The Rapid Game

At my house it's simply referred to by three simple words: The Rapid Game. 

No other title is necessary. Here's why:

On Saturday July 2, 1994 I participated in one of the greatest baseball games of my life. I was the head coach of the Burnsville Cobras, representing Burnsville, Minnesota's American Legion Post 1700.  

We were on the team's annual journey to the Elks' Firecracker Tournament in Rapid City, South Dakota. It was my third trip, having made the haul westward in 1992 and 1993 as an assistant coach. This being my first as head coach involved working out the logistics of vehicles to be used and what parents were going along as well as accommodations for the team. Not being the parent of any of my players would allow me to be as heavy-handed as necessary.  Or at least as heavy-handed as I would be with this group.  

The weather, as it usually is in Rapid City in July, was oppressively hot.  Temperatures in the 90's every day were the norm. I focused, even before the trip started, on the game scheduled for July 2nd against the defending National Champions, our hosts from Post 22.  They had gone 70-5 in 1993 and they had a trophy in their souvenir stand that was taller than at least two of my players.  The concept that they had gone 70-5 amazed me, to be sure.  They were something like 35-7 by the time we played them. We certainly had our work cut out for us, without a doubt. As a matter of fact, their leadoff hitter was a kid named Mark Ellis, who went on to a 12-year major league career.

We hadn't played all that impressively in the tournament's early games and we bottomed-out on July 1st, the day before, when we were no-hit by El Segundo, CA.  The ride back to the College Inn was incredibly quiet, to say the least that afternoon. We knew what we had in front of us the following evening. I took the team to dinner at the Shakey's pizza and told them to relax for the evening. I put the kibash on any outdoor activity during the day on Saturday as I wanted everyone to save their strength for the game that night at 7:30.

The day was another scorcher and I felt good about my decision to keep the team sequestered for the day.  Of course my players decided that the way to pass the time was playing hacky-sack in the hallways and dyeing each other's hair.  (Never let groups of teenage boys loose in the hair color section of a grocery store 12 hours from home.) We left the hotel and made our way to Floyd Fitzgerald Stadium. I had first seen this little ballpark from a bluff overlooking the field back in 1991. My wife and I had driven the Black Hills for a vacation for the first time.  There's a charming little concrete dinosaur park up on a hill which overlooks the stadium. At the time we wondered "who plays in that cool-looking ballpark down there?" And before you knew it, I was coaching there only 14 months later. It's a beautiful little ballpark. If you have the chance to see a game there, I highly recommend it. 

I had prepared for this game more than I had for any game in my life as a coach. I had stopped to see Post 22 play the night before to get an idea of what we would be up against on Saturday night. I kept no notes on paper, only mental ones. I figured that I could accomplish just as much that way and not force myself to keep track of a piece of paper which I would probably lose anyway.  

Before the game we participated in a little pregame thing called "Shadowball". "Shadowball" originated in the Negro Baseball Leagues in the first half of the 20th century.  Essentially it is pantomime. We take infield/outfield practice with an invisible ball!  I go out with a fungo bat like usual to the home plate area. Then we just go through the motions. Every player makes an incredible play, catches the ball, throws at amazing speed/distance and our opponents watch in amazement. Pantomime at its finest. I busted this out prior to the game because it loosened the team up and we got to do it in front of the largest group we would ever have a chance to display it before. It was flawless. The crowd was mesmerized as I don't believe ANY of them had seen or were even AWARE of such a thing. This was South Dakota, after all.

I was totally nervous at the time pre-game introductions came around. I had supplied the roster to the p.a. announcer with phonetic spellings so that the pronunciations for my guys would be done correctly. We were a little disjointed in the intros as my second-place hitter, Jeremy Stock, was racing back from taking care of some pregame nerves in the closest restroom. He hit the field as the fourth-place hitter was being introduced, but he got into his correct spot on the foul line. He introduced my pitcher as "T.J. Moore", when the roster I had supplied clearly read "J.J. Moore. Now, after the ninth batter was introduced the announcer should've said, ".....and the rest of the Burnsville Cobras.  The Cobras are coached by number 39, Rod Collins."  But as I predicted in my head, I got no "pub" and my name was omitted from the announcements.

