Barbee's World: Ballplayers putting it on the line at NWAC Tournament
Diamond Notes – Naselle's Kolten Lindstrom helps Linn-Benton over LCC; and other observations at Story Field
Sam Barbee for Blast Zone Media / blastzonenews@gmail.com
NWAC Baseball
STORY FIELD — At one point during the nightcap on the schedule, I forgot what day it was. Is it still Friday? The morning feels like yesterday.
But we’re back with a new edition of things I liked and didn’t, a little late because, you know, long days and stuff.
So let’s get to it. Day Two of the Baseball NWAC Championships. (Note: if you’re looking for more focused coverage of the Red Devils, that’s not here).
Things I Liked
Fill it up!
The Tacoma versus Umpqua game was humming along. I got there right before first pitch and it was on time. We got through two games and we’re on time. We might make that 7:35 p.m. firs pitch after all (spoiler: we did, and then some).
I’m watching Dylon Veley and Jordan Lennartson go crazy on the strikes. It was like the fourth inning or something and I looked at the like numbers of strikes and balls and stuff. And there were nine balls. Total. In the game.
One dude had thrown like three. Balls. In a game. And he was up 2-0.
The other guy had thrown six. Balls. In a game. And was down 2-0.
And, of course, as I remark this aloud (but at a murmuring level because television is being conducted next to me), the guy with six balls total walks the leadoff hitter on four pitches.
I’ve seen some weird stuff this last two weeks. Weird anomalies. But fun.
I like that.
Plumbing!
The stuff got whisked away. It’s also super college baseball that on your way to the talk to a man about a horse you get passed by a jogging trio of players and you wait, because there’s a game going, and those guys have metal on their feet.
By the way. The other day I told a coworker, who has no interest in sports but doesn’t mind learning about it, about the bathroom situation at Delta Park. She agreed with me. For the record.
I liked all of that.
Tacos!
Having a little credential around my neck got me Junior’s Tacos today.
No elaboration needed. But I don’t just like it, I love it.
Local!
I won’t belabor this point. But it was really, really cool watching a guy I coached for three years play centerfield and hit a double and a triple and drive in two runs for the defending champions on Friday night. It was fun seeing his mom in the stadium, too.
I keep mentioning these relationships because it’s why we all love this game so much. Time spent is never time wasted, as they say.
Things become cliches. They start as wisdom.
Tip of the cap to the Lindstrom family. They’ll like that.
Willing to sacrifice for the club?
Beating out a double play with a tumble
Things were getting desperate. You could feel it. The tension. LCC was the road team in its home ballpark. Remember how when you get to hit affects how you play the game? It’s a big deal.
So LCC finds itself down 4-0. McMullen has been really good, and it doesn’t seem like there’s gonna be an end. He finished at 112 pitches.
Then Jace Nagler rolled one up the middle. Double play ball. The Roadrunners middle infield is clean and crisp and it felt like an inning ender. But Nagler made a small sacrifice to the baseball gods and dove. No, tumbled. No, crashed into first base. He was safe. And a run scored.
The level of desperation of you have to feel to do that. The willingness to risk all manner of injury. The situation demands it. The program demands it. The game demands it.
Sacrifice was given. Prayers were not answered. At least not immediately.
Hustle. Reckless abandon. I like that.
Things I didn’t like
Look where he’s standing!
Tacoma was playing Umpqua on Friday afternoon. The Trojans can freakin’ swing it, and the Riverhawks know it. Everyone knows it. The sun rises in the east and sets in the west, and the Titans can freakin’ swing it.
And Umpqua had its right fielder straddling the line, heels on the track. A wave of whispers and murmurs rippled through the press box when I pointed this out.
And there was a routine fly ball hit to straightaway right that fell because of how far he had to run. It was a double. Tacoma scored that inning, and eventually won.
Sometimes you get too clever. I never like that.
Needing sleeves
When I was in college in Seattle I had to dress for two days, two climates, two temperatures. I’d have to dress warm for the morning, usually braving some kind of moisture on the way to class. Then, after three hours inside, the sweatshirt would have to come off, looped around a strap of my backpack, as the sun popped out. Black jeans rapidly proved to be a bad choice.
It’s the nature of the region. Unpredictability. Or maybe predictable unpredictability. That is to say, unpredictability you can count on. All we know is we don’t know.
My dad always told me growing up that the sun changes everything. And, like, what a yeah of course statement. When the comes outs, it gets warmer. When it goes away, it gets colder! Who knew?!
But if you’ve lived in warmer climes, you know that isn’t exactly true. It can stay really hot at night in the desert. Like absurdly hot. Like isn’t the sun over India, how-on-Earth-is-this-happening hot. And it can be cold when the sun’s out. Sunny days with snow on the ground are not warm.
But here, and now, it does change things. And Friday night it happened fast.
At 6:30 p.m. everyone was in short sleeves. Just an hour later everyone was bundled up. I had to go get a team jacket someone turned in late. Memorial Day is about staying cool, not scrambling to stay warm.
I didn’t like that.
Devils lose
They just didn’t play good enough. And I’m not speaking out of turn. Kurt Lupinski said as much last night. Good to great. They didn’t play bad, just not good enough. That’s how it works at the final site.
And there were a couple of times that the not good enough reared its head and made its weird call in the wild.. But there’s one that stands out. And we should talk about it.
Runners at the corners, two outs, one pitch away from turning turn the Roadrunners away.
Quinn Hobbs got the grounder to the shortstop. Just like you want. Simply throw it across. Wait… what? He didn’t catch that? How on Earth?
Well, in the evening at David Story Field the sun sets behind the left field foul pole. That’s west. It creates problems for two guys: catchers on throws from left (not terribly common), and throws across the diamond to the first basemen (super common!).
Obviously Owen Cummins knows that. And so should the left side of the infield. In that scenario you, as a lobster claw wearer, go to the guys and tell him hey I can’t see, keep it low. I’m working ground up, fellas.
But the throw went up. Right into the sun. The most helpless feeling. There’s a slowpitch field at Roy Morse with similar directionality, and throws from the left side can find the sun at the same time of day. It happened to me recently, actually, and I made the catch and got the out, but by luck. It just found my glove. I didn’t catch it. It caught me.
Cummins also had his glasses on his hat, and not over his eyes. And at first thought that might not make sense. But I get it. More than kind of.
It was dark enough, in an ambient sense, that it would’ve been hard to track the ball from pitcher to batter to the field. You gotta be able to see everything. Dark enough that if he was cutting a throw from right and had his glasses on, the 50-year-old lights wouldn’t make a difference. So he had them off and likely communicated with the infielders about that throw.
And it didn’t work out. Ah well, nevertheless. Tomorrow’s a new day.
I don’t like the former, but I do like the latter.
That’s baseball.
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Sam Barbee for Blast Zone Media
