CHAPTER 4 Opening Night
There are certain memories that stay with you long after they've taken place. They hang around like a clingy girlfriend - always there, just waiting for something better to come along and replace them. Opening Night of my first J's season as manager is one of these memories. There was an electric current in the air and the smell of beer and stale urine in the dugout.
I remember driving to the stadium hours before the game and was surprised that two players were already there: the brothers Quinn. Darren told me that he needed at least 1,000 pitches to get warm and Kevin explained that he liked to get the feel of the grass he'd be diving on to make catches in left field.
I had experienced many Opening Nights in my career, but this was certain to be the most special. I spent weeks rehearsing my pre-game pep talk. I paced endlessly in front of the mirror, making countless minor changes to what I would say.
Moments before the game, I called the team to the dugout to deliver my masterpiece. Brett was the last to make it over, as he was on the phone. Just as I was opening my mouth to speak, he hit the speaker button on his phone and the voice of Paul Farinacci, half a world away, addressed the team. He gave a passionate speech consisting of the following themes: World War II, Asians, the J's history against the Shizz, and the Ohio State fight song (in that order).
I felt like Lieutenant Dan, robbed of my chance to be a hero and left crippled in the wake of another's decision to intervene. With a single phone call, Paul Farinacci had created a house divided. The ripple effect of this action would be felt for two years, before eventually boiling over into an off-season controversy that would end my career.
We took the field and delivered one of the most impressive offensive performances in J's history, with all 10 players having at least two hits, resulting in 17 runs. It was an easy victory, 17-7, and I was immensely proud to win my first game out.
After the game I noticed Kevin Quinn sitting alone in the dugout, tears in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong he said, "I'm conflicted coach. Beating up on an Asian team like that, with none of their women in the stands to see me hit two home runs and drive in 6. Such a waste. I just don't know. Maybe I watched too much Band of Brothers last night."
I reassured him by letting him know that we'd play them two more times that year, leaving him plenty of chances to impress their Asian girlfriends. As I was packing up my things, I happened to notice Lee Rosen and Sean Djernes whispering to each other in a dark corner of the parking lot. I figured Sean was simply asking for some gambling advice regarding Kansas and the over under on total assists in the first four minutes of the second half. I distinctly remember noticing that Sean was skinny, his 150 pound frame shivering in the the chilly Santa Monica night air. Looking back on what this conversation would lead to, I wish I had decided right then and there to walk over and see what they were really talking about.
As I walked to my car, I happened to overhear Brett Spaulding, who was on the phone again, one of his dozen daily calls to Italy. He was saying, "Great speech Paul. You really inspired the guys tonight, got us motivated. We just wanted to win one for you and can't wait for you to get back."
Dejected, I got into my car (a 2000 Camry with an as-yet to be explained sticky gas pedal) and headed home. We had one my first game as manager, but I couldn't help but feel that something had been lost.
I remember driving to the stadium hours before the game and was surprised that two players were already there: the brothers Quinn. Darren told me that he needed at least 1,000 pitches to get warm and Kevin explained that he liked to get the feel of the grass he'd be diving on to make catches in left field.
I had experienced many Opening Nights in my career, but this was certain to be the most special. I spent weeks rehearsing my pre-game pep talk. I paced endlessly in front of the mirror, making countless minor changes to what I would say.
Moments before the game, I called the team to the dugout to deliver my masterpiece. Brett was the last to make it over, as he was on the phone. Just as I was opening my mouth to speak, he hit the speaker button on his phone and the voice of Paul Farinacci, half a world away, addressed the team. He gave a passionate speech consisting of the following themes: World War II, Asians, the J's history against the Shizz, and the Ohio State fight song (in that order).
I felt like Lieutenant Dan, robbed of my chance to be a hero and left crippled in the wake of another's decision to intervene. With a single phone call, Paul Farinacci had created a house divided. The ripple effect of this action would be felt for two years, before eventually boiling over into an off-season controversy that would end my career.
We took the field and delivered one of the most impressive offensive performances in J's history, with all 10 players having at least two hits, resulting in 17 runs. It was an easy victory, 17-7, and I was immensely proud to win my first game out.
After the game I noticed Kevin Quinn sitting alone in the dugout, tears in his eyes. When I asked him what was wrong he said, "I'm conflicted coach. Beating up on an Asian team like that, with none of their women in the stands to see me hit two home runs and drive in 6. Such a waste. I just don't know. Maybe I watched too much Band of Brothers last night."
I reassured him by letting him know that we'd play them two more times that year, leaving him plenty of chances to impress their Asian girlfriends. As I was packing up my things, I happened to notice Lee Rosen and Sean Djernes whispering to each other in a dark corner of the parking lot. I figured Sean was simply asking for some gambling advice regarding Kansas and the over under on total assists in the first four minutes of the second half. I distinctly remember noticing that Sean was skinny, his 150 pound frame shivering in the the chilly Santa Monica night air. Looking back on what this conversation would lead to, I wish I had decided right then and there to walk over and see what they were really talking about.
As I walked to my car, I happened to overhear Brett Spaulding, who was on the phone again, one of his dozen daily calls to Italy. He was saying, "Great speech Paul. You really inspired the guys tonight, got us motivated. We just wanted to win one for you and can't wait for you to get back."
Dejected, I got into my car (a 2000 Camry with an as-yet to be explained sticky gas pedal) and headed home. We had one my first game as manager, but I couldn't help but feel that something had been lost.
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