The Tourney

My Junior season, SMU Baseball, 1975

We started hearing rumors of a California trip as early as my freshman year, 1973. I am not sure I actually believed it until our schedule came out in early 1975. Not surprisingly, our pre-season roster ballooned to 30 players that spring. Finley had to fight guys off with a stick during tryouts. Then, of course, the fight was on for the travel team roster. Yes, ladies and gentlemen, in the spring of 1975, the Mustangs indeed took a trip to California to play in the prestigious Riverside Baseball Tournament. How did the Mustangs get invited to this tournament with such national powers as Stanford, Santa Clara, Arizona, Southern Illinois and Washington State? Well……um, nothing comes to mind. I have no clues whatsoever. Coach Finley must have pulled in a few extremely large favors or something.

The complete field of teams included UC Riverside (the host team), Cornell, and the aforementioned Arizona, Stanford, Santa Clara, Southern Illinois, and the Mustangs. We were no doubt an unknown quantity to the rest of the teams. I’m sure we garnered some respect for the simple reason we played in the Southwest Conference. I mean, in their minds, how bad could we be, right?

SMU’s California Tournament Roster:

PITCHERS: Jim “Hollywood” Warren, Ed “Easy Ed” Cantwell, Randy “Rookie” Johnson, Mike Hall, Jeff “Workhorse” Sage, John P. “J P” Schlensker, Tino Zaragoza

CATCHER: Bruce Gietzen (injured)

INFIELDERS: Jack “Pandy” Speake, Don “Smoke” Jarma, Mike “Jake” Jaccar, Gene “Snake” Hanson, Ron “Hubie” Ridlehuber

OUTFIELDERS: Jeff Johnson, Mark “Hambone” Hammond, Dudley “Dud” Parker, John “Billy Goat” Sagehorn, Rusty “Burk” Bourquein, Ted “Teddy Ballgame” Thompson

DH: John “Whale” Park

Coaches: Bob “H S” Finley, Jim Moffett

Prior to leaving Dallas, we all got the big lecture from Coach Finley about behaving ourselves, and representing our university with class and reasonably civil behavior. For the most part, I think we complied, although some of us wore leisure suits, pukka shell necklaces, and shiny flowery shirts on the plane. Does that count? In fact, Coach Finley warned us of a mythical “pre-paid” early plane ticket back to Dallas for anyone that did something really stupid during the tournament. It went un-used, fortunately.

For our better players, it would be a showcase. Scouts would be there. Mike Jaccar, John Sagehorn, Don Jarma and Ron Ridlehuber would garner some attention. Ironically, it would be someone a bit more unexpected that would have a monster tournament, and create the buzz for SMU that week. We would be without our starting catcher, Bruce Gietzen, who was injured. The position of catcher would be filled by a committee consisting of: utility man Jeff Johnson, first baseman Ron Ridlehuber and third baseman Don Jarma.

The accommodations for the players were in the form of volunteer families hosting groups of 2-4 players each. The only exceptions were the players whose parents accompanied the team to California. Upon arrival, Finley announced roommates. In his cosmic wisdom, I was paired with Tino Zaragoza. We were an unlikely duo to say the least. I was the conservative Midwesterner with the wide-eyed expression on my face most of the time. On the baseball field I was competitive, but I had always been taught not to let the hitters see any emotion, regardless of the circumstances. Tino, by contrast, was gregarious and demonstrative.  I can’t help but believe that I was paired with Tino as a safe companion, at least in part to assure that Finley didn’t have to use that extra ticket back to Dallas on him.

