Community Guide 2017
The Big Game, Lagunitas School–1969 By Paul Berensmeier It is interesting how old memories can be stored at cer- tain sites in the Valley. For example, a recent walk by an old coyote bush brought back a flood of memories that occurred over forty years ago . . . the memory of the Big Game! Yes . . . I remember so clearly . . . it had every- thing that big games have: big-time pressure, raucous fans crowding the field, the umpires having difficulty keeping the peace, and a close score. The unforgettable year was 1969. The site was Laguni- tas School. The age of the players was seven years. The fans were the second-grade class, and the umpires were the two teachers. For the first five innings of that seven- inning game, one boy went unnoticed by both players and fans. He was terrified of failing and managed to sneak unobtrusively behind a coyote bush by the edge of the fence when they were picking teams. That boy was me, and I felt great about the game. The score was close and I had no chance of failing or screwing up in front of the entire second grade; life couldn’t be better! Suddenly, everything changed!. In the top of the last inning, I was spotted. To this day I can remember who the fink was—Richard Anderson, who was a great friend before this moment. “Hey,” I could hear his high-pitched voice ring out, “No wonder we’re losing, Paul’s not play- ing!” I was doomed. I vowed to kill Rich as I slowly walked out to right field, where I figured no one would hit the ball. I managed to get through that half of the
inning unscathed—no ball was hit anywhere near me. When I came in and sat on the far end of the bench, hoping everyone would forget me, one of the teachers just had to remember and put me in the batting order. I was up fifth. The first two boys struck out. “Whew!” I thought to myself, “I probably won’t get a chance to hit.” But the next batter got a line drive hit and the bat- ter before me grounded one through “the hole.” The noise began to build, crescendoing into mass seven-year- old hysteria. Two on, one in scoring position, two outs, and we’re down by one run. “Just great!” I muttered, as I approached the plate, trailing the bat on the ground behind me. “Just when everyone’s watching,” I continued thinking as I stepped into the batter’s box. The first three pitches were outside, so I figured I wouldn’t swing and get a walk. “That’ll fix ‘em.” Then one of the teachers yelled, “Oh, no! Nobody gets walked in this game!” “Great,” I thought to myself, “Now I’ve got to swing.” It’s hard for me to comprehend how it happened but my dad said I swung the bat and hit the ball on what he called “the sweet spot.” The ball soared way over the outfielders’ heads, and before I knew it I had hit a home- run and both runners scored! We won the game! I had come from what I was sure would be utter failure and ridicule, to success and heroism. I ran around the bases and tagged home plate. Suddenly the whole class began pounding me on the back, including those who hit me as hard as they could because that’s what second graders do. But I didn’t mind. I couldn’t even feel the hard blows because I was so happy. This joyful moment spawned a successful baseball jour- ney through Little League (ages 11-12), Pony League (13- 15), Drake High School . . . and continues in 2016/17 when I joined the age 45+ Senior Baseball League.
Raising the flag at the opening of the San Geronimo School (Photo by Harlan Floyd)
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SGVCC
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