Got The Boy a Big League Foul Ball

Little strikes me as more absurd than a grown man taking his baseball glove to a Major League Baseball game in hopes of catching a foul ball hit into the stands.

Nothing strike me as more ridiculous than a group of men wrestling for a foul ball hit into the seats at a big league game.

I've really thought it through. And, I realize, most men reading this are thinking, "Hey, asshole...I take my mitt to the game all the time! I'd kill to get a foul ball at a Giants game when I'm in San Francisco!" It's fine with me if grown men are interested in trying to catch a foul ball, but I think the notion's absurd. I don't care if 12 dudes from four different sections dive over rows of seats to fight over a ball -- as long as they don't dive on me or anyone else who might be injured in their childish rush to get a game-used big league ball.

The ball only costs $7, maybe $10. I can buy a brand new one and not have to look foolish to get it. What makes the game-used ball special? Well, umpires rub them down with a special mud concoction that makes them easier to grip. And, of course, they've been touched by the pitcher and the bat that the batter used to hit the foul ball. So, I can't see myself coming out of a scrum in section 106, row 4 feeling good because I got a ball that Bobby Howry touched right before Johnny Gomes hit it my way...

Wait, that's not true. In most cases I wouldn't go out of my way to get a ball that a journeyman pitcher like Howry touched before a former Petaluma High School star like Gomes blooped it into the seats. Today, at AT&T Park in San Francisco, I went a bit out of my and grabbed a ball that those two big leaguers had been warring with.

Is it techinically going out of my way to turn halfway around, see the ball bounce on the ground behind me and then grab at it? I didn't leave my seat. I didn't turn the full 180 degrees needed to really make a full effort for the ball. My lone thought was, "It's right there and Kellen always wants a foul ball..."

I grabbed a big league foul ball -- my first one ever -- and handed it to my 13-year-old son.

Hooray for me! Huh?

We got free tickets from my son Trent's co-worker. I really only go to big league games when somebody gives me tickets. I love the game and love those Giants, but I won't pay $78 for two tickets to get close enough to enjoy the game. Sitting the press box off and on for years spoiled me. I root for the Giants, but I don't cheer out loud. So, if I'm in cheaper seat far from the field, it's really no fun for me.

Let me stop, briefly, to thank my older sons who have friends who have access to amazingly good seats that sometimes come my way free of charge. Kellen and Tyren have sat in the dugout seats -- the seats at ground level that you can see on TV every time they show the batter from the center field camera. All four kids went and took turns sharing those premium freebies and two seats in the lower box seats right behind home plate. Trent's co-worker gave him two tickets today that put Kellen and I just past the Reds' dugout, four rows from the field.

My primary concern about foul balls is getting out of the way of those line drives that get laced into the seats. Trent's mom Amy got hit with a ball fouled straight back at Candlestick Park once. It thumped her thigh and shoulder before she could flinch -- and before I could fight my natural reaction to duck. A guy in front of her grabbed it and celebrated. She got a bruise. Those high, high, sky-high pops are of no interest either. At best, it's going to sting like hell if you catch one.

I won't fight for a foul ball.

Today, around the sixth inning, Howry threw a pitch that Gomes popped in our direction. I've spent a lifetime figuring out if a foul ball's coming at me or whether I'm safe. As the ball started curl back toward the field, as all pop fouls do, Kellen said, "Heads up," and leaned away and said, "Hey! Heads up!" That was him telling to me try to get the ball without saying, "C'mon dad! Don't be a candyass! Stand up and catch it!"

I didn't move. The ball came down on a woman in the row behind me. She was flanked by two grown men who sat there, apparently, and let her duck forward and take the foul ball in the square of the back. I didn't see it because I didn't turn around. Kellen's second, "Hey, heads up," did spur me half-turn and...the ball was coming to a rest right behind my seat.

It took no effort...none...to reach back with my left hand and grab the ball. It was so simple that I grabbed with my thumb and two fingers...not with a full, five-finger, I-gotta-have-this-ball death grip. Before I could move the ball, some horse's ass from 10, 12 rows behind me came sprinting down the stairs and leaped at the ball.

A full grown man who, I figure, was about 6-foot, 210 pounds was so damned determined to get that foul ball that he dove onto the cement and got both hands on the ball...on top of my hand. My first thought was, "Screw it, asshole! Take the ball!" I imagined a brief tussle that would be shown in replays on television. Yeek!

Then, I realized I actually only had the ball in a thumb and index finger grip. It was then that I heard Kellen say, "Get it!" And, it was then that I had one of my rare bursts of intentional machismo. I was going to fight over the ball...as much as I could with my weaker arm and a tiny, little grip.

Until I heard Kellen say, "Get it," I didn't believe the stories of super-human strength that some folks show when they're helping their family. I didn't exactly have to lift a Volkswagon off of Kellen, but I did need to pull the baseball away from a guy who had a better grip and a whole lot more gotta-have-it than I did. The dumb shit just kept pulling at the ball that I had pinned to the cement.

I was at the point where I was going to look at the guy, tell him he could buy one for $10 and then say, "Take it...maybe Bobby Howry can autograph it for you." But...I got my middle finger (which I wanted later to use in a much different way in regard to my foe) on the ball. I realized, "Hey, this jackass is giving it everything he's got and I'm pulling the ball from him!" I never win battles of strength and even less frequently win battles of will. One tug, with a twist that came to mind late, and I had the ball.

I handed it to Kellen and started watching the game. He was excited. It must be cool to see your old man do something so macho and dad-like. He almost never gets the chance. Then, the two season-ticket holders who treated our section like their living room looked at Kellen and said, "Give her the ball. It hit that lady behind you."

He looked at me. I looked at him. Clearly, the season-ticket holders know baseball etiquette requires every foul ball be given to the little kid. And, clearly, they looked at my 6-foot, 145-pound 13-year-old with slight sideburns and in need of a little shave and thought a 17-year-old was stiffing the old lady who took the blow.

"I'd keep it. You're only a kid," I said. "It's up to you."

Left to his own sense of fair play and common courtesy, he turned and offered the ball to the woman. She politely declined and ... happy ending all around. The season ticket holders, and all who saw his gesture, lauded him for doing the right thing. (After his father essentially said, "Screw 'em! Keep it!")

So, that's how I got the foul ball I figured I'd never get at a big league ball park.
I'm pleased with my effort because Kellen's got dreams, you know? So, he held that damned ball and stared at it off and on until the final out. He called everybody in the immediately family to tell them about the event. He showed it to me and said, "Feel how flat the seams are...it seems so tightly wound...must be hard to make it curve..." Then, he finally got ahold of his little sister to tell her the tale.

"I got a foul ball at the Giants game," he said.

"YOU got the foul ball?"

I nearly missed the I-80 exit onto the Bay Bridge.

"YOU got the ball? Tell her how you got it!!!"

I felt a rush of testosterone.

Self-Loathing On the Jogging Trail

When I was a runner, in my 20s and 30s, I mocked the overweight dude out slogging along at a snail's pace. Dude'd be sweating through his gray t-shirt and the white sweat band he wore around his bid, old head. More often than not, he was carrying a cassette tape player or a walkman CD machine because, God knew, there was no way he'd make it a mile or two without music to drastic him from the discomfort.

At that point, I was running five miles in a hair over 30 minutes. Living in my hometown of Eureka, I'd go out of my way most days to find more, steeper hills to run. On days when nothing felt right, and there were many, running hard and fast and for five or six miles saved me. I felt alive. I felt good about myself, which was and is rare, every step of the way.

Now? I'm that overweight dude shuffling along with an iPod playing tunes to keep my mind off how it difficult every step has become. Worse...I'm an old, overweight dude. Way worse...I'm suffering shin splints -- or some other malady that stems from asking my legs to carry more weight, too far and too fast. And...shit...I'm barely even jogging two miles.

There's a truly serious runner working in my office. He's about my age, but he's never allowed himself to balloon to 30 pounds over his ... er, 40 pounds over his prime running weight. (Actually, I've gained 90 pounds since I first ran six hard miles a day at the height of my battle with panic attacks in my early 20s.) The guy runs half-marathons and he trains with a team that has a coach and, heck, I remember when my pals and I laughed because the only real athletes on our high school cross country team were David Wells, Mike Whitehead and Rick Hrdina. Beyond those three studs, it was a bunch of guys who could run and couldn't play ball.

"What's wrong with being that guy?"

Figures that the runner I work with would have sympathy for the devil I think is the overweight, old, lard ass I've become.

"You're out there...you're doing it..."

That's exactly what I used to hear people say about the fattest, slowest, dopiest looking runners in my running heyday. "Oh, be nice...at least he's out there running!" (I'd point out that it's not running if you're barely moving.)

What's wrong with being that guy?

I'm an athlete. I play ball. The guy who bats cleanup and leads the team in home runs doesn't wear a white headband. The guy who goes in the game to defend the leading scorer on the other basketball team wouldn't have a pot belly. I'm the guy who goes out to play flag football, once every couple years, and absolutely tears it up at quarterback...so, everything's wrong with me being that guy because...I'm not that guy...I'm those guys I just described.

Damn!

I jogged again tonight, doing just about everything the runner told me to avoid as I get back in shape. I didn't start with a speed walk. I jogged 1.5 miles and stopped only to walk one little upward slope just before my shin splits began to ache. Then, I shuffled all the way home...2.3 miles...listening to my iPod and wishing that "Lunatic Fringe" could inspire me to acknowledge who I've actually become and, thus, move me to be who I've always felt I was.

See, now...I'm a walking, talking A-1 heart attack waiting to happen. It's not a matter of if I'm going to have one -- everybody in my family had one or more. It's simply a matter of when I'm going to have a heart attack. I've known it for years and, thus, ran all those miles simply to add a few minutes or a few days or a few weeks to my life. I was running five, six miles and...I thought...running away from the heart problem I knew was right behind me.

My risk factors for a heart attack probably couldn't be higher. I'm genetically predisposed. And, thanks to getting away from fitness, my blood pressure has risen to Stage One hypertension. (No...it doesn't stop me from jogging when others would walk.) I'm overweight and my cholesterol levels are high. Actually, my overall cholesterol level is OK...my bad cholesterol level is high.

