The game of my life

The game of my life occurred in the summer of 1980.

I was 12 years old.

          Little League baseball in Aurora, Illinois was divided into two age groups when I was a boy. Boys between the ages of 8-10 were grouped together in the Minor League and those ages 11-12 were in the Major League.

          I played for a team sponsored by Ford Gum when I was 9 and 10 years old and was proud and excited about the fact I made the All-Star team as a 10 year old. When it came time to make the transition to the Major League, I felt I was ready. Little did I know things would not go according to my plan in that summer of 1979.

          I was drafted by a team sponsored by Broadway Restaurant. The manager's name was Harry, and it's safe to say he really wasn't cut out for the gig. Our team went 3-15 that season. My playing time consisted of one at bat and a couple of innings in the field per game for the first half of the season, but things changed dramatically when I hit my first home run ever in a mid season contest. Six innings and batting cleanup would be my new reality for every game from that point forward, but Dave Kingman I was not. I didn't go deep again and I ended up hitting a mere .230 on the season.

          My Dad watched every inning of every game from the stands that summer. He told me later in life that he would sit and stew while spectating, lamenting the fact that not only did he see his son stuck riding the bench for game after game (up until the homer), but also over the blatantly obvious fact that Harry was clearly disorganized and clueless as to how to effectively manage the games strategically. Dad told me that at one point late in that summer of '79 he said to himself, 'I don't know how good I can be at this, but I know I can run a team better than this guy.'

          Thus, my Dad volunteered to manage a team in the spring of 1980. League President George Andrews gave him a choice of two open squads and he chose the one that had the worst record that previous year (1-17!), as it meant he'd be entitled to the first selection in the draft of boys who were now coming up from the minor leagues. His good friend Ken and my Uncle John also signed on as coaches. As his son, I was moved from the roster of Broadway Restaurant to my new team, the squad led by Bob Burghardt and sponsored by the Aurora Police.

          Dad and his coaches selected a boy named Randy with that #1 selection. He turned out to be one of the best pitchers in the league and he arrived on the scene with quite a splash: In our very first game Randy retired all 18 of the batters he faced, winning it with a perfect game.

          In our third game of the year we played a team in our division, sponsored by Aurora National Bank. We lost the game 3-2, but we only lost one other game up until the game of my life (ironically, to my old team, Broadway Restaurant). So come late in the season, our record stood at 13-2. I was having the season of my life (batting around .450) and loving baseball as much as I ever have before or since. We were in second place with the league's second best record (no wild cards in those days!), two games behind the only undefeated squad in the league. That was the very team that had defeated us earlier and was now next up on our schedule. Aurora National Bank's record stood at 15-0, and they had the best and hardest throwing pitcher I had ever seen. His name was Scott Younger.

          If you're a baseball fan around my age you surely remember Houston Astros right hander J.R. Richard. He was African American,  tall, lanky, and threw extremely hard in his prime. Simply put, Younger was his 12 year old clone.

          When we played ANB that first time, neither side had any idea how good the other team was and in turn, neither manager chose to have his ace pitch in the game. This upcoming game was different however. There was no doubt that this game would see arguably the league's two best pitchers square off: Randy vs. Scott for the full six innings.

          I was the first baseman in that game. During the pre game warm ups I noticed the stands were full, but that wasn't unusual. What took me aback was the fact that there were people lined up all along the fences that ran around the entire course of the field. I had never seen anything like it, not even when I attended the previous season's championship game. It struck me at that moment that this was the biggest game of my life.

          We were the home team for the contest and I was batting in my customary #5 spot in the order. After Randy retired ANB easily in the top of the first, I stood in the dugout and watched as Younger took his warm up pitches from the rubber. His height added to the intimidation, as his long stride gave the illusion that he was practically standing halfway between the mound and home when he released that lethal fastball. To this day, I've never been in such awe of an athlete in my life.

          When I came to bat in the second inning, the score was still 0-0. When I arrived at home plate I immediately moved to the white line chalked into the dirt at the far back portion of the box. Dad instructed me to move back even more, and as I inched back the umpire put a halt to my rearward movement by dragging his foot through the dirt in a straight line that now clearly defined the furthest portion of the box. It wasn't nearly far enough back to put me at ease.

          I struck out on four pitches, swinging late with each of my three cuts. The same thing happened when I came to bat to lead off the bottom of the fifth. Two batters after my strikeout the side was retired in the frame and the score remained 0-0. Each team had just one hit as we proceeded to the sixth inning.

          During infield warm ups in the top of the sixth I paused and looked around once again. Arguably the two best teams with the two best pitchers were locked in a scoreless game that was a must win for my side, with my Dad and countless others in attendance. That very moment, as I looked around and surveyed the scene, was the single most exciting point of my athletic career. Even at 12 years old, I knew this was as special as baseball would ever be for me.

          ANB managed to get a runner to second base with two outs in the top of the sixth. The next batter hit a sharp grounder in the hole between first and second and I dived to my right to stab it, but I was a half second too late. The ball went under my glove and out to right field, where the outfielder hesitated before throwing the ball home. The runner scored from second and we now trailed, 1-0.

          The storybook ending to this story would see me step up and smash a two run homer off the greatest Little League pitcher I'd ever see. I'd win the game with the clout and send my teammates and coaches into hysterics! In reality, I'd never get that chance.

          Younger mowed down our final three hitters, striking out the side and putting the finishing touches on a masterful one hit shutout, complete with 15 strikeouts. Aurora National Bank won, 1-0. I was in tears because we were now mathematically eliminated. I was in tears because this game of all games in my life was now history.

          It's now 34 years later. The tears I shed now are not because we lost. Today's tears are a result of the wonderful and vivid memories that came from the greatest game of my life. I cherish them.

I can only hope these memories remain firmly implanted in my mind.

Forever.