America's favorite pastime

Sports are a big part of the Texas lifestyle. We always look forward to football, but baseball is our game of choice right now. We recently watched my cousin Morgan play for Texas State baseball. For Mother’s Day weekend, my mom’s only request was to tailgate at the Saturday and Sunday Texas State baseball games. 

I’ve never been a sports enthusiast because, most of the time, I don’t know what’s going on and I don’t go to enough games to learn. I can’t pay attention when they’re on television; I like to blame it on being a “visual” person. However, I do enjoy cheering with and for our family. I am also a crowd watcher. At the Mother’s Day game, there were a group of girls in front of us discussing their rowdy weekend and I felt like I was switching channels on the television between a reality TV show and ESPN. During the less eventful parts of the game, I’d just tune into their conversation and keep myself entertained. Grandpa, on the other hand, can’t keep his eyes off the game. He channels a reporter when relaying the stats while my report is short and sweet; either they won or they lost.

Grandpa and Grandma love watching their children and now grandchildren play sports. They are still constantly driving all over the United States to see their grandchildren play. Grandma and Grandpa have had the privilege to watch two generations play baseball, Danny and Morgan. Grandpa had some stories to share about watching Danny, Morgan’s dad, play and some stories about funny things that happened on the road to the games to entertain the crowd watchers like me.

Danny wanted to play at Southwestern University, and I thought he was good enough to get a scholarship. At the time, I didn’t know Coach Mallon, the Southwestern University baseball coach, but one night after a baseball game in Georgetown where he was the head umpire, I approached Coach Mallon and told him that I thought Danny would come to play baseball at Southwestern if he had a scholarship incentive. Coach Mallon told me he only had enough money for pitchers and catchers. It is ironic that Danny played second base and pitcher in high school. Well, that didn’t stop Danny; he wanted to play for Southwestern so he went there.

At the start of the baseball season, either the first or the second game, the second baseman got hurt. Well, here was Danny’s chance—they started him at second. Now, that was quite something for Danny to be able to start as a freshman.

“I’ve got to have some record of this,” I thought. The best way to start, I decided, was to get me a video camera. That way I’ll be able to see it from time to time. I bought a Sony Betacam camcorder along with a tripod because that is what they used in filming television at the time so I figured a Sony was the camera to get. I’m going to be ready.

At the old Southwestern baseball field, there was a little hill up from the third baseline with a couple of trees on top that provided enough shade for themselves but hardly anything for anyone standing near or next to them. I set up the tripod and got the camera on there. Now, I’m going to get Danny in action.

My plan was to swing that camera and follow the ball at the crack of the bat. But I started thinking I’ll be able to follow it better if I take it off the tripod especially if it were to go over the fence, and I think I can control it a little better with my hand as far as moving it. Sure enough, the announcement came that Danny is up to bat. I had Danny in the sights at bat and here comes that ball and a loud crack. I watched the ball go over the scoreboard and I thought “Hot dog!” Unfortunately, I let my camera fall down, so I had taped a video of sugar ants on the soda water can on the ground. There would be no instant replay on that one. But that camera did tell a lot of tales the next years coming.

There was a pretty serious baseball game taking place in Seguin against Texas Lutheran College, Tim’s alma mater. That game was a critical game, and decided who would go to Regionals that year. If TLC won, they’d go to the regional playoffs in Phoenix, but if not, that was it and they stay at home—sad and disappointed. Tim had already committed to cheer for the Bucs, the Southwestern baseball team, because his little brother Danny was on the team. But since the game was at Texas Lutheran in Seguin, Tim caught a lot of static from the TLC side accusing him of being a traitor. Tim said, “Hey that’s my brother. I’ve got no choice.” The score was tied in the top of the ninth with two outs. Well, Danny was on base when there was a deep hit to center field. He came around second into third, and got the motion to keep on going because they were still trying to field the ball in center field. When Danny came around third, he slipped on loose gravel, lost his balance and rolled but in the next instant, started running and crossed home plate. The ball came into home plate but the catcher had to reach high to catch it and Danny slid low. SAFE! They held TLC in the bottom of the ninth and went on to Regionals.