Dammit, I'm not that guy. I'm not that guy who goes for a walk and hopes that, maybe, in a couple months he can jog a little. I'm not that guy who's afraid to run because it elevates his heart rate. I'm smart enough to know that I'm not running so hard that I can't control my breathing. Remember the famous running doctor? Dr. Jim Fixx? He was an early proponent of distance running for health, then died at the start of a short run of a heart attack. It turned out he ignored pains in places that indicate a heart problem. To date, I've had no such pain ... and I'm not that guy who walks and checks his pulse all the while because he's fuckin' afraid of dropping on the jogging path.

I got in shape once, when I really was an athlete, outrunning depression and panic attacks. Maybe I can do it again, even though I'm not an athlete at all, because I'm not going to give up and just sit around eating cookies until the heart attack hits. Only a candy-ass in a gray sweatshirt, with a walkman, black tennis shoes and a really, really, really red face who takes walks for fitness would do that.

I'm not that guy.

Baseball, And What Not....

The Fairfield Expos youth baseball organization poured money and hard work into turning the town's Laurel Creek Park into their home field.

The organization constructed batting cages -- one down each foul line and restored the dugouts. There were two tiny bleachers, now there is a high-rise seating area behind home plate. The seats have backs, just like the seats at a big league ball park.

Most interestingly, the organization installed all-purpose turf in the infield. The number of first-rate youth baseball facilities in the area with grass or dirt infields is dwindling to the point it's apparent that the cost of all-purpose turf is offset by the ease of maintenance and its availability even after some wet weather.

I stopped in to see the ball park and caught an inning of men's league baseball. The Solano Mud Cats were playing a team from the Bay Area. The Mud Cats featured a couple of former minor leaguers, one was a catcher who bounced around pro ball for years because he remains a sterling defender. It occurred to me that my hometown Humboldt Crabs always open their summer collegiate season against the Fairfield Indians. The Indians just added a young player who was selected in the first five rounds of the Major League Baseball draft, then struggled in the low minors for years. But, the Indians are just an average men's league baseball team, not even as good as Solano County's other men's league team -- the Mud Cats.

It would serve the Crabs college talent and their fans if the Mud Cats and Indians threw together the best 18 players (and a boat load of pitchers) to go play the Crabs in June. It would be great baseball and, potentially, the visiting team might even win a game.

The Sunday afternoon game I watched drew a pretty good crowd for a men's league game in Fairfield. There were probably, oh, 30 or 35 fans.

My son and I noted players who were standouts in Solano County, including the kid who's actually returning to play in an independent minor league team today.

I noted that one former college star looked like he'd put on 40 pounds. My daughter asked, "How can you tell if they're out of shape?"

"If they're built close to the way I'm built," I said, "they're out of shape. Baseball players don't usually have love handles or pot bellies."

"We Heard You Died"

So, I'm driving back from the store with my youngest son and get a telephone call from work.

"Ted? This is Andy. Hi!"

Yeah. Hi. OK. What? I'm sick. I called in sick. Flu or something that, alas, doesn't take away the need to do fatherly duties. (Dads can't call in sick.)

"Yeah...Marty just got a call ... um...from the Times-Standard up in Eureka...and..."

What? Gee whiz? I know the guys I work with are incredibly thoughtful, but I don't think I need to hear about every communication between them and my old newspaper.

"...and, um, the sports editor said you were in a car accident..."

Say what? No.

"I what? No. I'm driving home right now. That's weird."

Weird didn't accurately describe how it felt to hear a rumor that I'd been in a car wreck, perhaps 350 miles away in my old hometown.

"...actually...um..."

Andy pauses when he's saying something he's uncomfortable saying. Nice guys are like that. They know they're going to say something potentially upsetting so ... they ... hesitate. (Thus, I tend to blurt things out and think later.)

"...actually, they said you'd passed away."

The Times-Standard guy called the Napa Valley Register guy to ask if I'd died.

Oh. OK. Whew! I thought it was something important.

"He called to see if I'D DIED!?!?!?! That's insane. I'm alive, unless something happened I don't know about. My son's in the back seat of the car and he's in trouble if I'm dead..."

I laughed it off because my parents' deaths skewed my view of death. I'm a little afraid of dying, like lots of people. I know it makes people left behind really sad, so ... sure ... I'd say the thought of death is unpleasant. I have, however, come to grips with the fact I'm going to die and that the world will go on...my family and friends will get over my death and, hopefully, prosper.

Hearing word of my own demise didn't send a chill down my spine or anything.

I am on the case now, though, trying to figure out how the story unfolded. I know there are folks in my home area who likely relish the notion of my passing. But, the story apparently started in Fairfield...and, really...nobody cares enough about me one way or the other there to start a rumor. Word is that it could be a joke...

Now, I'll acknowedge, hearing I'd died did not make me laugh.

The White Shadow: 2009

It was like an episode from that CBS drama "The White Shadow." Remember? The caucasian guy coaches the all-black high school basketball team?

The difference here was that my 13-year-old son was the only caucasian on an all-black AAU basketball team coached by four black men. They played in a tournament up in northern Sacramento and southern Placer County -- in the Rocklin, Roseville area.

Things were cool playing at Foothill High just off I-80, not far from the ghetto that stands where McClellan Air Force Base once stood proudly. It's a mixed-race area and the only racial delineation came on the court where 10 white kids from Rocklin ran and passed circles around my kid's team.

The little kids on my son's team are told to do one thing and one thing only when they get the ball, "Push it! PUUUUUUSH it! Run! Faster!" Great concept, but lack of body control and plan really makes the balls-out fastbreak problematic. Then, on defense, they press -- for 32 minutes. They're a quick, scrappy bunch but, again, lack of body control and an incredibly well coached team from Rocklin routinely beat the press without the ball ever touching the court...pass...pass...pass...layup! Impressive.

My son looked like Shaquille O'Neal out there. He's 5-foot-1, 155 pounds and he's gone through puberty...he's going through the tail end right now. When he was in the game, it just didn't look right. Everything changed. He seemed too strong and seemed like he got too much higher than the other kids. Not in a good way, either, it got me to thinking because...my son should never, not for one second, dominate a basketball game involving kids his age.

Ah, then I remembered...the guy who recruited him hemmed and hawed about ages and birthdates and said, "Oh, every team has one or two bigger, older kids." My son's a seventh grader. The Rocklin team plays in the sixth-grade division.

"He's illegal," the coach said, thus explaining why my son looked like he was so much bigger, stronger and older.

It didn't matter if he was a year too old, the team's not very good. So, they headed for Rocklin -- an affluent, almost solely white enclave just off I-80. It's a sea of cookie-cutter homes, in sparkling new subdivisions. Rocklin High School is beautiful and clean and ... it's not like Fairfield or any school in Fairfield.

The Warriors played another well-coached bunch of white kids. I got to see why, sadly, normally clear-thinking white folks are put off by equally well-intentioned black folks. There's a societal difference -- we're all just people, but...we're different in how we communicate and how we, oh, cheer at a kids basketball game.

The black folks, and their kids, cheered and played like teams from inner-city black neighborhoods. The coaches yelled a lot, and really loud, and the kids couldn't understand them. They knew, "Push it!" and "Pressure!" That was it.

What comes off as everyday speak between the coaches and kids sounds really harsh to the people who live in Rocklin or Lincoln or Auburn, you know?

Hey, we all speak some form of broken English. Bloggers have made broken English into a writing style. But, when the Rocklin fans heard the coach shout, "C'mon, use your head! Come over and sit on the bench. You're not giving full effort," it came out sounding like:

"What'chew doin' out there! Git yo'self on the bench where you belong! You ain't even tryin'!"

And, it echoed in the gym.

Parents in the stands shouted advice to my son. "Get your arms up. You're so big ... can't nobody get the ball from you!" (But, can't always get that ball and hold on to it when you haven't played much basketball either.) I got the distinct impression that my Fairfield-based peers feel that every kid on their team should know how to play basketball and should play it well. And, they seemed to give the white kids (yeesh, I know this sounds racist) no credit for moving the ball around, being dead-eye shooters and playing a disciplined brand of basketball that some high school teams couldn't manage. (When you pay $1,000 to get your kid good coaching...you get really good coaching.)

The poor little point guard from Fairfield felt he'd been fouled...a lot. When his dad finished hollering at him and the lady behind me finished shouting that her son, "Needs his minutes" -- the kid stormed off the floor and blurted, "This is bullshit!"

The fans from Placer County let out an audible gasp. It didn't phase me or my son. We curse, er, I curse around him and he's heard and said every curse word imaginable. Yet...he's an honor student, so...go figure.

I just knew those affluent, white adults were thinking, "Typical! That's why I moved out of the city! Those people are ..." Then they added what they think minorities in general, and blacks specifically, are doing to society.

They're making it ... more colorful. They're no different and it pissed me off thinking the people looked down on them.

Then, after a huge loss, the coaches did a deal that you would see in a Will Ferrell movie, or maybe something where Jonah Hill plays a team manager. The kids were all sitting on the curb, tired and defeated...and a father who likes amazingly like the comic Cedric the Entertainer started talking...and, I've heard him talk...he's a really bright, articulate man. He explained the basketball team's offense to me and I couldn't have understood every word more clearly. Somehow, though, in front of all those kids in public...he started shouting things like, "Lemme' axe you sumthin'..." and, "Ya gotstuh' represent Fairfield" and...other stuff white kids in Placer County say to emulate the black kids in Fairfield who, once they hit high school dominate the teams from Placer County.

My son might never been in a team meeting where's urged to "represent," but those Placer parents will hear another coach talk to another group of players and completely misunderstand everything they hear.

I think basketball in the inner city is a bit of a lifestyle choice, maybe an avenue out of bad times. If my son's see an NBA game...they see hope and they see heroes...they only see guys who look like them. You know? We have a black president, but it's going to take time for sixth-grade kids to start aspiring to become Barack Obama. They will, some do now, but it'll take time. For now, they all want to be Kobe and LeBron -- and their parents are digging the idea.

