Pace & C-Jones vs. Paul & Verlan & Todd
Score: 18-19
Location: Lambert Memorial Field (Provo, UT)
MVP: Todd
Two of those three things happened this past weekend as we five tetragenarians(?) met up from around the country for a boys trip in St. George by way of SLC and Provo. Our first destination for the weekend revelry was the hallowed grounds of Lambert Memorial Field for a late-afternoon wiffle game. As we parked near the tennis courts and walked around the corner my excited anticipation was fulfilled upon seeing the field in beautiful, well-manicured condition, ready for action. Given how so many things in life tend towards decay or loss or having trailers plopped down on top of them (see: Founding Fathers Field), it felt like we had managed to somehow hack the system to have this treasure of an asset just sitting there in near-pristine condition, like it had been waiting for us to show up. All the old-man impulses of wanting to wrap my arm around another man’s shoulders and wax nostalgic about all the special memories and meaning of this sacred place started to well up inside me but I was able to hold that awkward urge in abeyance and instead just enjoy the moment.
Since we were in no particular rush, we were able to leisurely take in the environment with some soft-toss, some ball-scuffing, clearing the field of dog pooh (another old-man activity), and even, a new record: pull-ups! I don't think anyone in the Gil Tyree community had the installation of pullup bars in left field on their wiffleball bingo card, but there they are. Fortunately, I think they actually make a nice addition to the field – one more whimsical element to make the field even more perfect than it already was. 
We then hit for teams and started the game (with the longer hitters batting first). Paul decided to pitch for the fielding team. He was able to locate the pitcher’s mound by spotting a faint bald spot of grass next to the sprinkler head—a scar that has been cut into the grass by more than a decade’s worth of Cougars’ shoes eagerly pushing off the rubber as they rare back to summon the best of their strength and deception and deliver the ball into the great drama of pitcher vs. batter. On this particular day—and indeed, this seems to be the new norm in the live-ball era—batter beat pitcher most of the time.
By my estimation this is the first game to be played on Lambert Memorial in more than 12 years. So, when that opening pitch came in it was no surprise that there was a sort-of sudden cosmic excitement in the air—as if the wiffle gods’ cameras were all flashing in unison. The moment was given a touch of the comical when, simultaneous with the pitch, a BYU passerby suddenly appeared from behind the Smith Fieldhouse and zoomed through the outfield sidewalk path on some sort of futuristic one-wheeled electric scooter thing—a record. We all partially keeled over with chuckles and then resumed the action. Chris led off with a walk and then I belted a double to left field, narrowly missing the new pull-up bars. We paused play to discuss what the rules are around the pull-up bars. Paul proposed that the horizontal bars should be a homerun but the supporting vertical structure would just be a double. Chris seconded the motion which was then ratified with a 4-1 vote (Todd being the dissenter). On my very next at-bat I blasted a ball that made its way straight to those horizontal pull-up bars, which I am now going to name “The Camacho Bars,” in honor of the great, former Phoenix news anchor for Channel 3. Chris and I then pelted a couple more hits and put up another run before ending our top-half tally at 4.
Chris declined to pitch for our side so I gladly took the ball for our defensive effort. My command and velocity felt good but I couldn’t seem to get that strike-out pitch past the batters, and the balls they hit were all coming in too hot to be able to make plays on them. They notched up the score at 4 apiece.
In the top half of the 2nd inning Paul was struggling with his control, and I was seeing the ball well, and, collectively, Chris and I put up 5 more runs. Then in the bottom half of the inning they were stringing together some hits and mounting a tit-for-tat campaign. I realized I was never succeeding in getting Paul out. I got one weak 1st-base-side grounder out of him but it was just beyond my reach, and then I got him to pop a foul ball over the high tennis fence, which is a conditional out depending on if the tennis gates are locked or not. Paul jogged around the corner and discovered that the courts were unlocked, meaning the at-bat would continue. He ended up getting another hit off me. [Sigh.] I think we’ve faced off against each other so many hundreds of times at this point that it’s very difficult for either of us to get the other one out. The inning continued with their team amassing 3 runs before I faced Paul again with 2 outs and runners on. I got him in the hole down 0-2 and then fired a full-strength fastball that he watched go right down the heart of the plate for a called strike. Paul then broke out into one of his characteristic fits of wiffle rage and tossed the bat all the way to centerfield homerun territory.