Prior to that game, I had made a deal with Mr. Ehrenfried Boriack to make me a bunch of barbecue at his own barbecue pit at home. I told him, “If we win in Seguin, I’ll be coming to eat the barbecue after we get home but if we lose, all I’m going to do is come over there, get the barbecue, put it in freezer bags and put it in my freezer.”  I also asked Mr. Boriack to make a big pot of beans, and of course, extra sauce. Ethel had made a big bowl of potato salad. We’d have plenty of bread too. We can live on all that.

Well, we couldn’t wait to get to Mr. Boriack’s to eat the barbecue in celebration. I had enough barbecue made to feed 100 people—more than twice what we needed to feed the baseball boys and the few parents that were coming. We had the celebration in our backyard. We set a few tables out there full of paper plates stacked with bread, barbecue, sauce, beans, and potato salad. They just about wiped it all out. It was a celebration.

Anyhow, it’s on to Phoenix from there, and I’m taking my camera along because there’s no telling what might come up. On top of my cap, I fixed a cardboard sign that said Walburg Channel 1. If I held that big camera up to my shoulder, I believe one could actually think, “Look, it’s Channel 1 Walburg.” Well, Danny’s brother, Tim, he was all gung-ho; he carried the camera and the cardboard ID on his cap. He’d come through the gate all the time without a problem; they let him through because it was Channel 1 Walburg.

Channel 1 Walburg grew to be pretty famous. All the baseball boys knew about Channel 1, and figured that there was going to be a replay at some point in time. Pam and Cindy, in their bumblebee outfits, were the self-proclaimed cheerleaders, and they were “swangin’”.

It was hot as blue blazes in Phoenix but that didn’t bother us any because we were winning. We also knew that we had a cool place to stay after the games. The short stop, Danny Villanueva, his daddy was known as Mr. V, just like I was known as Mr. Mick. Mr. V had three brothers and two sisters living on the northwest side of Phoenix. That’s where us parents who followed the team went to stay. About nine of us couples followed the boys. While we were in Phoenix, the boys were playing and us parents were busy watching. There was no such thing as a shopping morning or afternoon, we were always busy watching because it was double-elimination playoff games. The Villanueva’s were excellent hosts. From what I can remember, probably sixty of seventy of them would come out of the woodwork for the night games. I mean, our Southwestern boys had support from that family. It was really cute to see them come out every night.

We had good times after the games. We’d gather at somebody’s house in the backyard for a cold one, as Tim would say. Pam, Cindy, and Tim, naturally, were a part of it. We had places in the hallway, in the living room, quilts put down for a fast night of sleep, a fast shower, and here we go. We’re ready again. We didn’t bother with cooking any meals.

The World Series of Danny’s junior year was in Lubbock, Texas. Lubbock Christian was the host. It was cold, windy, and miserable. We didn’t win anything to speak of or to even brag on. That was that. That was 1983.

The spring of 1984 looked really good for Southwestern baseball. Southwestern was to play Mary Hardin Baylor in Belton for the Conference Championship. For traveling in the state, we had a good road car. I had bought a four-door sedan, a 1980 Lincoln Mark VI; it was a humdinger.

One weekend, there was a Saturday and a Sunday series up at Mary Hardin Baylor University in Belton. I’m going to go up early, early Saturday morning; Ethel was going to come later. Belton was my first experience being around the boys, who had been really close the year before and now were just like family. After all the games we won, we needed to win this one in Belton. When I got to there to watch that game, I noticed that Danny V’s dad wasn’t there. By that time, our two boys were known as Danny V. and Danny Mick. Later it was shortened to Mick. Thirty years later, for me, it’s still Mr. Mick. My grandson, Morgan, goes by Mick or Mo Mick.