So, basketball's just another game...another activity to the folks in Placer County. It's a lifestyle...it's THE game...to the folks who run with the Warriors.

It's too bad we judge each other without knowing each other.

It's also too bad I sort of expect my son to follow the rules and that, thus, his time with the Warriors was brief. There's no misjudging breaking the rules in youth sports.

Former Star Feels H-DNL Coaches Could Do More

This note from former Eureka High football star Cardedrick Foreman (Class of 1998), says the things that I've long believed about the challenges even the most gifted athletes face on the North Coast.

Cardedrick lives in Utah, with his family, now. He spent four years playing Weber State — and I actually heard some knothead who follows H-DNL football try to say that Weber State doesn't play big-time football. Those, I think, are the type people Foreman addresses:

"Thanks so much for the consideration...People don't know I didn't play my sophomore year (at Eureka High) because my grades weren't good and my parents said 'no-go' to teach me a lesson! Now I have a 4-year degree and had a great career. I'm a proud father and husband. I often wonder how much better I could have been if the coaches didn't hold me back and just let me play and supported the fact that I wanted to go to a bigger college program. There is plenty of talent in Nor-Cal just little support...talk about a guy who put up numbers and got zero credit/support Reggie Menniweathers would be a great story!"

Foreman played wide receiver as a freshman on the Eureka High JV team where, at that time, the JV club passed for far more yardage than the varsity. The majority of the pass yards came on passes to Foreman. Then, he sat out his sophomore years when his peers who'd starred on the JV team were called up to play varsity football. He was, honestly, by far the best of those sophomores. How many parents would keep their sophomore off the team, over grades, if they were keeping them off the varsity team?

In his junior year, with Eureka play 22 different starters on offense and defense, Foreman was a full-time defensive back. He was the quickest, most elusive player on the team -- but, Eureka used 22 different starters, so Foreman didn't play a down on offense. That would, for modern-day fans, be the equivalent of Mo Purify only playing defensive back in his junior year. Foreman was the team's best receiver, too, but he only played defense.

Well, when injuries hit the running backs before the North Coast Section semifinal game between Eureka and Amador Valley, Foreman finally got the call and got some reps at flyback in the playoff game. Before his senior year, Eureka's starting quarterback (my oldest son) transferred to St. Bernard -- and Foreman spent his final year at EHS playing quarterback. And, he ran the complicated fly offense well -- as the best running quarterback the Loggers had ever had.

Foreman could've played both ways -- and starred. He had the speed and strength to have wowed college scouts -- especially once he got to the college camps and combines. But, it didn't happen that way. He played wherever he was told. It seems like the result should've been coaches helping showcase him on both sides of the ball -- and then at camps and combines. If Foreman had his 1,000 yards rushing -- or his 50 catches -- and his inate ability to play DB ... he'd have been a big-time recruit. If he'd gotten to camps and combines, there's no telling how far he could've gone.

He got to Weber State, which is clearly commendable, on his own. And, he's making a nice life for himself on his own.

Reggie Menniweathers was a great running back, with great speed and power. He ran for over 1,000 yards a year for three years on raw talent. He played fullback, halfback, flyback...but never a down on defense. He was built to run over and tackle kids in high school. Playing defense would've helped give him that extra edge if a college came calling. He wasn't nearly as gifted as Foreman, but he was a raw talent who could've used his ability as a running back to play in college. And, if he could've been coached into a serviceable defender -- and, really, it wouldn't have taken much -- he'd have been one of those guys everybody talked about for years.

I believe after rushing for over 3,000 yards, Reggie spent a year at College of the Siskiyous. Then, that was it.

There's no doubt that there are great athletes up there now, but ... there couldn't be athletes better than Foreman. There wasn't a running back in the H-DNL the last 3, 4, 5 years as good as Menniweathers. I saw the best back this year and, honest, Menniweathers was at other-worldly by comparison. Give him the ball, teach him to tackle...get him that college attention...and he'd have played four years and, maybe, everything would've been different for him and his family.

We'll never know, though.

H-DNL to College ... more

Some more college athletes from the H-DNL, courtesy of readers...

Jim Berning, Montana basketball

**Ted's Note: Eureka's Berning was a 6-foot-3, maybe 6-foot-4, sky-jumper from 1973-1975 -- by H-DNL standards. He blocked more shots than any H-DNL player I can remember...and he played all three years in high school...and he was an outstanding student. The world's filled with great players who "coulda' been somebody" if they'd managed that 2.0 gpa and stayed off the police blotters. Berning was just a truly great student-athlete.

Mike and Ron Spini, University of Washington baseball

Stacey Morgan U Washington baseball

Rick Lundblade, Stanford baseball.

Rob Harrison, Sac State football

**Harrison initially accepted a full scholarship to play at San Diego State University out of Eureka High School.

Kenny Maire - Cal baseball

**Ted Note: Maire was the best pitcher of his era in the H-DNL.

H-DNL athletes to DI schools: 2008

D-I Athletes Since mid-1980s...Updated 5/8/08

fw1997 asked about Humboldt-Del Norte League athletes other than Mo Purify and Ray Maualuga who've gone onto NCAA Division I athletics in the last 20 years...here's a list that I don't claim is complete...it's close, though:

Here's the list...

Maualuga, Eureka/USC, football
Purify, Eureka/Nebraska, football
Cardedrick Foreman, Eureka/Weber State, football
David Sharp, St. Bernard/Virginia Military Institute, baseball
Gregg Reynolds, Arcata/University of Pacific, baseball
Travis Fleming, McKinleyville/University of Pacific, baseball
Matt Nielsen, McKinleyville/Sac State baseball
Gary Wilson, Eureka/Sac State, baseball
Mark Gorge, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Jeff Borghino, Arcata/Sac State, baseball
Mitch Walter, Arcata/Kansas State, baseball
Ryan Johnston, McKinleyville/U. of Arkansas, baseball
Matt Tomlin, St. Bernard/University of Nebraska, baseball
Brandon Marcelli, Eureka/Fresno State, baseball
Mo Charlo, Eureka/Nevada, basketball
Trina Bindel, Eureka/Wake Forest, track and field
Brandon Bieber, Del Norte/U of Alaska-Fairbanks, basketball
Vicky Fleschner, Fortuna/Oregon, cross country & track
Heidi Bowman, South Fork/Marquette, basketball
Trina McCartney, McKinleyville/Oregon, basketball (She graduated in '87)
Matt Creason, Eureka/Georgetown, cross country & track
Debbie Templeton, South Fork/Stanford, track and field
Megan McMillan, Del Norte/Oregon State, volleyball
Morrie Roe, Arcata/Hawaii, football
Scott Eskra, Eureka/Mississippi, baseball
Gina Loechl, Eureka/Wisconsin, swimming
Dustin Smith, golf
Ashley Curry, McKinleyville, UC Davis
Buck Pierce, Del Norte/New Mexico State, football

While the general belief is that it's no big deal to go from the H-DNL to college sports unless one jumps to D-I, stop and consider how many H-DNL athletes go on to play four years of college athletics at any school. Not that many, right? In my world, at my age, it remains noteworthy to play at any college or university.

6 comments:

FW1997 said...

Thanks Ted!

Amazing list.

Is there any athletes of note that you were surprised never made it to the D-1 Collegiate level?

May 7, 2008 1:58 PM

Brad Hanson said...

This post has been removed by a blog administrator.

May 7, 2008 3:27 PM

s quincey said...

not sure if it's D-1, but john thurston from ferndale is wrestling for UC Davis.
hope you don't mind if we copy and use your list!
Thanks, Ted
It's exciting that you started this blog. Finally someone in the blogosphere who talks about North Coast sports. Can't wait for the discussions to be had here
Sean

May 7, 2008 6:16 PM

Ted Sillanpaa said...

It's great if the North Coast media uses the lists I put together...but, I'd like to be credited...unless a list just falls to me out of the sky with no research, then I don't expect any credit.--ts

May 7, 2008 8:45 PM

samoasoftball said...

How about the ones from Humboldt that have played pro ball? Gary Thompson of Eureka is one of very few NFL players to just play JC ball then make the Bills as a starter in the 80's!

Al Erickson played Basketball in the Australian league for over 15 years? He just retired last year.

May 7, 2008 9:41 PM

Anonymous said...

Shawn Sorenson, Eureka/Rice, track

Eureka High Hall of Famers

It's become clear that H-DNL "history" is defined as the period of time members of the area's working media and the current group of really avid fans can remember. So, sadly, "history" seems to start in about 1991 -- it's rare that we read anything about athletes who actually made history in the H-DNL.

So, credit the folks who started the Eureka High School sports hall of fame for reaching out to lots of different folks from lots of different backgrounds -- and a variety of age groups -- because they came up with a near perfect list of initial inductees into the EHS shrine.

Coach Jay Willard and former Olympic sprinter Elta Cartwright were no-brainers. They pre-date me. Olympic sprinter and a guy who had such impact that the gymnasium and the walkway to the football are both named after him? Ideal selections.

There are generations of people who don't know how amazingly gifted Rob Harrison was, in three sports, in the 1980s. The people who bicker about which modern-day football running backs are bound for college have no idea how truly unique Harrison was carrying the ball. And, obviously, few no he was a state-level wrestler, hurdler and jumper.

It figures that even fewer people know what a fantastic athlete John Burman was in the 1960s. He was a state-level sprinter who really left an indelible mark on the North Coast by leading Humboldt State to a win in the 1968 Camellia Bowl against Fresno State. Yes...Humboldt played Fresno State and beat Fresno State -- and it wasn't really that close.

Rich Mayo was a multi-sport star who wound up starting at quarterback for the Air Force Academy team that played in the Cotton Bowl. I remember being a kid ripping through an older friend's old "Sport" magazines and stumbling onto mention of "Air Force quarterback Rich Mayo, from Eureka, Calif." I had no idea it was even possible to go from Eureka to mention in sport magazine, let alone big-time college football stardom. It's cool he can be inducted along with Ralph Mayo.

