The Rapid City Game

At my house it's simply referred to as 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.  Temps 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.

We hadn't played all that impressively in the tournament's early games and we bottomed-out on July 1st when we were no-hit by El Segundo, CA.  The ride back to the College Inn was incredibly quiet, to say the least.  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.  We left the hotel and made our way to Fitzgerald Stadium.  I had seen this little ballpark from a bluff overlooking the field back in 1991.  At the time I wondered who played there.  And before you knew it, I was coaching there only 14 months later.  It's a beautiful little place. 

I had prepared for the game more than I had for any game in my life as a coach.  I had stopped to see our opponents 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.  
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 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. 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.  My pitcher 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.

In the fourth inning my center fielder 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 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.

So it was a tight game at 1-0 as the pitcher's duel was on.  My guy was throwing bbs and so was theirs.  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 was received well by the team and got the team 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.  

My leadoff hitter grounded to short for the first out.  The next hitter 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 was up next and he hit a single to center to put two runners on.  Now the gears start working overtime in my head. I call for my first pinch runner and insert him in at first.  My next batter is my catcher.  My catcher who can hit well but is the only player on my team whom I can beat in a foot race.  

He hits a fly ball to the right fielder, 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 he got ahead of himself as he tried to make that double-play too quickly.  That is why 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.

Now at bat is my first baseman was due up next. My heart is beating quickly in anticipation of what happens next.  I instruct my runner on third that we are going to tag up on a fly ball.  

On the very first pitch the batter strokes the ball toward the alley.  I know that the run will score after the ball is caught on the fly. But I quickly realize that the ball is carrying much farther that 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 separating my own shoulder.  Two runs score and the third runner gets into a rundown.  The rundown gets botched and the third run scores.  I get greedy here and send the batter who is now just past third.  The rundown ends with the batter being called out at home.  I was bummed but my thoughts immediately moved to the fact that we were now ahead 3-1! 

I will always remember running back to the coaching box, stopping, tipping my head back and screaming, "I LOVE THIS GAME!" as loudly as I could. 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.

In 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 originally thought about going the way of Herb Brooks from 1980.  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.

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. 
On Sunday morning I tried to buy every copy of the 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 matte 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 we lost one of them to an automobile accident only 5 years later.

I'm hoping to put together a reunion next year to commemorate the 20th anniversary of my greatest coaching moment.  Because moments like this one can't be re-lived too often.