfield. Do we play in close enough to be able to make a play at the plate, but not too much that would allow a routine fly ball to go over our heads? The grass is so wet the ball is bound to be slowed down. Lots of decisions. We cheated in as much as we could. Pritch moved in as well as Oody in right. I came in as far as I dared with such a good hitter batting for Portland. The birth of the original and most significant Loser’s Ball was about to happen. Satlich hit a sharp ground ball to the left of the pitcher’s mound that eluded the diving Ron Cronan at shortstop into center field. DePlanche, at second with two outs, took off at the crack of the bat headed to third and home. I charged in and picked up the wet ball that was kicking up a rooster tail of watery mist as it rolled toward me through the wet grass. I bare-handed it and stepped quickly to make a throw at the plate. Realizing that DePlanche was nearly home with no chance to get him, I just held that ball in my hand and walked toward our third base dugout. Portland 5, Prospectors 4. Game over!