Katrina Bindel was the best female athlete I saw in my 1,001 years on the North Coast. She won state track and field medals when it was really rare for H-DNL athletes to even get to the state meet. She was on course to become, most insiders thought, a star in the international heptathlon competition. Then, an injury sidelined her in the early 1990s. She was magnificent.

Billy Olson is the former Eureka High baseball pitcher who, in my opinion, is the most overlooked of any truly fantastic former Logger athlete. The guy was a flame-throwing lefthanded pitcher who was virtually, almost literally, unhittable in the late 1960s. He went directly from pitching in high school to being the Humboldt Crabs' ace -- back when the Crabs were playing the elite semi-pro teams, filled with stars from major colleges. And...Olson handled those Alaska summer college teams just fine at an age when, honestly, most pitchers would've quaked at the thought of facing stars from Southern Cal, UCLA, Stanford, etc.

It's not exactly an accident that Olson hasn't spent 40 years having his baseball accomplishments recounted every spring and summer. I tracked him down to do an interview once in the 1990s. It wasn't like I ever forgot the guy, but I just never knew where to look for him. You know how some guys slip really easily into talking about their accomplishments? It wasn't at all easy for Olson to talk about being, I think, the best pitcher in H-DNL history. He was clearly more comfortable listening to me tell him things I remembered seeing him do on the field. (Yeah...I was interviewing my "hero" and I was nearly 40 years old.)

His wife, I believe, pulled out a small scrapbook with some stories about Olson's baseball heyday. I was struck by how he clearly was remembering some of those games and teammates and opponents for the first time in years. I was also struck by him being that humble even when I admitted from the start that I brought my sons along on the interview just so they could meet the guy I'd spent so much time telling them about.

And ... now ... I'm rambling on like a school boy about Billy Olson again. Hey...he was really, really good and not a pitcher who's come along in the 40 years since came close to being as dominant as he was before he injured his pitching arm. (Well, St. Bernard grad Greg Shanahan was amazing, too, he was a righthander who wound up pitching for the L.A. Dodgers. He and Olson had a couple epic matchups I remember reading about.)

How much of a fan am I of Olson? Hmmm? My youngest son's a tall, lanky 12-year-old pitcher...he's a lefty. Pretty good, too. He asked me who my favorite lefty pitcher was and I said, "You...of course." Then, I swear, I paused and said, "Well, actually a guy named Billy Olson's my favorite lefty of all-time, so you're No. 2 ... but ..."
and from there, a 12-year-old heard all the Billy Olson stories that simply must remaining a vivid part of H-DNL history.

I hope Olson and the others can all take part in the homecoming ceremony. They have places in H-DNL history that, I fear, is becoming increasingly lost.

---------------
Ted's Opinion: People gripe and moan that athletes are forced to pick one sport, or one position, far too early in life. So, I nominate for the EHS Hall of Fame -- Joe Denbo, Class of 1974, and Cardedrick Foreman, Class of 1998.

Denbo played three years of varsity quarterback at Eureka for some good teams -- played some receiver, too. He played two seasons of varsity basketball -- and was darn good. His three years as a varsity baseball outfielder were productive and prooved that great athletes can do as many sports as they could handle. Even in 1971-1974...there weren't many 8-time varsity letterman who started in three sports. Joe deserves an honor for a time we miss greatly.

Foreman was a football star who played receiver as a freshman, defensive back as a junior (with a little running back tossed in -- because he was the most elusive runner on the team)...then he capped his career by converting to quarterback as a senior. That's unheard of and...get this...Foreman was really exceptionally gifted at all those positions for truly outstanding EHS teams. He deserves a Hall of Fame nomination...and, here it is...

North Coast Fans Are Angry

Sunday, February 8, 2009

North Coast People Are Angry...etc.

The swirl of controversy surrounding Eureka High's boys basketball team resulted in one North Coast fans suggesting that criticism of individual players indicates how poorly the boys conduct themselves because, he wrote, folks never see area fans being critical of other athletes.

The comment went on to include a list of North Coast athletes like Rey Maualuga, Mo Purify and a who's who of current high school stars. The writer stated that the Loggers basketball kids are deserving of criticism and the proof comes in knowing that Maualuga, Purify and the others never catch flak from area fans.

Virtually every athlete the fan mentioned has, indeed, been criticized in the very public newspaper forums up there. Purify got trashed when he signed with the Cincinnati Bengals. Maualuga gets knocked off and on by people who feel obligated to point out that he might be an All-America football star, but that he was just a kid who got in trouble like everybody else in Eureka. And, with only a few exceptions, high school stars get ripped in the most personal manner as if they're professionals who, in part, earn their paycheck by taking their lumps.

It seems like North Coast sports fans are angry -- or, perhaps, sports fans are angry. Maybe some fans care too much or take it all too personally. Regardless, high school and other small-market athletes don't get that really harsh treatment in many other places.

The other day, I wrote two stories about Justin-Siena High school athletes who'll be leaving Napa to attend college and compete on scholarship in football and track and field respectively. The football player's going to Washington State, while the track athlete's headed for Stanford.

The Napa area treats high school athletes much like they're treated on the North Coast. The newspaper features them, even over nearby professional and major college athletes. The kids in Napa get the star treatment. So, if it was simply a matter of small-market fans resenting small-market "stars," there'd be some backlash when two Napa athletes are featured as a result of accepting scholarships.

There were five reader comments to the stories about the athletes. (And, five comments are about five more than sports stories usually get.) All five were positive and in praise of the athletes. There wasn't one comment aimed at questioning the kids' talents or their GPA. Nobody wrote to mention that they saw one of the kids do something wrong once.

Granted, the kids I wrote about seem to be stellar high school citizens. I'd wager that they've never done anything that would prompt some fan to log on to a public forum and assault their folks for being bad parents.

Still...if was a "sports fan" anger we note on the North Coast, there'd be some similar resentment to athletes in other places. It seems as though the North Coast sports fans are more angry, more easily, than most. And, they manage to make it all more personal than it is in high school sports circles elsewhere.

==============
Two things can be equally true. High school athletes can be held to the same rules that apply to every other high school student. High school athletes shouldn't be targeted in public forums for vicious personal attacks.
---------------------
I joined Facebook yesterday and, apparently, only two people who attended Eureka High School in the 1970s has the computer knowledge and interest in social networking to have joined what my kids assure me is a really interesting development in Internet content. Or, I suppose, I just don't know how to search Facebook to find people I might have attended school with.
----------------------
There's good and bad living in a metropolitan area like the one we reside in these days. One good thing is that a youngster can escape whatever tags they pick up as they progress through school. Kids aren't necessarily stuck with the "goof-off" tag that followed them from Cutten Elementary to Winship when they get to Eureka High. Kids involved in sports literally get a fresh start when they go from middle school to high school.

Knowing that the middle school experience doesn't dictate the type of high school experience a kid will have makes the middle school sports experience more enjoyable for parents...well, for me. In a larger area, it's easier for parents to enjoy (if we're willing) each team and each sport as an individual entity. Kids move around. Adults don't know everything about every kid's weakness or strength. I know I felt like the first year of Little League was the first step to making the high school team when we lived up there.

It's probably better to give high school coaches the final word on who plays than to give increasingly more clout to coaches from youth ball forward. You know?

Posted by Ted Sillanpaa at 12:14 PM 0 comments

All-Time H-DNL Basketball Team

It can't be the North Coast's all-time hoop squad or it would be filled with the number of great players who've been recruited to and starred at Humboldt State. People who don't remember the 1960s and most of the 1970s at HSU have no idea how bad things were, nor will they ever appreciate what Tom Wood's built in his long tenure leading the Lumberjacks.

Without paying a great deal of attention to HSU hoops now that the 'Jacks are on top of the world, I could name 7 guys who'd demolish any All-Time Humboldt-Del Norte League team:

F -- Hooks...Fred? Right? He was as exciting and effective as any player I every saw up there.
G -- Daryl Westmoreland...He was a big, athletic guard on HSU's NCAA Division III powerhouse coached by Jim Cosentino -- who eventually got dinged by a recruiting scandal, thus starting the Tom Wood era.
C -- Ray Beer...he was half-man, half-monster -- D-III style -- in the early 1980s. Just a beast. This Jacks team filled the old East Gym for a regional game against a New Jersey Tech team and, it was unforgettable.
F -- Austin Nichols...based on what I saw and read, Nichols and Hooks were leaders of the greatest team in HSU history...dominating D-II like Westmoreland and Beer overwhelmed D-III 25 years ago.

So, the all-time H-DNL team I arrived at is...all about the H-DNL...local kids who played middle school ball, high school ball and, then, starred in college...

G...Isaac Gildea...he was a basketball player and a winner at McKinleyville and CR -- then starred at Humboldt.
F...Al Erickson...a 6-foot-4 swingman who was, literally, Larry Bird-like on a smaller stage at Eureka High, CR and Humboldt. He could do everything -- by far the best of the Erickson basketball brothers.
G...Gary Mendenhall...starred at St. Bernard in the very early 1980s -- maybe the late 1970s. He could shoot...pass...defend and...win. He still holds University of Santa Clara records.
G/F...Mo Charlo...he starred at Eureka and wound up starring in Division I for Nevada. There hasn't been a better all-around player to come of the H-DNL and, I think, Charlo's success signals the start of a string of H-DNL players who'll eventually overshadow the local kids who starred at HSU. (Although, I tend to think Erickson and Gildea could've played wherever they really wanted to and got a chance to compete.)
C...Jeff Nielsen...there's not a high-scoring, shot-blocking center to call on, but the former Ferndale star from the early '70s anchored the middle for the best CR team in school history that rolled in the Northern California tournament. Nielsen was tough and big enough to handle the middle.
C....Mike Jaentsch...He and Jeff Moon were big (6-7'ish) studs for a 1970-71 Del Norte team that played two of the most memorable games in H-DNL history against Eureka.