Now, someone would have to pay.

We didn't score in our first at bat and Post 22 got a runner on in the bottom the inning.  J.J. Moore had the runner picked off first but his throw hit the runner in the batting helmet and caromed away towards the bullpen down the right field line. He advanced to third and later scored on an infield out.

We were still hitless going to the fourth inning. This wouldn't have been a huge problem except for the fact that we were now hitless in our last 10 innings. Our second batter of the fourth inning, my center fielder, Randy Johnson was at the plate.  At some point during his at bat the home plate umpire lost track of the count. Let me repeat that. HE LOST TRACK OF THE COUNT! Now, I knew what the count was and so did some of our fans in the stands. But the scoreboard operator had it wrong too. I called time and asked the home plate umpire. I even asked the base umpire. I knew prior to asking that base umpires don't always keep track of the count. They aren't really required to do so. So when HE didn't know EITHER I was upset but not surprised. The batter made an out anyhow, so it didn't bother me very long. This episode appears about nine minutes into the video.

So it was a tight game at 1-0 as the pitcher's duel was on.  J.J. was throwing bbs and so was their pitcher for them. We headed to the top of the 7th and final inning still trailing by a 1-0 score. I gathered the team around and I had written down a limerick penned by myself which would not be suitable for publication here.  I read the limerick and it was received well by the team and got the them totally fired up.  We put all of our hands in and yelled, "Cobras!" at the tops of our lungs.  I took off for the third base coaching box firm in the knowledge that this next 5-10 minutes were going to be our best of the season, win or lose.  

Shortstop Jeremy Stock grounded to short for the first out. The next hitter, Randy Johnson,  got the count to 1-1. On the next pitch the batter swung and I thought I'd heard two distinct sounds. I apparently did as the batter reached on the rare catcher's interference rule. The catcher's glove had come into contact with the bat during the swing. My designated hitter, Mike Cernoch, was up next and he hit a single to center to put two runners on. Now the gears start working furiously in my head. I call for my first pinch runner, Ryan Zelenka, and insert him in at first. My next batter is my catcher, Tim Chapman. "Chappie", who can hit well but was the only player on my team whom I could beat in a foot race.  

Chappie hits a fly ball to the right fielder, Nate Barnes, a kid who I know is good because he was just recently drafted by the Chicago White Sox, and my runner has roamed so far away that he will probably be doubled-up and the game will end.  But Barnes got ahead of himself as he tried to make that double-play too quickly. He dropped the fly ball, thus loading the bases with one out. I called for another pinch runner because there was no way in the world I could let him run for himself at this juncture of the game.

My first baseman, Chris Lee was due up next. My heart is beating quickly in anticipation of what would happen next. I instructed Randy that we were going to tag up on a fly ball and tie this game.

On the very first pitch Chris strokes the ball toward the left field alley. I knew that the tying run would score after the ball is caught on the fly. But I quickly realized that the ball was carrying much farther than I first thought. It falls between the fielders and over their heads. I am waving my runners so hard with my arm in a windmill fashion that I probably am close to tearing my right rotator cuff. Two runs score and the third runner got into a rundown. The rundown gets botched and the third run scores. I get greedy here and sent Chris, who has already run 270 feet and is now just past third base, homeward.  A rundown ensues and ends with him being called out at home. I was bummed but my thoughts immediately moved to the fact that we were now ahead 3-1! I briefly argued that the runner had not been tagged prior to touching home plate, but it was for naught.  

I will forever remember running back to the coaching box, stopping, tipping my head back and screaming, "I LOVE THIS GAME!" as loudly as I could. It was as close to pure joy as I may have ever experienced in my life. I watched my team celebrating in the dugout with a huge grin on my face. I needed to calm down to get back to the reality that the game was not yet over.