Anyway, I noticed that Danny V’s dad wasn’t there and something must have happened because it would have to be a real accident for him not to be there. We could get close to the dugout, so I asked his son about him. He said his daddy’s already in Phoenix getting everybody riled up because that’s where the regional playoffs would be held again. He’s already there without knowing the outcome of this game between the Bucs and Mary Hardin Baylor that would determine whether we would even go to Phoenix. He said he was so sure we were going to beat Mary Hardin Baylor that he went to get everybody betted down. Luckily, we won.

So it’s time to decide who’s going to be staying where and with who again. Channel 1 Walburg is back in Phoenix. In Phoenix, it’s a lot of tough games but we won those too. Hot diggity dog. What are we going to do? Where is the World Series? The name of the school that’s hosting is Lewis-Clark State College in Lewiston, Idaho.

Ken Schauer, a former pastor at Zion Walburg, and his wife Sandy had moved to Odessa, Washington. Pastor Ken and Sandy left at three o’clock on Monday morning to come see the game scheduled for 9am. It took five hours driving around the mountains to get from Odessa, Washington down to Lewiston, Idaho on the Snake River. After the game that morning, which we won, Pastor Ken, his wife Sandy, Ethel and I spent the evening on the banks of the Snake River there in Lewiston, Idaho. You can walk right up to the Snake River barefooted without getting mud squished between the toes because it’s on volcanic ash that doesn’t stick to your feet or shoes. We had an early dinner together, and the next day, Ken and Sandy went back.

It had rained during the night pretty rough and caused a lot of debris, so the field in Lewiston and Clarkston was not ready for a ballgame. We traveled forty something miles up north into the state of Washington to play at the University of Washington’s baseball field. On the way, we stopped at a little antique shop, and that’s where I found a hand-cranked telephone that I brought back along as a remembrance, if nothing else.

Of course, the visiting team consisted of us parents. We were something like nine couples. Of those nine couples, the pitcher’s mama was a widow, and the dad, Bohannan from Lampasas, came but the mom stayed at home. We had a big van that we traveled in that we rented at the airport up in the eastern upper edge of Washington where we flew into and drove this van down to Lewiston. The Snake River makes a big curve there.

While we’re at this baseball field in Washington, Tex Kassens, the athletic director at Southwestern University, put on a little show for us visitors in front of the Southwestern dugout. He got on his hands—feet straight up in the air—and he started walking on his hands. He wouldn’t stop at two or three feet, but he’d walk about 20 feet and then back. Of course, he’d do a little more when we hollered. It was quite a show, and Tex was quite an athlete. He taught swimming at Southwestern University along with being the athletic director and a personal friend.

It was this big second time around World Series for Coach Mallon where a lot of things happened that went into the memory book of good times passed with the Walburg Channel 1 camera usually around. One picture that caused a stir of Coach Mallon got to Facebook. Coach Mallon had a disagreement with the head umpire behind the plate, and he called the umpire to join him halfway between home plate and third base. When Coach Mallon knew he was right, everybody else knew it too. In this case, that home plate umpire, as we called him then, was an old codger. Coach Mallon took his cap and turned it around to where the beak was over the back of his neck so he could get a little closer to that umpire and keep telling him what he thought about his calling. That picture wound up on the front page of the local newspaper the next day. Coach Mallon was wondering if we couldn’t go around town and pick up all the papers so none of them would get back down to Georgetown. After a bunch of excitement, we lost that game and wound up with third place in the World Series—not too shabby.

So we get back home from the World Series, coming in third place, not too shabby. After all, there’s many a team that would just like to get to Regionals, much less the World Series. A couple of real proud moments for Coach Mallon, me, and, of course, Danny came after. Coach Mallon received a box containing an award earned by Danny: Danny had received the 1984 NAIA Golden Glove award. Then there was also the history book; Coach Mallon didn’t even realize it until he saw it in print that Danny set a record that will never be broken. I said, “What do you mean ‘never be broken’?” His fielding percentage was .1000—perfect. He never had an error. And to think, in baseball, a mistake is so easily made. Somebody could tie him at some point in time but Coach Mallon said that would be highly unlikely because of how many games Danny has played. You always talk about well he did this and that and what not; I didn’t exactly sit still when I heard that. Here he gets not only the Golden Glove for that World Series tournament, but also sets an unbreakable record.