Also on the list: Ryan Riewerts is a guy lots of people found reason to knock, but he won wherever he played and his dominating performance for Bill Treglown's CR team that rolled in the Nor Cal tourney was so memorable -- a burly 6-foot-3 power forward domanating the glass...Brandon Bieber and Justin Mora proved that if you played the game correctly and play it really hard all the time, good things will happen and you'll maximize your talent...6-foot-10 John Murray was a star at Eureka in the very early 1960s and merits an all-time spot...It's my team and I'm lacking backcourt help and -- I gotta have the heart n' soul of Hoopa's first champions -- Augie Valdez. ... Finally, I need forward John Poovey who starred on two great Eureka High teams coached by Al Erickson's father Julian Erickson. John passed away too soon not long ago. He could play.

Head coach: Doug Oliveira...he turned Hoopa's program around with a 3-pointing shoot team that played swarming defense, but he was good at adapting to the talent he had, too.

Don Terbush II

When I was sports editor of the Times-Standard in the 1990s, I did a long interview with Lawrence "Scoop" Beal. He was one of the great newspapermen in Humboldt County history. He was the sports editor of one of the two dailies in Eureka...then became the managing editor...yielding his sports duties to Don Terbush.

Scoop was a promoter...a talker...he had stories one would expect from a character in "Guys & Dolls." He ran with former heavyweight champion Max Baer...and actually played a role in the formation and early promotion of the Humboldt Clowns traveling basketball troupe that made routine, and popular, stops in West Coast towns that the Harlem Globetrotters would never visit. Scoop knew everybody and was happy to talk and talk and talk...which was a joy for a kid who can't hear enough stories about things like the old swim stadium at Freshwater Park. (If you cross the water and get up on the bank now covered by trees, you'll see remains of old-fashioned stadium seating where residents used to enjoy aquacade water shows.)

Beal died not long after I did the interview and ran a three-part story about his life in sports.

Don Terbush would never, ever, offer to sit down and tell a writer stories about his time as sports editor of the Times-Standard. It took me knowing him for decades to learn that he was a champion sprinter...in Compton, Calif....in high school. He was involved in athletics at Humboldt State after he got out of the military. He didn't talk about himself and, I imagine, will never want to talk about himself. In fact, Don doesn't like people who make themselves the star of the story. Nothing made Don cringe like hearing somebody taking credit for, say, making the Humboldt Crabs a nationally-known summer baseball program.

"Louie built the Crabs," Don told me, referring to Lou Bonomini. "If it wasn't for Louie, there'd have been no Crabs...not like they were. What a laugh! (Somebody else) saying he helped Louie build the Crabs."

The late Lou Bonomini wouldn't have promoted himself either.

As written previously, Don probably tolerated working with me...as I tolerated being a kid working for a guy I thought was too old-school for modern newspapering. (I didn't just start being an idiot. I've been an idiot for years!)

Then, a funny thing happened, I was all of a sudden a married man, with two kids who worked as sports editor of the Times-Standard. All of a sudden, I saw Don in a different light. He wasn't just the guy who was the timekeeper at the epic amateur fight cards at Municipal Auditorium or the guy who traveled with Humboldt State College's football teams in their glory years -- including the 1968 Camellia Bowl season when the Lumberjacks beat Fresno State. Don stopped being my boss and the Crabs scorekeeper, announcer and vice-president. Don was suddenly sort of a role model.

Since I was always right and everybody else was wrong, I took the job offer from a Southern California newspaper in the 1980s and left Eureka. Remember, Don passed on job offers to stay in Eureka, keep a low profile and live a quiet, productive life with his wife Tina and three children. After a couple years on what was the comparative newspaper fast track, I had a stack of clips from covering Magic's "Showtime" Lakers and the Los Angeles Rams. I'd covered the Rose Bowl and a Super Bowl -- and stopped thinking it was all that big a deal to stand in line at the Dodger Stadium media buffett behind Vin Scully.

When my kids were in school and I realized I couldn't take a five-mile run without the air quality in SoCal wrecking me for days, I realized...the big-time wasn't what it was made out to be. It hit me that, sure, I was on track to be a beat writer for some team -- just like I'd wanted to be -- but, that beat writers travel and travel would take me away from my kids. How could I coach my kids in youth sports or go to their school functions if I was covering the L.A. Clippers in Detroit in December?

That's when I realized that the guy I thought was wrong turned out to be absolutely right. Don Terbush did what I didn't realize I wanted to do...he put his lifestyle and his family ahead of the need to be in what is perceived as a more glamouros job. I never asked Don where could have worked, but just about any newspaper offers more perceived glamour than the T/S offers, right?

I didn't return to Eureka to work in newspapers, but that's where I wound up. I stumbled, almost literally, back into the sports editor's job. I was happy to have gotten a second chance at getting my priorities straight. I'd never cover the major sports, but I'd never miss a parent-teacher conference either. I'd have to listen to parents mock me for how I did my job, but I still got to coach my kids and their friends. It wasn't exactly as smooth as Don made it look but I did wind up using his career and choices as a model for my own.

It was a revelation when I admitted that, after years of thinking he was old-fashioned and not really interested, I admitted...I'd followed in Don's footsteps because I decided that he made choices that were really wise.

Don put up with all the same headaches other small-market editors face. He just handled it with more dignity than, well, I did. We were generations apart. So, he put friendships with coaches and players first...he got along with everybody I ever saw him deal with. If he didn't get along with them, you wouldn't know it unless he said something well after he'd dealt with folks. Me? I was intent on putting a premium on opinion and more pointed feature stories and ... making myself a target for people who don't like opinions or pointed features.

Don avoided those critical pieces and wrote "Sideline Slants." I used to cringe at the formula he used to write that column, but one day I realized that one of the true highlights of my young life was when I got mentioned in a Sunday "Sideline Slants." So...I forgot my roots. I forgot what was so cool about the Times-Standard. Nobody read my column and thought, "Oh, gosh...Ted Sillanpaa mentioned me!" But, when I was playing briefly on the baseball team at College of the Redwoods and broke my finger, Don mentioned the injury and quoted coach Tom Giacomini about my being sidelined and when I might return. Truly...that was a highlight in my life! I made "Sideline Slants."

Of course, I didn't remember the wonderful place "Sideline Slants" had in Humboldt County until I'd already become a target...often on purpose. My bad! I couldn't go back to write "Sideline Slants: 1997," you know? I had a reputation that, I guess, lots of people hated. But, it was mine and I stuck to it. I secretly wished I had a reputation like the one Don built.

I used to talk to Don when he'd come in to write that fishing column that, by God, cannot be his legacy, you know? He'd ask about my kids. I'd talk and he'd listen. And, eventually, I noticed he wasn't giving me advice...but he was giving me a chance to learn from him if I really paid attention.

And...no...I'm sure Don didn't stop and think, "Ted's really messed up! I'll try to help him out." Don wouldn't impose his beliefs on anybody. But, I know I learned about being a dad and dealing with life and the profession just talking to him when I was, finally, able to hear what other people were saying.

I have little discipline and, sadly, give up easily on tough tasks. Don is disciplined and diligent to the point I used to see him walking the same course...around his neighborhood and along a street that bordered my neighborhood...ever day, at the same time. He never walked faster. He never walked slower. But, by God, Don Terbush always walked. I started to think that just doing it ... everyday...the same way...was really commendable. I admired that in Don.

Don and I weren't close enough for me to know if he was a good, great, average or indifferent father. He'd never talk about that stuff. It was private. But, his daughters Merriedawn and Kathy always spoke highly of him. And, he spoke proudly of his son Don and never said a bad thing about his wife Tina. (And, you'd be surprised how hard it is to spend a full day in a newspaper office without hearing somebody bitch about their spouse.)

My ex-wife did daycare for Don's granddaughter Crystal, who is the same age as my son Trent. I thought that, perhaps, Trent and Crystal would someday date and that Don and I would, perhaps, watch a football game on TV at Thanksgiving or something. I've had some crazy dreams.

Since Don's not going to get a big feature story splashed all over the T/S...because he wouldn't want to sit and talk about himself...I can leave this legacy for him...save him the hassle after causing him so much hassle over the years...

Don Terbush is a good man. He's a fine, fine writer who understood his craft and the business that is now dying. When the business started losing guys like Don, it figured that the business was headed toward its demise. If my sons had, more or less, the same virtues I saw later in life in Don ... I'd be proud of them.

Somebody, maybe the North Coast Journal, should corner Don and talks to some of his peers. His story should be told in a forum much bigger than this little thing. But, in the interim...I just want to say that Don Terbush was a solid man I am proud to have worked for and with. I owe him a debt of gratitude I could never repay...and he probably has no idea he had any impact on me at all.

That's how Don is and will always be...

Don Terbush

If you've spent years gnashing your teeth of things I've written that appeared in North Coast publications, blame Merriedawn Terbush.

For being one of the nicest girls/women I've ever known, and for having known her since we were in high school, I should know how to spell her first name. But, see, Don Terbush's daughter was "Merd" to her friends. So, I called her "Merd," too. She sort of outgrew "Merd" and I once gave great thought to calling her by her given name. (Boys were aware of being stuck in the dreaded "Friend Zone" in the 1970s, too, and I didn't want to be pigeon-holed as just her pal at one point. And...now I've spilled a deep secret...moving on...)

I should know her married name, too. But, I haven't seen her much over the years so...I probably shouldn't have brought up the whole "Friend Zone" thing and ... never mind.

Where was I?

Oh, my mother died when I was going to College of the Redwoods. I was 17 1/2 and working at Cutten Supermarket when Merd came by to tell me that her dad was going to be looking for a part-time sports writer. She said I should go talk to him. And, oh, did my mom love Merriedawn! She routinely, from the time she got to know her, would mention that I was a "jackass" for messing around with other girls and date with "Merd." I never argued the point, never disputed it. I just pointed out that there was the small problem of other boys, other girls and having to ask somebody I actually liked on a date ... out of the blue ... at which point my mom mumbled, "You are such a (*&^%^ jackass" and walked off.

Don hired me to take the part-time job Merriedawn mentioned and I began making his very, very comfortable professional life a pain. He didn't really want to mentor part-time guys. He was distant, as a man who'd been in the business for many, many years should be when dealing with a 17-year-old who wanted to be Woodward or Bernstein -- or both. I learned to write quickly by having Don tell me, "You have to stop writing now." I learned to write short stories on deadline, without leaving any facts out, by having Don just cut my stories wherever he needed to cut them to fill the hole on the page.