At the pre-tournament reception for players, Tino and I grabbed our bags and headed for the table with the family assignments. There was an envelope with our names on it, and inside was a slip of paper that said: “Mrs. B. Williams” and a phone number. We looked around for what we thought might be an older woman, possibly a widow? Instead, there was a 40ish looking woman, who introduced herself as an athletic staff member there at UC Riverside. “Mrs. B. Williams” turned out to be a divorced lady with a younger and very attractive roommate named Connie. They lived in a three bedroom apartment in what is best described as a well-kept large singles apartment complex near the campus. Hmm. Well, OK, let’s do this. After all, this is California and in the midst of the 1970’s. I cannot confess to any wild fantasies coming true for me that week, other than a few stimulating bikini-clad groups sipping mai-tai’s in the complex’s hot tub. I do remember, however, that Tino chose to sleep ‘on the couch’ in the apartment’s living room, so I had the guest room to myself. I also remember Tino and Connie spending a lot of time together. Tino’s smug expression told the rest of the story.

This was the ninth year for the Riverside National Intercollegiate Baseball Tournament. It had been generally cited as the best early season tournament in the country. Major leaguers Steve Dunning (Stanford), Dave Kingman (USC), Doug Howard (Brigham Young), Bump Wills (ASU) and Alan Bannister (ASU) had played there. Archie Manning of Ole Miss held the record for triples for the tournament. Other notable teams that had played in prior tournaments were Tennessee, USC, UCLA, Arizona State, Mississippi State, and Oklahoma.

At practice on Monday morning:

The Mustangs were comparing notes about the families to which each player had been assigned. The players’ stories were all over the map. The stories ranged from Tino’s and my swinging singles apartment arrangement to a doctor’s mansion on the side of a mountain overlooking Riverside, where the guys were able to take over what sounded like an upscale man-cave: a walkout basement with wet bar stocked with Olympia Beer, pool table, and their own entrance that opened to a pool area. The cute teen-aged daughter with friends using the pool was also a nice touch. Not particularly fair and equitable, but I guess neither is life for that matter.

Practice was just this side of heaven for us: Beautiful California sunshine, mountains in the background, and everyone in good spirits. There was the insistent ‘pinging’ of metal bats and good natured grab-ass shenanigans. There was palpable excitement in the air. Plans were being made to visit nearby Newport Beach, and Disneyland. Teammates rehearsing anticipated conversations in their heads with Major League Scouts. We were expecting tough baseball competition and the opportunity to measure our pitch repertoires against really good hitters and vice versa. We were looking forward to playing nationally ranked teams that weren’t obnoxious and wearing burnt orange. Even the surliest of players were smiling and sprinting after balls hit into the outfield. Coach Finley was more than a little giddy: a local sports reporter was there to interview him for a feature article. All the old stories spilled out like a fresh spring fountain: The Rose Bowl, the $85,000 Pass, TCU rival Sammy Baugh, the Phillies, and the old AFL. A new audience to a story teller of Coach Finley’s ilk had to be intoxicating. It was all good. It put a spring in everyone’s step.

There was the usual light banter: If someone swung and missed, you might hear, “It’s a long way to Omaha!” If someone hit a medium deep fly ball, “Go home, lift weights, come back next year!” If someone dropped a ball, “That’s OK, if you were any good you’d be at Texas!”

I sauntered up to Jeff Sage in the outfield and told him I wanted to hear (again) his memorized –18 minutes long– rendition of “Alice’s Restaurant Massacree” by Arlo Guthrie. (Yes, it is 18 minutes long, and yes, he memorized it. All of it. Every word.  It was a party trick on steroids). Delighted, Sage launches into it: “Now it all started two Thanksgivings ago, blah, blah, blah…” Nearby players cursed at me, and moved away quickly. I also walked away smirking, leaving Sage in mid-sentence. Sage sure knew how to clear a room!

UC Riverside:

The Mustangs showed up bright and early for their first game at Evans Park in Riverside to play the host squad, University of California-Riverside (UCR). I don’t remember much about the game, but the peripheral things-the bright sunshine, the luminescent green grass, the warm temperature, and the loud but respectful crowd—all of these remain in my memory. We lost 9-6, and I remember a competitive game. (UC-Riverside is the alma mater of former Cardinal and current Red Sox pitcher Joe Kelly!)

