by Thomas Fischer
Thinking back on all of my memories of playing baseball, I think my most favorite memory is of one sunny summer afternoon in August of 1984. The year 1984 has a tremendous amount of significance in my life for a multitude of reasons mostly having to do with baseball, but not all. That year our church was having mission festival on this day in August and I cannot remember for sure who was there as visiting pastor but I believe it may have been Pastor Hintz. At any rate we, my family and I, went to church on Sunday morning as we always did, and then after church we had a potluck dinner and sat and visited with everyone. This is an annual event at our church when we invite another pastor from our Protestant Conference to preach for this special Sunday service.
After dinner was over and we children were playing all around the church grounds my cousin Ron came up to me and asked me if I wanted to go play ball in Merrill with his Pony League team. I think in modern times Pony League is called either Mickey Mantle League or Cal Ripken Jr. League but I am not sure. They were one player short for their tournament game that day. Well my first reaction was HELL YEAH! But then reality sank in and I realized I needed to go and ask my parents if I could go and play with the team. I had played Little League Baseball for four years already and I was looking forward to playing Pony League the next summer. Little did I know at the time that the next spring the Marion Township Recreation Committee, it probably had a different name in 1984, would be changing the age requirements and birth date deadlines to play in all of their leagues from Pony League to Little League to Tee Ball. I would have to remain in Little League for an unprecedented 5th season because my birthday was on July 9, a full 10 days after the cutoff point for moving up to Pony League.
When my parents told me that I could go I was as happy as a puppy with two peters. I grabbed my glove and raced toward the waiting car with my cousin and his friend inside. We barreled down Merrill Road on our way to my biggest game ever. I was added to the lineup as the right fielder and batted ninth. The coach didn't think too highly of my worth despite the fact that I had lead my Little League with four homers and a batting average of somewhere in the .600's. I was a rookie in this bigger game where the bases were 30 feet farther apart than in Little League and the pitcher's mound is a full 60 feet 6 inches from home plate. With pitchers bringing their fastball a good 20-MPH faster, I am guessing, than any pitching I had ever seen, I was a bit nervous. My new team got off to a good start in the first inning scoring three runs. There was no more scoring until the 6th inning when the other team scored twice and had a runner on second base with two outs. After walking the next two batters the coach replaced our starting pitcher with my cousin who threw pretty fast. I know he threw fast because I had batted against him many times and his fastball always seemed to zip by me.
After taking his warm-up pitches Ron signaled to the Umpire that he was ready and the game resumed with us leading by one run in the bottom of the sixth inning and two outs with the bases juiced for our opponents. The first pitch was blown past the batter, who if I remember right looked like he was only 10 years old. The second pitch likewise went by him as he swung the bat very late. We were all excited by the prospect of getting out of this huge jam still with a one run lead. The next pitch the batter just barely got a piece of and fouled the ball out of the catchers mitt. On the pitch once again the batter got a piece fouling it off to the right side of the field and out of playing landing somewhere on the hood of a parked car in the lot next to the field. I can well imagine these days something like that setting off a car alarm but back in 1984 in Merrill, Michigan someone having a car alarm installed on their vehicle was about as remote a chance as Martians landing on the lawn of the White House.
At this point Ron stepped off the mound and grabbed the rosin bag to dry his hand off while the third base coach for the other team gave a shortened pep talk to the batter. Everything being put back into place we were ready for another 0-2 pitch. Seeing that the batter had been late on every swing I repositioned myself about 10 feet closer to home plate and slightly to my left toward the first baseline in right field. As I looked into the diamond the ball was just leaving Ron's hand and headed quickly for homeplate. I can still hear the tink of the bat in the back of my mind as the ball came screaming out to shallow right field. The second baseman raced back toward me trying to chase the ball down as I ran as fast as I could toward him tracking the ball all the way. I distinctly remember the sound of his footsteps closing in on me as I came closer to the falling sphere. I slid as if I was trying to beat a throw at home plate, feet first, and reached my glove to my left side where I thought the ball was going. I looked down and saw the ball land softly in my glove as the second baseman dove over top of my head narrowly missing me with his size 12 metal cleat.
I had saved the game in the moment and didn't think much of it. I got to bat in the top half of the seventh inning after having walked and grounded out to the shortstop in my first two trips to the plate. There was a runner on third with one out as I stepped into the batter's box for the third time. I took two balls outside and swung and missed on the third pitch. Facing a 2-1 count after having seen his fastball three straight times I figured he would throw me a curve inside. I yanked the pitch that I had anticipated foul over the head of the coach standing near third base. So now with a 2-2 count I was desperately trying not to strike out. I wanted to get that runner home from third so we had an extra run for breathing room. The thought of a bunt crossed my mind but as I had two strikes I didn't want to chance fouling it off for strike three. I guessed the pitch once again as it screamed toward home plate, a fastball away, I swung as hard as I could sending the ball to right center field. I started jogging down the base path trying to determine if I had hit a home run or a long out.
As I watched the two outfielders tracking down the ball I picked up my pace thinking maybe they would not get to the ball I had just drilled. As I rounded first base I looked over to pick up the third base coach and saw the runner on third standing on the base preparing to tag up. Then I glanced back toward the outfield where the centerfielder had just caught the ball I hit reaching over the fence to get it. I was ROBBED I thought as my sprint slowed to a walk. The ball just then whizzed past my head, thrown by the fielder toward home plate. "Safe!” yelled the ump. I was happy again because I realized my long out had just given us the insurance run we needed to win the game. As it turned out in the seventh that run was very much needed. Ron gave up a double to left on the first pitch and then another two batters later scoring a run for the other team to make it a 4-3 game. Ron struck out the final batter to clinch the tournament win.
Thinking back on that play I made to help save that game it was the single greatest moment for me out of all of my baseball memories and I have had some good memories of our national past time. Later that summer my beloved Detroit Tigers won the World Series. That was perhaps the best baseball year in my life and one that I will never forget as long as I live.