Summer of 2016 was an emotional year. I just graduated, finished my high school baseball career on the eve of my final day of class. It felt like a dream. Baseball left a sour taste in my mouth. We lost 2-1. The problem wasn’t really that we lost. We weren’t even expected to play three playoff games. We were the 14th seeded team in the tournament.
Opening on the road, we jumped on St. Peter quickly. Under cloudy skies we scored five runs in the top of the first inning. Our entire lineup went to the plate. I was the fifth hitter. Dempsey Tucker scalded the ball, plating one run, but he hit the ball so hard, the runner on first only made it to second base. I had a great view from the on-deck circle.
Coming to the plate I felt the pressure. This was the most important at-bat in my high school career. The first pitch was a fastball, on the outside corner. Strike one. Following the fastball, St. Peter’s ace tossed a nasty curveball, starting belt high and ending in the dirt. Whiff, strike two. What followed I will never truly understand. Maybe the pitcher was thinking I wouldn’t swing at another curve ball or that I couldn’t touch his fastball. He was wrong. The next pitch was a belt-high pitch on the outside corner. It looked like a beach ball when I swung.
Bam! The ball went whizzing in the air to the left field corner. There was no one there. Off with the crack of the bat, I could hear Coach Paukert screaming, “Go! Go!” all the time swinging his arms looking like a crazy man. It was a beautiful sight, but I couldn’t enjoy it for long. I had to run! And run I did. All the way to second base. Both runners came around to score. I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dempsey, or anyone for that matter, as excited as he was in that moment.
I wouldn’t have to wait long to see those emotions again. It was the bottom of the 7th, with St. Peter down to its final out and two runners on. Dripping rain was turning to a downpour; there were no lights for the field and the stormy, cloudy sky made it hard to see. It felt like we were in a movie and it looked like it was black and white. Runners were on first and second. Both reached via walk at different points in the inning. Ball one was in the dirt. The next pitch hit the backstop.
With runners on second and third, a 2-0 count and rain coming down, the game felt a little different than the other three times we walked off that season. Strike one, knee high and away from the right-handed batter. We got squeezed all night. Ball three was high and away. The count was 3-1 and Dempsey was in danger of loading the bases. Strike two was quickly pitched, almost in the identical spot as the first strike. The count was now full.
If Dempsey threw another one in the dirt or over the head of the catcher, we were done for. After the first inning, St. Peter’s ace settled in and was virtually untouchable. The next pitch I will never forget. It was an inside pitch and the right-handed hitter swung. Jammed. The ball went into the Bermuda triangle, but Dempsey must have been watching old Twins games from the ‘60s the night before, because was a Kaat. He pounced off the mound like the 16-time gold winner and fielded it cleanly. His next pitch would not miss. A perfect strike to my waiting mitt at first base.
The game was finally over. Writing this column I am overcome with the same emotions I felt for the first time that day. I did my best Kent Hrbek impersonation after catching the ball, jumping in the air, we felt like world champions. Baseball, or any sport, can bring people together who didn’t always get along or agree with each other, but have a common interest. By doing this we create memories and bonds that people don’t find anywhere else. I will never forget that day, and I will never forget my teammates. We were more than just people who all like to play baseball, we were family.