In the top half of the 3rd we ran the score up to 14-7. They countered with 4 runs of their own to bring the score to 14-11. The damage could have been worse but I was helped by an over-the-shoulder left-handed outfield catch by Chris that robbed them of a double. Then again, I also had the misfortune of a grounder going to Verlan at (substitute) shortstop where he fielded it like a statue as it whizzed by him; but in his defense this was only because the late-afternoon sun was at its opposite-of-optimal position, causing the little white ball to be nearly invisible against the backdrop of the incredibly big and blinding white ball known as the sun. It was also during this inning that we took a vote to determine if we should end the game after 4 innings instead of the customary 5. I’m not proud of the decision that we collectively made.
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| Difficult visibility conditions from the SS position |
So, onto the 4th and final inning where we managed to tack on 4 insurance runs despite Paul getting stronger and stronger from the mound as the game wore on. Their team sounded a little despondent heading into their final chance to catch up but Chris reminded them that 7 runs is like a free throw in basketball. I started off the inning getting Todd to strike out. [Feeling good.] Then I gave up a hit to Verlan and another hit to Todd. [Grr.] Then I had Todd down 0-2 and I felt like a strike out was inevitable. I went with my trusty curve ball, which, at this point, I’m beginning to think is really just like the perfect home-run derby ball. He gave it a ride to left field (the only direction Todd ever goes), but this one was never going to be caught. It sailed past the overgrown shrubs, over the brick section of the fieldhouse building, and off the tin portion of the Bluth Monster—good for a 2x homer (6 runs); the only 2x homerun territory in the whole field. I don’t know where this hit came from, and why the wiffle gods conspired against me. I mean, I guess I shouldn’t be so surprised given how massive Todd’s arms are. I know the power is there. But I felt like I was dealing. And even Todd said he was just trying to not strike out. Now I was clinging to a 1-run lead with 2 outs to go. I gave up a single, then a double. Then I had my substitute shortstop play in to prevent the runner from advancing but it didn’t matter. Todd clocked a 2-run double off me for the walk-off win. This somehow felt worse than the proverbial “agony of defeat.” It’s like agony with a side of impotence.
With the game over we all came in for handshakes, and then I suggested we all just soak in our time there and sit down on the infield grass and chat, which we did, until Verlan got really hungry, and we made our way over to J. Dawgs.
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| Huddling near Great Grate for a post-game photo op |
Game Highlights / Other
- In the 3rd inning Todd made a heads-up defensive play when he caught a deep fly in centerfield and alertly threw it towards home to keep the runner at 3rd base. The throw weakly came in and hit the grass a couple times before reaching the concrete and then slowly rolling at the speed of a turd on its way to successfully hitting the chain-linked backstop fence.
- I just realized that our only other boys-trip game (in 2018) also ended with me (pitcher) and Chris losing on a walk-off hit by a score of 18-19.
- As part of our post-game chat we wondered how the 2022 versions of ourselves would fare against the circa 2004 “prime” versions of ourselves. I personally feel like none of us have really lost a step out there, but I’m probably blinded by my own ego. Though, I will say, we all looked a bit more awkward than we used to when climbing the soccer fence to retrieve foul balls. (Who knows if we could even manage to climb the tall tennis fence if it came to that.)
- The big question on my mind: @Mark – Will Land (freshman) fulfill his destiny and wield the bat as the rightful commissioner-heir?
Game report by Pace Barker