The bottom of the 7th it was intense to the max. The first two batters grounded out and I let myself plan my actions for the end of the game. I had a relief pitcher throwing in the bullpen, just in case. I called Steve Olson and the catcher back to the dugout as I did not want them to miss out on the celebration which I had confidence would be occurring in just a few moments. I had originally thought about going the way of Herb Brooks from the 1980 Olympics- just step back and watch from a distance, soaking it all in. That thought lasted all of about 15 seconds because the third batter hit a grounder to the pitcher and, as the video shows, I was probably the 6th person on the dogpile at the mound. It was a great moment for this team!  Our fans were hootin' and hollering for all they were worth.  

We get back to the hotel where someone had gotten some balloons and began filling them with water and then heaving them at each other. I left my room in what was originally going to be a police-like moment where I would put this behavior to an end. Well, that didn't happen as planned. Before I knew it, I was up to my neck in water balloons. I received a call in my room from the front desk. I went down and was mildly scolded by the front desk. I apologized and promised to have the partying come to an end.

To show how much the local news didn't want to discuss the game, the only highlight of the game was of a foul ball which each team's batboy ran after.  Theirs beat our batboy, Leif,  to it and our's slugged their's in the arm as he ran back to our dugout. They had 7 innings of great footage to use and that was all they showed.  What a bunch of sore losers. Speaking of sore losers, fast forward  to our 1995 return trip back the same Firecracker tournament.  The organizers felt like "fixing our wagon" as they scheduled us to play THREE games on one day, the first of which had a first pitch time of 8 a.m.! I do not believe this to have been by accident.  I just don't.

On my way back upstairs I had a quiet moment to reflect on the game and it's a good thing that I had a wet face as it was easier to hide the few tears of joy which I shed after a game which meant so much to this group, myself included. My wife Bryn could see that I was shedding tears and told me how proud she was to have been there. 

The following morning I tried to buy every copy of the local paper that I could, but I only wrangled four.  We reveled in our win for a few more hours at breakfast and took off for the stadium, firm in the knowledge that no matter what happened in the rest of our games we'd won the one game we wanted most.  

I owe a great debt to the players on that team. Unfortunately, the young man who was responsible for the game-winning hit, Chris Lee, lost his life in motor vehicle accident only 5 years later.

Chris told me that after he had been called out the home plate umpire told him "there are too many people here for me to call you safe". So if you think that hometown umpires don't exist, you'd better get a grip on yourself, because they DO exist.  He must've had confidence in our ability to close it out in the 7th inning.

I spoke at Chris Lee's funeral and told the story of how he had been responsible for driving in the run that won the most incredible game of my coaching career. There wasn't a dry eye in the church when I was done telling the story. 

Only a month after our victory we held the team banquet at a restaurant called Benchwarmer Bob's. At the beginning of my speech I had the pleasure of introducing my mother who was visiting from Florida to all in attendance.  She got a bigger round of applause than I did, and it was so justified.  It was one of my life's greatest moments.  To be able to introduce her meant so very much to me because she is as much of a person who avoids the spotlight as I am.  She later told me how proud she was of me and how much my team and my players' parents felt about her son.

Sadly, only 5 weeks after the banquet I lost my mother Rose to complications from breast cancer.  She'd fought it for over three years but she was tired of the battle and she let me know that on our last day together, September 30th.  She left this world far too soon, at the age of 65.  

It's so hard to believe that 29 years have now passed since the playing of The Rapid Game. My players players have now all reached the age of 40 and have sons and daughters who are the approximate age that they were when the game itself was played on that warm Saturday night in the Black Hills of South Dakota.

Life is full of moments that we wish we could re-live again and moments which we wish we hadn't lived through in the first place. In a 90-day period I had one of each, one more long-lasting than the other. But that's what makes life what it is- the daily chance to be the part of something so great that you carry it with you until the day you leave this earth. On Saturday, the 2nd day of July in 1994 I was given one of those days and I am eternally grateful to all of those who shared it with me.

I hope that all of you have at least one of those days in your past as well. They sometimes remind us that some things in this world are worth living for. Imagine if everyone in the world was able to carry that feeling of accomplishment and euphoria through our daily lives. How different would our lives, relationships and outlooks on each other be?

I'm just sayin'.