You'd be amazed at how quickly a young writer catches onto the idea that he shouldn't save key facts for way down a story once he picks up a newspaper to read his 15-inch story and sees that only 10 inches of it made it into the newspaper. And, to Don's credit, I completely got it. Write quickly and write to fit.

I used to fight, in a passive-aggressive way, the weekly feature story assignments Don and his full-time guy Mike Jessie came up with for me. It would begin a long fight against authority that, as the song says, authority always wins. I didn't get important enough feature assignments for Don to fight me about them, so if he wanted a story about two Hoopa High wrestlers and I did a McKinleyville boxer -- he would just grunt and remind me that he was still waiting for the wrestlers' story.

Mostly, I didnt talk to Don Terbush because he had what was my dream job. I know. Weird. My dream job, once I realized I wouldn't play center field for the San Francisco Giants, was to be sport editor of the Times-Standard. I grew up reading the T/S and Don's column, "Sideline Slants." People talk about how much local sports news they read in small papers today, but there was a time when our Eureka Midget League baseball game stories appeared in the next day's newspaper. The JV basketball box score ran right below the varsity box score and, honest, they didn't have a bigger staff back then. They just put a premium on reporting the news when it was fresh and honestly believed that "names made news" and, moreover, that names sold newspapers.

I remember hearing that Don passed up job opportunities in bigger towns, at better newspapers. I thought that was about the most ridiculous damned thing I'd ever heard. I was 13, 14 years old at the time. I vowed that I would try to become the sports editor of the Times-Standard first, but that I'd blow town and head for the biggest publication, in the biggest town, the minute I had the chance. I scoffed, as much as a teenager can scoff, at the idea that Don passed those jobs so he could raise his family in Eureka.

Of course, I didn't realize that newspaper guys live a nomadic life. They bounce around and they don't coach Little League or go to dance recitals. The sports editor of the small market paper has the time to live a normal life. The NFL beat writer becomes famous and makes big money, but he doesn't get to many of his kids' functions or spend much time with his family in the fall and winter -- or early spring.

Naturally, I didn't figure that out until I'd bounced around and landed in Eureka...at the Times-Standard...having shunned Southern California and that job market...and wound up as sports editor of the Times-Standard for a second time. I barely filled Don's shoes the first time on the job. I was young and impulsive and not organized. So, when I got a second chance to do my dream job, I was better ready.

This isn't the whole story. I'm going to write more because I haven't spoken to Don since I left Eureka in 2000. And, despite the rocky start, I've learned over time that he had much more of an impact on my life than he would have dreamed or I would've imagined. And, he's just a good guy who raised a good family and did good things in the community and I don't want him to be remembered as the guy who wrote the fishing column.

Don Terbush couldn't care less what people think of him. He's a confident man, cool actually. He was a great athlete in his youth in Southern California and Humboldt State.

Basketball All-Timers...A Starting Point

Basketball has changed so much so quickly that it's hard to imagine comparing players from the 1950s or 1960s to today's kids. Hell, in the early 1960s they were still separating kids on lightweight and heavyweight teams in high school.

These players leaped to mind when I thought about an all-time North Coast boys basketball team last night...not a definitive list, just guys who came to mind first...

Isaac Gildea, McK/CR/HSU...I wonder how he'll be viewed over time? Will he be forgotten when kids start going to D-I schools. Or, will he be remembered as a bad-ass gamer who just did what winners do? In the 1990s...I decided he was the greatest player, the guy with the most impact, I'd ever seen on the North Coast...not bad for a slightly built guard.

Buck Pierce, DN...The only thing that kept him from a great college career was the small matter of him being a D-I football quarterback prospect. Del Norte had a string a great guards like John Maready, Dave Brous...all the way back to Blaine Lopez. But, Pierce had the confidence and cool and inventiveness -- as well as a sweet jumper -- to stand out among the greatest guards in a Kirk Burrows-coached program that produced great guards every year in the 1990s.

Al Erickson, Eureka/CR/HSU...He still plays pro ball in Australia. I wish people who are raving over the next greatest player ever could have seen the 6-foot-4 Erickson do everything really well...whatever his teams needed doing...you know? He didn't look like much a player...until he started playing. He had a Larry Bird-like quality on a smaller scale. A nose for the ball and for getting the most of his ability...and he busted his ass for the opening tip to the final buzzer.

Ryan Riewerts, Hoopa/CR...Controversy followed this guy around, but he was the inside presence for Gildea's CR Nor Cal tournament team -- and Riewerts was a bulky 6-foot-4 banger who took on bigger, taller, faster guys and made things happen around the hoop. If I needed somebody to get me a rebound, at least through the late 1990s, I'd want Riewerts to go after it...when I watched him play, the appropriate background soundtrack was "Let the Bodies Hit the Floor" by Drowning Pool.

Mike Janetsch, Del Norte...This is a trip in the Way Back Machine to give props to the 6-foot-7 Warriors star who was at the center of a great series of Warriors teams and an stunning Eureka-DN rivalry in the early 1970s.

Gary Mendenhall, St. B/Santa Clara...I know most people forgot him because he played at St. B in the mid-1980s...but, I've neven seen a more complete guard in the H-DNL...and Mendenhall lacked only a couple inches to be every bit Gildea's equal. Mendenhall and George Ambrosini led some fantastic St. Bernard team. I think Mendenhall was on the T/S all-time team I picked.

Dean Jones-Brad Bieber, DN...Bieber went on to play in college. They formed a potent, versatil 1-2 punch. Jones had the quickness that came slowly to the H-DNL. He dominated the early Niclai Tournaments as a guard in 1981-82. My preference for Jones stems from my willingness to believe his off-court activity didn't spill onto the court.

Myke Jones, DN...he was Dean Jones' 6-foot-7 brother...and the first H-DNL player we ever actually saw dunk. Unlimited potential I was told early, though, that he'd never achieve it...by people who knew him way better than I did. Sadly, Myke and Leon Volasgis, of Hoopa, had all the physical gifts but...they just never clicked.

Justin Mora. Fortuna...a bigger forward, muscular...who could handle the ball and shoot...and rebound. He played harder than most "star" players in the H-DNL. Went on to the play in college. It's going to be hard to keep him on my all-time team. Loved watchin him play.

Brandon Bieber, Del Norte: Mora and Bieber were pals, apparently, but their rivalry was epic the early 1990s. Bieber played college ball in Alaska...just another fundamentally sound guy who could work inside and outside. I think Mora and Bieber began the move to making the H-DNL a place were 4-year colleges could go looking for talent.

Chris Weaver...McK...I lost track of him. I know he was the biggest of the big centers in the H-DNL and...there was no way he could live up to the hype. But...I suspect if he'd played in an area where he was just another big guy who had to work his tail off to succeed that I'd have wanted him on my team. There aren't many shot-blockers in H-DNL history.

Charles Webster...DN...See what I mean about the game changing? John Murray is a 6-foot-10 EHS grad from the early 1960s who remains of the league's all-time leading scorers, but I can't imagine Webster not shutting him down because Webster, like Weaver, was an athlete...and John was just a big guy with some nice hook shots, etc.

Greg Allen, Eureka...without seeing him play much, I'll make the leap of faith that being 2-time Big Five MVP and a D-I talent earns him a spot as the post-modern H-DNl hoop star.

Zach Barnes, St. Bernard/CR..he was was about 6-7 or so and arrived at St. Bernard in 1973 with a pretty cool set of all-around tools. He's in the the mix to fill the slot for the all-around big guy...shot-blocker, scorer, defender.

Mo Charlo, Eureka/Nevada...Best all-around player to come of the H-DNL -- ever. Mo Purify was a football player/athlete who could hoop, but Mo Charlo was a D-I prospect and player and wound up getting looks from NBA teams. And, Charlo's road to greatness wasn't an easy one to travel. He deserves credit for beating odds and working hard to be great.

Jack Bainbridge, SF/HSU...He was the best point guard of the 1980s. I know Marcus Price of Eureka High got raves in the 1990s, but Bainbridge led South Fork to hoop glory and...I just loved his grit.

Kevin Krause SB/UC Riverside...my list won't be filled with guys who got to college, but Krause was a player...a 6-5 center at St. Bernard who was smooth, hardworking and intelligent. He dominated the H-DNL from 1985-1987.

Augie Valdez, Hoopa/CR...He led Hoopa to the Division V NCS title, with Volasgis starring as a sophomore center. Valdez was a standstill 3-point gunner who was an inspiratational leader...the Warriors win over highly-touted Emery of Emeryville, with 6-foot-10 Arkansas-bound Darnell Robinson, ranks among the best games in H-DNL history. Valdez wasn't built for the college game...but, man, was he a joy to watch play.

Nominees and opinions are welcome.

Prep Athletes Aren't Public Figures...Even If You're Bored

EHS Uproar...Practically Speaking
High school athletes aren't public figures.

High school athletes shouldn't have off-court actions described in detail in public forums.

It's 2009 and people use the Internet any, ol' way they want.

My 13-year-old son begins his interscholastic sports experience as a 7th grader knowing that the only way to make sure he never has to defend himself over making bad decisions away from his sports is ... to make sure he makes good decisions.

I hate the idea of a Eureka High basketball star being raked over hot coals by jealous and spiteful critics for something that has nothing to do with sports. But, it's obvious he mad a decision at some point that provided his attackers with ammunition and...boy...have they used it to get after him.

Nobody's perfect. But, starting the minute you get on the court or on the field in the school's uniforms...in this day and age...you damn well better know that being anything except as close to a perfect citizen as you can be is asking for trouble.

If you don't do anything wrong, you can't get knocked for doing something wrong.
Posted by Ted Sillanpaa at 1:55 PM 0 comments
Eureka High Basketball ... Uproar
http://www.topix.net/forum/source/eureka-times-standard/T4HFJQM0L14OIQJKS

---------
The link goes to a Times-Standard Topix thread that began in response to the game story following St. Bernard's boys basketball win over Eureka High. It turned into a forum about the conduct of some Eureka High basketball players...on and off the court. One of the parents, apparently, got involved to defend his son. And, I can't blame the man, since his son is accused by anonymous sources of criminal activity.