Cornell:

Our second game was against Cornell, an Ivy League school, and in theory, probably SMU’s best chance at a victory. The game proved that theory to be true. Tino started, and had one of his typical games. He never really dominated when he pitched, but he always seemed to pitch as well as he needed to give the Mustangs a chance. Cornell jumped on top 2-0 and added a run in the top of the third. SMU scored four in the bottom of the third, and it remained 4-3 going into the top of the ninth. Tino, tiring in the ninth, gave up three runs without recording an out, and left the game with SMU trailing 6-4. Finley decided he was done; he had scattered 12 hits, but only walked two and was a bulldog as usual. Finley brought in JP Schlensker to relieve Tino. JP stopped the bleeding by retiring the side. Then lightning struck as SMU then rallied in the bottom of the ninth to tie the game at 6-6 on a clutch, pinch-hit double by John “Whale” Park. Prior to this at-bat, Whale had been in a terrible slump, having struck out in 11 of his previous 13 at-bats. Meanwhile, JP was tough; after shutting off the Crimson Knights’ rally in the ninth inning, he blanked Cornell for the next three innings on two hits and no walks. This allowed the Mustangs to rally in the bottom of the twelfth for a walk-off win, 7-6. Jake Jaccar scored the winning run when Cornell’s shortstop pulled their catcher off home plate on a force play at home. The Mustangs made good use of its nine hits, and the hitting stars of the game were Huber and Burk, with two hits each. The 6’8” Burk also contributed in a large way with four RBI’s on a grand slam. His Herman Munster-like blast cleared a 25 foot high fence at 380 feet and ended up at a gas station across the street.

After our game, eight of us hit the road for Disneyland. JP, Warren, Sage, Pandy, Jeff Johnson, Dudley and I loaded up and headed to Anaheim. Warren was on a mission to meet Minnie. This was a reprise from my first trip in 1966 with my family. California has always been alluring to me. As a kid from the Midwest, I saw only the packaged, promoted side of California:  the surfing culture, the music.  Disneyland, always fresh-painted and updated, added to the allure. We must have regressed at least 10 years each on our trip to D-Land.

The next day, JP, pitching hero of the Cornell game, sidles up to me in the outfield before the game.

He said, “Man, my elbow is killing me!” He had a sheepish look on his face.

“So what?”

“We were up all night throwing darts.”

JP was one of the lucky ones staying in the mansion on the side of the mountain near Riverside. Apparently those nice accommodations included a professional grade dartboard. The mechanics of throwing darts are apparently very different from throwing a baseball, so much that it gave them all sore elbows.

Stanford:

Stanford, the class of the tournament, thrashed us on Wednesday. They got to our starter, Jeff Sage, early for 6 runs in the first three innings. Jim Warren relieved in the fourth inning and finished the game. Jim had a pretty good outing, yielding only 4 earned runs in 5 innings. Final score was 11-0. Mike Williamson, Stanford’s returning All-Pac8 senior stifled us on two hits, and had 13 strikeouts. Ugh.

Santa Clara:

I got to pitch against USC on Thursday night. No, not that USC. The University of Santa Clara Broncos. This team, from northern California played in the West Coast Athletic Conference. They had finished 38-17 the previous season, and with four returning seniors on their pitching staff, the Broncos were one of the tournament favorites. Their record coming in to the tournament was 17-5, and they were coming off an impressive 11-2 win over SIU Carbondale. The game did not start well. While we scored one in the top of the first, the Broncos came back with four in the bottom. Not good. We did battle in this one, however. I put a string of four zeroes for the next four innings, and going in to the bottom of the sixth, we were tied 4-4. Alas, the sixth inning was not kind to me and my Mustang teammates. The Broncos pushed across three more runs, and I got the hook with two outs. Mike Hall pitched next but didn’t fare any better. He finished the game, with the Mustangs losing by a final score of 12-5. The box score showed that we hit pretty well (11 hits), but made 4 errors and left 11 on base. Very disappointing.

