My sisters were up from LA for my dad’s funeral a week ago, now they’re on their way back down south. For a few occasions, the entire family was on hand. I feel very fortunate that my family is so close knit and close by – 4 of us live within a couple freeway exits of each other.
When we were much younger, dad used to take us to A’s games on family night when tickets were half price. I soon discovered family night on my own, a night where the money saved on admission was spent primarily on beer, it made for some memorable times.
Wednesday night was the eve of my wife Mary Ann’s birthday, and Suzanne suggested celebrating it at the ballpark, since everyone was in town. Only it wasn’t the Oakland Coliseum this time, no, it was Laber Field (Owen Jones), and it truly was Laber Field on this particular evening. My entire family (with the exception of my own kids!) was on hand for a night of playoff softball. First some background: a couple years back, Mariano asked if I’d be interested in playing on his men’s league team, comprised historically of guys whose daughters played fast pitch softball in the local league (originally Bobbysox, which then became OGSL). I couldn’t say no, the games were played at my neighborhood park, the last time I’d played in a league there was on a co-rec team in the summer of 2001. In my first game with the Dads Club, we beat the other team by about 15 runs and I’m thinking, it sure feels good to play again.
Now our team, the Dads Club, has had our share of ups and downs, but regardless of outcomes, this is a group of guys that just plain enjoys playing ball. We’ve crushed teams as many times as we’ve been crushed. We’ve scratched out wins, we’ve given up winning runs at the end when we were certain that we’d come out on top. A few faces are bound to change from season to season, but the core (or what I recognize as the core over the last couple years) remains loyal.
By virtue of finishing the season in second place, we played the third seed team in the playoffs in a 6:45 start. The Base Hitters are a talented group, they hammered us about a month ago down at Allendale park, we returned the favor just about a week ago. We figured that they were out for blood this time, they were taking infield and BP 45 minutes before we started. But not all their team showed on time, we had all ours at the field by 6:30, they had a couple straggling in close to 7pm – in light of playoffs, the umpires were pretty lenient with the forfeit rule.
So with my mom, sisters and nephew in the stands, nieces hanging out and watching the young ones, my brother playing first base and nephew in right field, there was a real nice feeling that settled in over the park as the sun slowly set beyond the trees on the third base side, and beyond that, over the bay on a beautiful summer evening. In my first at bat I hit a ball over the left field fence to put us ahead 2-0. I usually don’t consciously try hitting home runs, I just try to hit the ball hard and if it goes, it goes. It wasn’t until after I made it back to the dugout that I started thinking about my dad and how he used to come see Mark and I play Little League, then even as adults if the field was convenient. I suppose the standard thing for big leaguers is to cross home plate and point to the sky in tribute to a loved one, but I missed my chance and would have felt funny anyway – after all, this is just Oakland rec league softball. Miserable hack night as I fondly call it.
The lead changes hands, we’re back on top and close them out in their final at bat, game over. So we sit around, eat some Church’s chicken (Suzanne had arranged food for the family) and patiently wait our turn to see who we play in the championship game at 9:15. CC Company jumps out to a big lead, their third baseman yanks a huge homer about half way up the hill in right field, and the tone is set. The Dogs scratched out some runs and made it somewhat respectable, but still lost by about 10. I could sense that a couple of our guys were getting nervous, but on this night I was relaxed and ready to simply go out there and play – let it be a game. Earlier in the week I’d told Mariano that I probably wouldn’t play, I’d developed some swelling in my right knee and the ice, rest and ibuprofen hadn’t really helped yet. Wednesday afternoon I called him again and told him I’d be good to go, but maybe he should be available by phone just in case we needed him to run up there.
By now the Laber family is gone, except for Mark, Nils and myself. Jennifer is there with Piper and Gigi, Taylor Warman is hanging tough and that’s all we have watching from our side, a far cry from the number we had attending the early game. CC puts a couple balls over the fence and in the second inning they’re up 10-1. We gave them too many outs in the first couple innings, it should have been closer, but they’d still have been up by about 5.
The sign of a great team – no, let me rephrase that – the sign of a team on a great night is that they refuse to quit. We had a few shut down innings, played improved defense (Nils made an incredible shoe top catch in right) and were aided by the fact that CC had to play 2 in a row, while we earned a rest during the middle game. Whatever the case, we hung in there, scratched out a couple here and there and found ourselves within striking distance in our last at bat with the top of the order coming up.
When your leadoff batter delivers, you are buoyed with confidence. Blaze started us off with a single and Dan (years ago shunned by the CC team and his fellow parishioners) followed with a hit of his own. Gary looped one into short right along the line to score a run and there are runners on for Mike, our legitimate power threat. I’m thinking, this is time for Mikey to hit one out. But instead he singles and drive in another, comes around to score the tying run on Mitch’s single. Now it’s up to Nils to keep things alive, but perhaps in anxiety, he hits a grounder to the left side of the infield, forcing Mitch at second for the first out.
My turn. I wanted nothing more than to hit one out right then and there. Their pitcher likes to work fast and I’m sure he’d quick-pitch me if I wasn’t paying attention, hoping to sneak a strike past me. My ritual is to fill in the holes in the batters box with one foot out, then keep an eye on him until I’m ready to step in. Down the lines at Jones are the deepest parts of the park, I’m thinking that the ball has lost a little bounce and my best shot is center field. His very first pitch was right where I’d been looking for it, but instead of lofting it (which probably would have resulted in a fly out) I hammered a slicing line drive to right that took the right fielder on an unexpected visit to the corner – they were playing me to pull, my last time up I froze the left fielder for a double to the fence. As I’m rounding first, I see the blur that is Nils out of the corner of my eye, streaking for home, easily beating the throw.
Ball game.
We hung at the park for a short while, all the guys from CC were in their cars in scant minutes. Mariano was there to stake claim to the trophy, there was much joy among those who lingered around the first base bleachers. Mark, Nils, Mitch, Dan and Gary came by the house ever so briefly, as Mark sat in the driveway waiting to cart Nils off, we agreed, this one’s for pops.