Somebody involved in the conversation threw up a post asking for me to comment. I'm honored that somebody would think I might have something to add to a conversation that took on the most negative, vile tone of any I've read result from a sports story up there.

I don't think high school athletes are public figures. Just because Eureka High sports star Greg Allen is a sports star, and headed to play in college on scholarship, doesn't mean he's different from any other 17-year-old minor. There are all sorts of allegations and people swear, anonymously, that there was activity that the police responded to in some way or another.

Whether criminal activity took place or not, we agree to protect the identity of those under age 18 who are even accused of breaking the law. If a media outlet did opt to report on the allegation that a girl was physically abuse, no names would be used because the media protects the identities of minors.

The Topix comments are very specifically mentioning the athlete, and some of his teammates. I cited the libel laws in a brief post Wednesday because, honestly, if my son was being dragged through the mud in a Media News Group forum -- I'd file a lawsuit against Media News Group. It's not the Times-Standard's fault or the fault of Media News that the athlete's being called for criminal activity -- and various other transgressions I won't repeat here. But, we can't sue anonymous posters...so, the only way to address personal attacks in a public forum is by suing the folks responsible for providing the forum.

A poster, who remains anonymous, insists the allegations are true...that the father acknowledged there was an "incident." I don't care. The player's a minor. There are allegations that are a lot more pointed and vile than simply referring to an "incident." I think we need to stand up and try to change the course these public forums are taking before they become even more out of control.

Question the kid's jump shot...question his ability to play in college...question Eureka High's coach...that's fair and harmless and, actually, at the root of why sports fans enjoy sports. But, to drag an alleged incident involving a minor girl into the forum? And, then to read people trash the kid anonymously...with no avenue to get to the truth through actual reporting? That's unacceptable.

High school athletes didn't start making bad decisions at the dawn of the Internet age. Generations of athletes have gotten busted smoking dope or driving drunk or fighting in the parking lot ... and been dealt with by coaches and administrators without the public knowing anything about it.

I don't think the public has a right to know how Eureka High's coach, who I've always found to be a fine, honorable, upstanding man, dealt with problems within his team. It's not the public's right to know why players were kicked off a team in 2004 or why no players were kicked off in 2008.

I do feel like the public has the right to try to find out the answers to questions about the conduct of the players on or off the court. The public can call school administrators and ask them to explain why the athlete is still playing despite being involved an "incident" involving the police. Because...the coach and the administration are bound by laws that prevent them from treating high school students like public figures. If people really wanted to know what's been done to address what they see as problems...they can call Eureka High...have the folks there say they can't talk about such things...and...that's it.

What? Eureka High should suspend an athlete because of an alleged "incident" that apparently drew no criminal charges? How would that be fair?

Folks can call the police and ask about the "incident" and the police won't comment. The Times-Standard reporters could push to get answers and try to do a story -- but the story would have no substance. No one can comment on an "incident" allegedly involving two minors. It's not news for public consumption...even if making it a public affair embarrasses the star of the Eureka High basketball team and his family.

The general public in small towns across America has been trying to tear down well known high school athletes since high school athletics began. The Internet just allows the public an amazing easy way to simply trash people I consider kids.

This isn't the first incident involving a prominent Humboldt-Del Norte League sports star. It won't be the last. I hope it's the last time the court of public opinion puts a minor on trial in a public forum.

I was surprised that the athlete's father, apparently, got involved in defending his son in the Topix forum. Getting in the pit with the folks throwing mud and throwing it back didn't do anything but make things harder on the son. That's just my opinion, though, and I'd never presume to tell a dad how to protect his son.

It's unclear what people hope to gain from making such a big deal of the player's off-court actions...but, there's no story...nobody's done anything except follow the rules in allowing him to stay on the team, etc.

Just because a 17-year-old is a great athlete doesn't make him a public figure, nor does it remove from him the legal protection people his age are provided.

Welcome to Albee Stadium, Home of the Greatest...

Every Team Needs Managers, Coaches...
I assume that Lou Bonomini remains as manager of the All-Time team. I'd be interested to read who you select as pitching coach and hitting coach? Also, what North Coast baseball field would this team call home?

January 13, 2009 10:54 PM

The home field for the All-Time North Coast baseball team would be the original Albee Stadium. It featured a beautiful redwood seating structure that was raised above the playing field. The setting, in that redwood tree-lined bowl, remains unmatched.

Like the original V.F.W. Field, now the Eureka Babe Ruth League field, old Albee Stadium had a ticket booth underneath the bleachers and ramp leading from there up to the seating area. The dugouts were actually dug out of the ground and players had to walk down steps to get from the field into them. My earliest memories of North Coast baseball include walking down into the 1965 Crabs' dugout to have the team autograph a baseball for me on Scholarship Night. I've still got the ball -- and Bob Bonomini's autograph.

The baseball diamond faced the Albee Stadium football field. The left field line ran parallel to the extreme edge of the outside lane of the old dirt track that used to circle the football field. In my youth, there was a portable, wood fence up during baseball season -- from foul line to foul line.

By the time I played at Albee Stadium, the bleachers were torn down, the snack bar was gone...it was just the playing field and the dugouts. They even stopped putting up the fence, so I played right field at Eureka High standing at the base of the slope leading up to the redwood trees. (Let's say I wasn't really interested in having to go back on a ball.) I once saw Mark Lucich hit a home run that hit halfway up into those redwood trees. Pitching at the decimated Albee was great, because a fast outfield enabled you to get an out on a ball hit 420 feet -- from home plate to the 30-yard line of the football field. I didn't see anybody hit a ball that landed in the existing football bleachers, but I did it once. (Well, twice, in the same game...there was no ground rule, so I had to run while the centerfielder tracked the ball bounced off the cement.) Since I did it, then I'm certain it was done countless times by guys who hit prodigious clouts that landed up in the football seats. It was a long drive from home plate to the football seating -- and it's gotten longer every year in my mind.

I fell out of love with the dump Albee became when I realized that a line drive single over the third baseman's head could be misplayed into a home run that hit the dirt track and rolled and rolled toward the football locker rooms. (Rick Mohorovich, who was the slowest guy I knew, hit that type of homer off me. He could've circled the bases twice.)

Albee's football stadium used to have cement bleachers on both sides of the football field. So, I used to marvel at the little portion of those cement bleachers that were razed. I wondered how cool it must've been to have filled a football stadium that big, you know? How cool must it have been to go to a baseball game with a a full football stadium beyond the outfield fence? Back in the day, I think Albee Stadium even had baseball locker rooms -- a clubhouse. All that was left in my day was an equipment shed.

The original V.F.W. Field was cool, too. It had underground dugouts, so players would stand and peer through an eye-level screen to watch the game. Best thing about it, I figured, was that the coaches couldn't really see or hear what was going on in the dugout...so, very little need for the fake chatter and lots of time to really enjoy yourself. I just didn't like the enormous dimensions at the V.F.W. Field. Although...in the wood bat days, even the right field fence seemed a fair distance away. (I saw Mark Lucich hit a ball off the smaller Redwood Acres pavillion beyond the right field fence once.) The center field fence was a mile away before they started storing those football bleachers out there and, honest, before the advent of metal bats -- it was a big deal to get one out in left field ... and just hitting that fence was considered an epic feat for a Babe Ruth League player.

I never was a fan of the Arcata Ball Park -- even when it had redwood bleachers and all the same accommodations old Albee Stadium had. I did like that the Crabs had vendors walking the stands selling hot dogs, peanuts, etc. Initially, I guess I didn't like that Arcata got the Crabs...later I played the infield at the Arcata Ball Park and didn't like that it was about the worst infield I'd ever seen. (Hey...35 years ago...I'm sure it's fine now!)

Actually, if I could rebuild the original Albee Stadium at the site of the Rohner Park baseball field in Fortuna -- that'd be home to my North Coast All-Time team. I used to really love that I'd leave Eureka stuck in the fog and get out of the car in Fortuna to see blue skies and sunshine.

Don Terbush once told me that there was a full baseball stadium on the huge plot of land where Carson Park has been for decades. I had special fondness for the Haney-Jacobs Eureka Midget League field -- before Haney got his name attached to George C. Jacobs Field. It was a miniature version of old Albee Stadium, so we felt pretty big league playing in what seemed like an actual stadium. (Thus, high praise to the Arcata Little League for building that Brizard Complex. It captured the history of baseball in the area with redwood bleachers, etc.)

Coincidentally, the baseball complex I most depised was the St. Bernard High School facility. My sons played there and really liked it because their coach Al Brisack maintained it like most people maintain their vegetable or flower garden. I didn't like that screen hanging over me when I hit...I felt claustrophobic. I didn't like the tiny green wooden bleachers pressed up against the backstop. And, when I pitched, I despised the overhang above the dish even more because a pop foul out was simply impossible to achieve.

While, I'm sure it was no issue to (and likely helped) legendary pitchers like Billy Olson and Greg Shanahan...the mountainous pitcher's mound at St. Bernard really bugged me. They throw over the top -- and were incredibly skilled pitchers. I had only marginal talent and threw three-quarters and sidearm...so that big mound didn't do me any good ... just threw me off my game...what little there was to it.

I need to think more about the manager and coaches...because, this is my all-time team so ... nothing's automatic.

All-Time Baseball Thoughts & Moves

Not that there's an outpouring from North Coast baseball fans to actually piece together and complete my personal all-time baseball team, but I have been thinking about it and settled on a lineup...

1b...Mark Lucich...He harkens back to the days when small-town kids had heroes playing high school ball in the same town. In the early 1970s, everybody I knew admired Mark Lucich and wanted a brother like Gary Lucich.