SIU Carbondale:

SIU, the Salukis from Carbondale Illinois, were coming off a record year in 1974. Led by Coach Richard “Itchy” Jones, they had finished third in the College World Series with a 50-12 won-loss record. Featuring outfielder George Vukovich, they brought the big lumber to the tournament. Vukovich would go on to a nice six year career with the Phillies and the Indians. JP got the start, and it became evident early on that this would be no pitcher’s duel. The Mustangs broke on top with three runs in the top of the first, and SIU came right back with two in the bottom. The Salukis tied it at three all with a run in the second. The Mustangs pushed another run across in the fourth and added two more in the top of the fifth for a 6-3 lead. The free swinging Salukis put up crooked numbers in each of the remaining innings to win by a final score of 15-7. JP and Hollywood Warren shared the pitching duties in this one. Pretty ugly, although Rusty Bourquein continued his barrage with three hits and four RBI’s including another home run. Don Jarma filled in as catcher and had a two hit, two RBI game.  Mike Jaccar and Pandy Speake also had two hits.

Arizona:

Tino got his second start of the tournament against the loaded Arizona Wildcats. The Wildcats had set several tournament records earlier in the week by smoking Santa Clara 27-1. Tino was up to the task early in the contest, and we had a game for a while there. The game was tied at 2-2 at the end of 4 innings. At that point, Arizona’s hitters began measuring Tino’s pitches pretty well. Tino finished seven innings and left the game trailing 9-2. Ed Cantwell mopped up the final two innings, and the final score was 14-2. The one bright spot was a home run with a runner on by Smoke Jarma. That one left us at 1-5 in the tournament and seemed to take all the wind out of our sails. Jarma did a great job behind the plate, and apparently chatted up the Wildcat hitters to the point of great frustration. Apparently he kept calling out loud for our pitchers to throw the “bugs bunny” pitch, i.e. the change-up.  Arizona hitter Ron Hassey finally complained to the ump:  “Can’t you make this guy shut up?!”  Hassey went on to a 15 year major league career with the Cleveland Indians and others.

Washington State:

My great uncle, Irving Lindquist, lived in nearby Yucaipa, California. At my Dad’s suggestion, I had called Uncle Irving to tell him I was coming to California. Uncle Irving was one of my favorite uncles. He was a quiet gentle spirit, and a kind man, who always took a genuine interest in all of his nieces and nephews. Even though he lived most of his adult life in California, he had always remained close to my family, especially Dad. I was grateful that he wanted to see me play. He white-knuckled it through the considerable Southern California freeway traffic to see me pitch against Washington State.

Above:  My Uncle Irving, looking a little overdressed for the game.

The Cougars had made a nice showing in this tournament. With a tourney record of 4-2, WSU only needed to beat us to get into the championship game. The game was early in the day; in fact, we were scheduled to fly back to Dallas later in the afternoon. Our record was 1-5 up to that point, and although we were competitive in all but a couple of our games, we had very little to show for our efforts.

I started that game and remember having pretty good stuff. I had gone through their lineup the first time yielding only a single hit. In the fourth inning, I got the first two outs, and then this happened: One of those scary moments that make other pitchers turn away and wince. Coaches’ hearts skip two beats. Moms and Dads catch their collective breath and say a quick prayer. That moment that stops a hitter right in his tracks. Catchers and umpires instinctively rip their masks off and take a cautious step forward. Fans in the crowd exhale an audible gasp, then silence….

I was in my follow-through, and my head was slightly cocked to the right. I had just thrown a knee high fastball but instead of disappearing safely into the mitt, the ball suddenly grew exponentially in size. This cartoon-like sphere was tracking straight for my left eye socket at about 100 mph. How fast do neurons transmit information from our optic nerve to our brains? I don’t know, but this time it was just barely fast enough. As a reflex, my left hand jerked up toward my face. Impact. The ball caught the side of my pitching hand flush with an odd “splat” sound. My next thoughts, all in the space of the next two seconds, went something like this: First thought: I just broke my hand and I am out for the rest of the season. Second thought: why is there a baseball wedged under my right arm? Third thought: Am I supposed to do something with it? Yes. I remember. Throw it to first base. Fourth thought: OK, with what? This broken left hand, I guess. Really? Well, OK, this might hurt just a bit.