Brady Bohannan’s dad from Lampasas was one of the parents on the trip, but Mrs. Bohannan stayed at home. Mr. Bohannan wound up being our driver; that kinda became an automatic after the first day. On the trip up to the state of Washington, a norther had come through with the rain the night before, and it was pretty cold. Mrs. Scott Neal was saying that she was a little cold and didn’t bring her jacket along so Mr. Bohannan took his jacket off and gave it to her. Well now, with her wearing that jacket all that day and most of the night until she gave it back to him when we got back to Lewiston, his coat had a certain odor about it and a little makeup around the collar. He decided sooner than have to explain when he got back home of how that coat got this odor—the scent of a great perfume and a ring of makeup around the collar left by a good lookin’ woman—that he was going to throw that coat in the Snake River.

A couple of weeks later, Coach Mallon came by the shop and said, “I wonder whatever happened with that jacket that Bohannan claims he threw in the Snake River because he wasn’t going to take it home and get into trouble.” I said, “You know, I hadn’t heard but I tell you what, I’m going to call him right now.” So I called Bohannan’s house in Lampasas and Mrs. Bohannan answered the phone. All we knew was that he was going to tell her that it was into something pretty bad so he just wound up throwing it in the Snake River. So when Mrs. Bohannan answered the phone, I was talking with her and asked where Mr. Bohannan went. She said, “He just went out down to the Dairy Queen to get a couple of hamburgers.” I said, “Well, did he ever tell you about the coat?” She said, “No.” I said, “Well, Coach Mallon was just by here asking whatever happened to Mr. Bohannan after he told you what he did with that coat.” “All he told me was he threw it in the Snake River,” she replied. I said, “Well, I know you can forgive him for this for now but we’re going to tell on him.” This was Coach Mallon’s idea, not mine. I told her, “Mrs. Scott Neal didn’t have a jacket that morning, and as we were driving up to Washington, he took his jacket off and gave it to her. He said, he’s going to go home and say he threw it in the Snake River.” Now you got, as Paul Harvey would say, “the rest of the story.” I called to ask Mr. Bohannan when he is going to tell you about what really happened with that coat. She said, “No, he hasn’t said anything but here he comes in the front door.” I said, “Tell him they found that coat.” “Hey, Mr. Bohannan, this is the such and such hotel in Lewiston, Idaho and they said they found your coat in the Snake River.” The next thing I heard over the phone was that he’s coming in on all fours begging for forgiveness. I said, “Bye” and hung up. We had a lot of good laughs. At that time, we were already daddies of children that would have done that kind of stuff.

Danny was home maybe one or two weeks when a fellow stopped by the shop and said he’d like to talk to Danny. He’s a scout for the Baltimore Orioles, who lives in Waxahachie. I said yes, Danny’s coming on down to the house and they’re going to talk about it and I came on down after a little bit because I was thinking, “Oh, a scout, let’s see what kind of money they were offering him after all.” They want him up in the New York Penn League. That’s a real famous league up there. That was on a Friday. He would be leaving on Sunday. “This coming Sunday?” “Yes.” “You’re furnishing tickets?” “Oh yeah.” Well they already had the tickets made and everything at Southwestern. It was early Sunday morning that we took Danny to the airport in Austin off of IH35 on the north side. I even took a picture of Danny’s suitcase going up the rollaway. It’s a big deal.

We didn’t hear from him often. The second to last week of August, on my birthday, Ethel gave me a pair of tickets to fly up to see Danny for a week. I got to fly up there and stayed in the same house where Danny and five other boys from the Orioles were staying.

I think the next time somebody visited was when Penny went up there. It was at that trip that Danny proposed to Penny in upstate New York, outside of Newark. In fact, he bought Penny’s ring from a jeweler in Newark, New York.

It was after that baseball season that Danny asked me if he could come back to work here at the shop. He didn’t think that being away from home playing baseball six months of the year was his style. So I said right away, “You bet. Come on home.”