Thursday, April 23 – Blue Mountain Association: Leona Libby MS @ Garrison MS (8th grade)
Every big idea starts from some sort of little spark. Something that crosses one’s mind and begins to take hold. For many of these ideas, nothing ever comes of it. In the case of Last Time By, well, you are watching it unfold before your eyes.
But where did the idea come from? It turns out that spark came from a blissful moment on a warm July night in the stands of Borleske Stadium in Walla Walla, Washington. I had been invited to come as a visiting umpire for an 18U (18 and under, for those familiar with the parlance) tournament. After a full day of working games I relaxed under the lights, reveling in the experience. For decades I worked all over King County and, while I enjoyed it, I yearned to see some new sights. Wouldn’t it be fun to just travel all over the state and work teams and ball fields in every area? The idea continued to grow until it became too big to contain. That was over ten years ago. This was the culmination.
I ended up in Walla Walla at the invitation of one of my best buddies, Tom. Everyone has (or at least should have) that one person that knows all your stories and has possible been in many of them, and makes sure that they get told. For me, it’s Tom. We went through all sorts of adventures together in college in after. We went through the same major together at Oregon (Parks and Recreation), graduated at the same time, were best man at each other’s weddings, were there for each other when these marriages crumbled, and continued our friendship for a half century. Tom decided to hang up officiating at the same time I did, although less ceremoniously. I’m glad he stuck around to be there for my tour.
My car (with a little help from Google Maps and my own faulty decision-making process) assured that our visit would generate yet another of our legendary tales. As I passed through Ritzville, which was about the halfway point between Kettle Falls and Walla Walla, my gas indicator told me that I had a good 60 miles more than the remaining distance. When I stopped to grab some Gatorade I bypassed filling the tank, knowing I could refuel in Walla Walla.
What happened next was the product of two factors: I told Google to place me on the fastest route to Walla Walla, and my “gas miles remaining calculator” did not factor in the fact that I was tugging along a thousand pound trailer. As I wound my way through what were surely some desolate roads (the only sight I encountered was the haunting flashing of dozens of red lights atop the windmills along the route) I watched the “gas miles remaining” creeping quickly closer to the “actual miles remaining.” About fives miles outside of Walla Walla the two met, and eventually the “gas miles remaining” disappeared altogether.
Unfortunately, there was nothing I could do about it. The route came nowhere close to anything remotely resembling a town, and I held my breath the final few miles into town. I saw the lights getting closer and closer, and knew that I was barely a mile away from the first gas station. That’s when it happened – I ran out of gas.
Right outside the gate of the state penitentiary. I kid you not.
So there I sit, in a vehicle parked outside the gate of THE state prison, with a trailer at back. Nothing suspicious here!
I quickly called Tom and explained the situation. I was fortunate that I was close enough to town to where a) Tom did not have far to go, and b) I was able to have a signal to call him. He raced out with a two gallon container of gas, got me refueled enough to get the heck out of dodge, and I made the final few miles to Tom’s house.
Naturally, I never heard the end of it. And everyone we encountered was regaled with the tale as well. A typical Tom and Tim mishap.
When I woke up the next morning Tom informed me that the rains from the previous day wiped out all the originally scheduled games, so the only thing available was an 8th grade contest. I was decidedly less than thrilled, but a school game is a school game, and this was my only window to work Walla Walla. Besides, as long as I was working with Tom it would be fun, so I was good to go.
Tom asked that I take the plate, which I didn’t mind. It was my third plate game in a row but I actually enjoy putting on the gear and calling pitches. The pregame was all laughs and stories, and while I was prepared for the game not to be very good, I was prepared to have fun. As with the gas mileage calculator, my estimation was way short.
The game was better than I expected. Much, much better.
Garrison (the home team) jumped to a 2-0 lead in the bottom of the 1st inning and looked prepared to run away with it. Libby tightened down, however, and we got through the first three innings in relatively short order. In the bottom of the fourth Libby brought in a new pitcher who absolutely pounded the zone. In the top of the fifth he knocked an RBI, and suddenly it was 2-1. Libby had a leadoff triple in the top of the seventh that came in to score, so off to extra innings we went. I was having such a good time that I didn’t mind the free baseball.
At some point around the fifth or so the visiting coach asked to talk to me. He was a polite, young man, so I didn’t expect that there was any trouble. It turned out quite the opposite – he wanted to let me know that he and his kids were not used to an accurate, consistent strike zone! He thanked me for doing such a good job, and that only reinforced what I told Tom on the way on the field – this was, for us, the most important game on the face of the planet. A parent overheard that conversation and thanked us for having that attitude. I believe the baseball gods rewarded us with the way the game unfolded.
The visitors tacked on one more run in the top of the eighth, thanks to yet another RBI by the pitcher (who was still throwing really well). The leadoff batter for Garrison hit a dribbler right in front of home plate, which the catcher air mailed over the first baseman’s head. Unfortunately, this was because the batter-runner was running well in fair territory. I called runner’s lane interference. Instead of having the tying run on second with no outs, Garrison now had no runners with one out. Garrison’s coach politely asked me where his runner was running, and I pointed out that it was clearly outside the runner’s lane, he was clearly in the path of the throw, and this was a point of emphasis this year. He gritted his teeth but thanked me for explaining. Libby’s pitcher blew past the next two batters, and it was all over.
3-2, eight innings, still under two hours. An absolute gem of a game.
It was only fitting that the town in which this tour first became a dream would deliver up the biggest surprise. Once again, jumping to conclusions does not constitute suitable exercise. Tom and I strolled back to the car, at once reveling in the game and mulling the possibility that this is probably one of the last times we walk off the field together.
We hit the local watering hole for a post-game pint, then off to a burger joint for dinner. All the while we talked about past stories, our current loves and lives, and looked forward to a couple of months ahead where we are scheduled to work the state all-stars game together. My friends Shu (from the Skagit game) and Steve (the third of my “best buddy” trio) will gather for the ultimate farewell to the game. It will be glorious.