Tad Sundquist's spot on the all-time team is jeopardized by the memory of how pissed he would get after making an out. God forbid he would strike out and then I'd have to take an infield spot and pick up groundballs he threw between innings. I doubt he even knew he was rocketing us wicked grounders to vent his frustration, but I do recall in Midget League and beyond intentionally bouncing throws back at him in the dirt to alert him that, "Let's make easy on each other, OK?"

2b...Bob Bonomini...If I mimicked his batting stance and he later coached my nephew and my oldest son...Bons is not only a starter, he's a North Coast Sillanpaa Hall of Famer -- first ballot.

SS...Garth Iorg...Hustle and work ethic are talents that he had in buckets. The fact that he was athletic by nature was icing on the cake. (You know he played basketball at CR between minor league seasons, right?)

3B...Scott Eskra...there's not a great deal of difference, I don't think, between Scott and Eureka High grad David Stone from the class of about 1977 who went on to play in the Mets farm system. I'd take either one at third base and enjoy watching them rake. I just thought Eskra ran a little better and that Stone, because he was on teams that had catchers and needed a third baseman, had to play out of position locally.

LF: Dane Iorg, Arcata...He's a Sillanpaa Hall of Fame first ballot guy, too. I have a soft spot for Arcata's Steve Van Deren, though, who was a catcher-outfielder for Garth Iorg's Arcata teams as well at CR. Van Deren spent time in the minor leagues. He had all the tools...all the tools.

CF: Paul Ziegler, Fortuna...With the exception of Lee Iorg, I can't think of anybody close to Ziegler.

Greg Lorenzetti, another Fortuna alum, starred at Stanford, for the Crabs and in the minor leagues...he'll be on the final team...assuming readers pay attention long enough for me to finish the team.

RF: ... Buster Pidgeon...If push came to shove, forget the position...I'd bump some guys way before giving any thought to a lineup without him in it.

C: ... John Jaso...a McKinleyville High star whose rise to the big leagues is indicative of the quality program Dustin Dutra has built over the years. A lefthanded hitter...strong arm...ran well. I didn't see the guys from the 1940s, so how can I rate them? Jaso's the first 21st century pick.

DH: David Stone and Nick Giacone...Stone and Giacone could play positions, and would if the team was real. But, if you could go with Stone's booming righty bat and Giacone's lefty bat...that's a potent DH combo. Then, you platoon Giacone at first base and Stone at third and behind the plate.

SP: Billy Olson, Eureka High...my oldest son met a guy in Lafayette the other night who coached a winter ball team that Olson and Buster Pidgeon would drive south to play on during the off-season. Small world.

SP St. Bernard's Greg Shanahan was the righty contemporary of Olson's. And...he pitched briefly for the LA Dodgers in a time when he would've cracked the pitching staff of almost any other team in the big leagues. The Dodgers were loaded with pitchers.

SP: Randy Niemann...Fortuna's best pitching product, ever. Again...here's a guy parents and coaches could've learned from because he wasn't all-world at 10, 11, 12, 15, etc. He got bigger and stronger and worked on his game. He had the mentality needed to work patiently to transition from a kid power pitcher to a minor league control artist. He doesn't get the respect he deserves, and gets overlooked, because he pitched for the Southern Humboldt summer team and not for the Humboldt Eagles -- although I think he beat the Eagles when he faced them in the lone S. Humboldt v. Eagles series I can recall. No coach up there can take credit for Niemann...so, I guess, I'm the only one to recall his greatness.

Sports Dad: "Crowning Achievement"

My 10-year-old daughter hasn't really any interest in athletics, so it was with great surprise that I watched her spin in circles worrying about missing her elementary school's basketball tryouts the other day.

She's busy...active...and she never seems to get tired. I thought that her angst over Thursday's first basketball tryout for fifth- and sixth-grade girls was the result of her having to make an appearance as vice-president of the student body. She was just beside herself trying to figure out how to work a 4:30 p.m. vocal lesson, a 5:30 rehearsal for "Grease" and the 3 p.m. hoop tryouts.

"What are you talking about? Why would you care if the tryouts are at the same time as your rehearsals?"


I'm rarely the dad who has absolutely no idea what's going on, but that day she lost me.

"I can't tryout for the team unless I skip the vocal lesson or something?" she said as, suddenly, my head began to spin and I felt like she could've floored me with a feather.

"You want to go to the tryouts and... TRY OUT? You want to play basketball? What kind of team is it if you ... I mean, you want to TRY OUT?!?!"

She's never been on an organized basketball team. I've had her shoot baskets with me at the gym a few times -- and four or five times in the last month. I'm interested in seeing how a young girl's hand-eye coordination changes without her paying any real attention to it, so we shoot and I think of creative reasons to get her to dribble. I've gently broached the idea of teaching her a little basketball because I've got this idea that kids can pick up a sport at 10 or 11 and be every bit as good as the kids who play on their first mini-hoops team at age 5.

I thought she was shooting baskets to amuse me, but there she was trying to squeeze basketball tryouts in her truly busy schedule. And, I bit my tounge when I started to belch, "What kind of team do you think YOU could play on? C'mon! Be serious!"

See, people told me that the bulk of a young girl's self esteem comes from her family and, particularly, from her dad. So, I've never missed a chance to tell my daughter that she's the cutest, smartest, funniest, most talented girl around. And, while I didn't really give it much thought, I did tell her that she had a nice little shot and that she dribbled sufficiently well that she could probably be a pretty decent basketball player if she took the game seriously.

I made the latter comment on Sunday Jan. 4. She came home fritzed out about trying out for the basketball team on Wednesday Jan. 7. She must listen really closely and take what I say to heart. She couldn't be taking it seriously, but she clearly thinks she IS a good enough player to make a team of girls her age.

We figured it out, rearranged schedules and the Sillanpaa Family Sports Machine kicked into gear. I called her three or four times from work with little pieces of information I thought she should know such as, "You can't dribble...stop...and then dribble again" and "You know you can't run with the ball, right?" She really doesn't know anything about the game that she hadn't heard me tell her brother.

Ah, her 13-year-old brother, who had basketball tryouts of his own going on in seventh grade was on the case. He offered to take her to the gym to shoot around and "coach" her. More surprisingly, she was willing to let him "coach" her. They get along really, really well...but, they don't generally bond over sports. She needed a ride to the gym at 7:30 at night and talked my oldest son into making the trip...still soaking wet in the clothes he'd worn running a baseball practice in the rain.

"I wasn't going to tell her I was too tired," Tyren said. "We've all wondered if she'd ever be interested in sports and...she is...so, I drove her."

He also stayed and joined his little brother in an hour-long session where they took turns thinking of tidbits of information to share with my daughter. Before they left, she peppered them with the tougher questions like, "What's a layup?" and "Where's the free throw spot?"

I have this long-held theory that kids who dress like players attract attention, they stand out, at any tryouts. I once selected Kristin Vandermolen No. 1 in the Eureka Hoopsters draft because she had expensive basketball shoes. I figured any 11-year-old girl with expensive shoes was serious about the game. So, I paid her a little extra attention and...she was a really good player.

It helps kids who aren't really good players to dress like good players. At some point, you have to show some skill, obviously. Still, in a gym filled with kids about the same size with about the same skill level...it pays to get in the front of every line, run whenever the coach calls for you and, moreover, dress like you're just coming back from the Nike/AndOne Scouting Combine.

So, my daughter...who hasn't been on a basketball team got together with her brothers and they coordinated a bitchin' basketball practice outfit. Under Armour beneath an Oregon basketball jersey...white/pink Starbury basketball shoes (those low-cost shoes NBA player Stephon Marbury markets), and some school's official basktball shorts. None of the stuff looked brand new so...when she showed up for tryouts with her hair in a ponytail like WNBA star Sue Bird wears, she looked like an experienced baller.

There are two simply amazing girls on that team of fifth- and sixth-graders. They're going to be high school stars. They are ... amazing talents, they can do it all. Then, there are two girls who can play some -- who wore street clothes to tryouts. After that, the 13-player was filled with my daughter and eight other girls with no really noticeable basketball skill.

All that my daughter has ever done is dribble in a straight line...pass the ball...shoot from maybe 8 feet out...and played a minimum amount of defense, usually while laughing at her brother.

Guess who somehow finished up two days of tryouts on top of the K.I. Jones Elementary School basketball world?

My daughter didn't do anything of note. She took my advice and shot her layups (that she'd learned the night before) without looking back to see if she'd made it. She didn't try to go 100 mph, but rather...controlled her body to minimize the small problem of having no real ballhandling skills. And, apparently, she made a couple shots ... at some point in the 90-minute session. Oh, and she was dressed like Sue Bird's little sister on her way to the Diana Taurasi Basketball Camp.

After Friday's tryouts, when it was announced that only eight of the 13 girls would make the squad, I talked to the coach. There was nothing I could say to help my daughter, but I did introduce myself and mention her name and my youngest son's name. The woman is an honor class teacher and she adored my son. It's a political game within a game, this business of making the team. I just told her I was happy Kyndall gave it shot and, the coach interrupted to say, "She's terrific! She's a starter as of now!"

So...my hunch paid off. My theory, if applied by a group of people who understand it, works. She learned the bare minimum about the game and hustled and smiled and listened -- made it clear she was having a blast playing ball. The basketball practice outfit, a bunch of stuff her brothers had worn over time, sold her as a real basketball player.

Amazing.

"If she makes that basketball team, it will be the crowning achievement of your life as a sports dad," my son Tyren said. "She hasn't even played before."

Well...I think those Starbury's dazzled 'em!

My guess has always been that dressing like a player attracts attention. When the coach looks at a kid in jeans making a mistake, they write the kid off as a non-player. My daughter made the same mistake, but got the benefit of the doubt because...she had to be a serious player, right, look at how she was dressed! And, when she made a couple shots, an achievement I can't fathom still, that sealed the deal...she wasn't just going to be the smallest, youngest kid on the team...she'd somehow joined those two eventual all-America girls as clear starters.

How we approach her continuing education as a player now so that she doesn't embarrass herself on the court is in question. Oddly, she's the most receptive of my kids to instruction so..who knows? If she listens, learns quickly and remains confident that she can do anything she sets her mind to...maybe she'll even play like "a starter."