I remember it was a pitiful throw. Ouch. I was right…that hurt.

I didn’t realize that the umpire had ruled the batter out with my armpit catch. I looked at my hand, and there was a crescent shaped indentation the size of a baseball in my hand. The baseball had left a perfect track of stiches in my skin. My left pinkie finger was sticking out at a weird 90 degree angle. The baseball had broken the two outer-most bones in the meat of my left hand. I was toast for the rest of this season. Did I hear, or maybe I just dreamed Huber or Snake saying, “You gotta charge those, Rookie!”

Apparently—I was partially in shock and don’t remember much about this—I went into some kind of a personality change, bossing people around like a shop foreman. According to witnesses, I was barking orders to everyone–including Coach Finley– to warm up pitchers to replace me, telling everyone to get out of my way, and demanding a ride to the training room, etc. Actually, it was my Uncle Irving that took me to the training room, and stayed with me all through the ordeal. The physician eventually arrived, then pushed and massaged my hand back to its original shape, and casted me. Yeah. That hurt too, boy.

I wish I had been there to watch the rest of the WSU game. We “geared up and got after ‘em” to borrow one of Coach Finley’s lines. We knocked WSU out of the finals by beating them, 5-3. By my teammates’ accounts it was our best game of the tournament. We had timely hits, Mike Hall relieved me and was a bulldog on the mound, and our defense was stout. And finally, when the game was on the line at the end, third baseman Jack Speake made a game saving play to finish it.

Burk had the monster week. He had always been a solid hitter, but he got on a streak and mashed–ridiculously so. He finished the tournament at .379 with four home runs (tied the tourney record) and 12 RBI’s. Huber (3 HR’s) and Smoke (2 HR’s) came up large stepping into the breach at catcher. Jake was his usual pesky tough out at the plate. Whale looked like he got his timing back, too. Pandy finally got some quality innings to show what he could do at third base while Smoke was catching. Our pitching was sharp at times, but we needed more depth.

UCR replaced Washington State in the championship and promptly won its own tournament, partly because of a fine showing by freshman pitcher Eric Show. Show went on to win 101 games in the major leagues, mostly for San Diego. He is also remembered as the guy who gave up Pete Rose’s 4,192nd hit to break Ty Cobb’s record on September 11, 1985. Tragically, Eric Show died of a drug overdose in 1994 shortly after checking himself into an alcohol and drug rehabilitation center.

The rest of the trip is a bit of a blur for me, but I remember this: The team was buoyant, the result of our victory over WSU. It was great to see. These are some great guys, and always played the game we love with a lot of heart.

The above picture was taken on the bus to the airport.  The cast is real, the smile is fake. I remember the real world settling in on the flight back. My season was done, and my casted left hand would create some very practical problems the rest of the semester: primarily taking notes in class, but also writing answers to finals in the blue books, and keeping the cast out of the shower and the rain. This might also set me back a little bit with my summer league team, the Capahas, and my job house painting for Mr. Hinck. These events of the California trip would remain vivid in my memory to this day.

Pictured above, front row:  Steve Smith, Jim Warren, Clint Brown,  Allison Parr, Tino Zaragoza, Jeff Johnson.  Second row: Jim Moffit, Jack Speake,  Rob Stephen, Jeff Sage, Ed Cantwell,  J.P. Schlensker, Chris Ritchie,  Coach Finley.   Third row:  Mike Jaccar, Gene Hanson, Dudley Parker, Rob Goss, Grant Smith, Bruce Gietzen, John Park.  Top row:  Kevin Charlton, Mark Hammond, John Sagehorn, Ron Ridlehuber, Rusty Bourquein, Ted Thompson, Don Jarma, Mike Hall.

This picture is the 1975 version of the Mustangs taken at our last series in Fort Worth at TCU. Because I was injured and out for the season, my uniform was given to Freshmen Kevin Charlton. Finley was pissed that I showed up in cutoffs and a Mickey Mouse tee shirt and did not let me in the picture. I actually understand this, but still…..sigh…..