Our weekend visit to the Mercer Bears up in Macon, Georgia included a heavy dose of Creedance Clearwater Revival. Most of our guys were unaware of just what John Fogerty was singing about in some of those old songs. Somehow History of Rock never discussed Fortunate Son and Who’ll Stop the Rain, both dealing with the Vietnam War. Listen to the first and remember that the war in Southeast Asia was mostly fought by those young men who couldn’t afford to be in college and receive a college deferment like yours truly, or didn’t have the political connections to obtain a draft deferment, as did others. Young men died in great numbers defending a way of life which had no safety net to protect the ones sent to die.

Unlike the metaphor used in the song for the bombing of Vietnam, the rain that concerned me in Macon was falling heavily on the Mercer baseball field.

We were in the second game of our doubleheader and one strike away from a three game sweep and a second place finish in the regular season. One strike away, with a runner at first base, and an unbelievable last inning comeback which had us in the catbird seat.

Suddenly, behind the Mercer bullpen, I saw the biggest lighting bolt in my fifty-three years on this earth. Robbie Widlansky later said that the hair on his arms stood up at third base. The third base umpire was frantically trying to get the plate ump to suspend play and hightail it out of there.

After a few minutes in the dugouts, we were ordered to evacuate to the gym behind third base. Yes, the same third base where the mother of all bolts had just landed. I have to admit that I was frantically trying to reach the Good Lord on His cell phone. That sixty yards to the safe harbor of the gym seemed like six hundred.

Once we were safely cocooned inside, my thoughts turned to the situation. Looking out the door, I saw the rain begin. As it increased and the parking lot filled with a sheet of water, I felt I was watching our season flowing down those drains.

We had entered the top of the seventh trailing by a run. After one out, Anthony Albano pinch hit a check swing dribbler to third base for what looked like a sure second out. But as Bano raced for first, the Mercer third baseman bobbled the ball and Anthony was the tying run safely aboard first base.

We had changed our lineup on Friday night. Jeff Fiorentino had batted third for fifty-three consecutive games, but we moved him into the leadoff spot. He joked that he was there to give us a spark, so naturally, from that point he was called “Sparky. Jeff responded by not getting a base hit in Friday night’s 20 – 7 blowout, but had a double and an apparent game-winning home run in Saturday’s first game. He was swinging a hot bat and was our last best hope.

The crack of his bat rivaled the thunderclap that followed, and the ball sailed over the scoreboard in rightfield putting us back on top and poised to finish in second place. Three outs to get, fire up the bus, and get us to the Longhorn Steakhouse.

Which brings us back to Zeus and his thunderbolt.

I left the gym and joined the Mercer coaches in their dugout as the rain steadily fell, soaking the field that lay untarped. If it stopped soon, they assured me it would drain. But if anything heavy came through, we were dead in the water. By baseball rules, an inning doesn’t count as having been played unless the home team is winning or completes its time at bat if trailing. If the inning isn’t completed, Sparky’s homer and the two runs are erased and we would lose.

The umpires joined us and asked for our input. I thought this was a nice gesture. It was likely that they were more interested in Coach Gibson’s opinion on how the field would likely recover, but I Iobbied our case like an oil company rep in the halls of Congress. The umpire in chief said they would return in ten minutes with their decision. Decision? I’d wait until 11 pm if necessary, but they just kind of looked at me funny and went back to the gym.

By the time they got to the gym, the rain started to slow. A few minutes later it stopped. I heard birds singing and saw a beautiful red Cardinal land on the backstop net. We have Cardinals in our backyard. I took it as a sign. Didn’t Noah send Cardinals out from the Ark? Maybe they were Owls?

Right on time, the umpires headed back to the field. They passed Coach McCormack en route, and ignored his optimistic comment about the weather appearing to clear. Mac took a shortcut and beat them to the field. “They’re gonna bang it. I know it.”

At the leftfield entrance they suddenly stopped. I watch them talking and looking at the sky. The jury thought it was in, but it wasn’t. The verdict was about to change. As the coaches and umpires gathered together, I wasn’t man enough to look at the crew chief. He took a breath, I couldn’t breathe, and said they had decided to wait a half hour. If the lighting was gone, Mercer could begin preparing the field and we would continue the game. Unload the Ark, we’ve got a chance!

At 8:45pm, Craig Hughes took over for Alan Knight and threw a knee buckling curveball. Ball one, said the umpire. Eventually he said ball four, and the tying run was at second, the winning run on first. Mercer’s best hitter stepped in the batter’s box. Hughes fired a 90mph fastball that Mercer’s Hurst fouled straight back. He had taken one of the hardest swings I had seen that weekend. George Roig and I looked at each other, knowing that if he had connected, the ball might have landed in South Carolina.

Let’s try a curveball.

The count ran to 2 – 2 and Craig snapped one off. Hurst took it. The ump banged it! Strike three!

Game over.

It was dark, but I thought I saw a rainbow. 

KC

(photo courtesy of FAU Media Relations Office)