Stay Hot Toaster!

WARNING: ADULT CONTENT!

During the Golden Age of slo-pitch softball in Kenosha, my 400 Club team made an annual journey to La Crosse to participate in a tournament. It was a fun-packed weekend and a road trip that the entire squad looked forward to making each year. With family and friends included, it wasn’t unusual for the caravan to western Wisconsin to number over thirty people. It was such a popular event that players from other teams often offered their services to the “Club”, so they too could be part of this yearly bash.

One such player was Larry Tostrud, otherwise known as “Toaster.”

Before going on, let me make it clear to you that Toaster, like most of the guys who played for the 400 Club, was quite a character. 

Toaster was a young, up-and-coming softball player when he joined us in La Crosse. In the years that followed he not only became a regular member of the 400 Club, but also went on to develop into an outstanding hitter that played for many top ranked teams. Over two decades later, he is still playing at a competitive level. 

Although it was always referred to as the La Crosse tournament, over the years we played in many different small towns in the area. Cities like Stoddard, Sparta and Brownsville have all had the honor of playing host to the rambunctious 400 Club team.

No matter what city we happened to be playing in, we traditionally stayed at the Bluff View Motel in La Crosse. Because of the distance that we had to travel, we were never scheduled to play on Friday night. This allowed us to check into the motel and carry out another time-honored tradition, going downstairs to the Anvil Lounge.

The Anvil Lounge was your typical motel bar, 12 stools and three or four small tables in the corner…and one large iron anvil. The first time we visited the Anvil Lounge, our first baseman Mark Montague felt compelled to head-butt it several times. But that’s a story for another time; this particular Friday night belonged to Toaster.

It was about 9:00 p.m. and most of the team had been enjoying adult beverages for a couple of hours. Our star pitcher, Danny Llanas, had just instructed our lovely bartender, Joan, on the fine art of mixing “root beer” shots. The first batch was making its way down the bar when Toaster made his entrance.

And what a spectacular entrance it was.

He bounced into the motel lounge grinning from ear-to-ear, clad only in a t-shirt, gym shorts and a pair of flip-flops. The problem was that his shorts were pulled down in the front and therefore were exposing his package. You know, his junk was showing. 

Hearing the snickers, the fetching Joan looked over from behind the bar and noticed that little Toaster was making an appearance. Undaunted, she smirked at “Toaster” and commented, “That’s nice, but it’s not hard.” A hush fell over the Anvil Lounge. 

Then Toaster, not to be outdone, smiled broadly and pointed at the attractive bartender saying. “Baby, that’s where you come in!” The bar erupted in laughter and a blushing Joan put her head down and starting mixing another batch of “root beer” shots. 

After making himself decent, Toaster proceeded to do serious damage to the alcohol supply at the Anvil Lounge. Feeling a bit cock-sure (pun intended), he asked me what position he would be playing tomorrow. I informed him that the regulars would play the field and he would be the designated hitter.

When he loudly informed me that he hadn’t come all this way just to be the DH and sit on the bench, the hair on the back of my neck began to stand up. Before I could say anything, Jimmy G tapped me on the shoulder and quietly said, “That’s okay Paul, I will DH. Let the superstar play rightfield.”

Telling Jimmy G that I appreciated the gesture, I then informed Toaster that he would be playing rightfield. Satisfied, he went back to his mission of becoming extremely intoxicated. Shaking my head, I again thanked Jimmy G and made my way up to my room, after all, we had a 10:00 a.m. game tomorrow.

The next morning, the pounding rain on my room’s window woke me up well before I had intended to get up. After muttering a few expletives, I got dressed and rounded up the squad to head to the ballpark. It was no small undertaking, because first I had to convince them that there was a chance we would play.

Driving through a downpour, I thought that there would be no way we would be able to play. Much to my surprise, when we arrived the games were being played despite the standing water on the field. Catching the attention of one of the poncho-wearing umpires, I asked, “Are you kidding?” “Rain or shine, buddy. Rain or shine” was his reply.

Resigned to the fact that we were indeed playing, I started making out a line-up. Gathering the team, I called out the batting order, “Okay, Red – 2B, Eddie - LC, Hollywood - SS, Munk - C, Ronnie – 3B, Toaster – RF…” Before I could say another word I was rudely interrupted by, “That’s okay Paul, I will DH. Let Jimmy G play rightfield.”

Wiping the rain from my spectacles, I looked up from my rain soaked scorebook to see a very hung-over Toaster clad in an orange Hawaiian shirt. Before I could reply to him, the normally congenial Jimmy G blurted out, “F*ck you Toaster! You go out there in this slop. You wanted to play rightfield, I will DH.”

Despite the weather, I beamed as I finished reading the line-up and we played softball in a constant shower. I think that we won the game, but I’m not sure. I do know for sure that Jimmy G was the DH in that game and sat next to me on the covered bench. Meanwhile, Toaster slid and flopped around in the mud, all the while struggling not to get sick all over his orange Hawaiian shirt. 

Now you can see why the annual 400 Club La Crosse tournament was a tradition that the team always looked forward to and why players from other teams would want to be a part of it. Stay hot Toaster! Until next time…from the booth.

A Memorable Winter Meeting

In 1977 the legendary 400 Club softball team was formed with yours truly calling the shots as the manager. We started out playing teams like Kerry’s Kritters. Before long we were competing with the likes of Tirabassi’s, Finney’s and Pitt’s Decorating. Over the years, our team had its moments of glory, at one point winning 38 consecutive city league games. In addition to league play, our team also did well in tournaments, filling the trophy cases of tavern owner and sponsor Vern Ekern. The 400 Club was a successful team that had made a name for itself.

While the team made a definite mark on the Kenosha softball scene, it should be noted that it wasn’t only for their triumphs on the diamond. The 400 Club also had a reputation for being rowdy renegades.

We were the proverbial square peg in a round hole. There were several colorful characters on the 400 Club. We weren’t always the nicest team and had gained some notoriety as the Oakland Raiders of the softball world.

That being said, there was a reason our team was successful, it was well organized. That was my job. I made sure entry fees were paid, that uniforms were ordered, that beer busts were scheduled and, most importantly, made sure we had players that were of 400 Club quality.

Because of our rebellious reputation, it wasn’t always easy attracting new talent to our squad of misfits. Not everyone was comfortable being a part of a team with a bad-boy image. The ideal 400 Club candidate had to have skills at the bar as well as on the diamond.

Acquiring just the right guy was much too big a job for just one man; it was a team effort. Since I wanted everyone’s input, this was a subject that was discussed at our annual Winter Meeting. 

That’s right, the 400 Club had a Winter Meeting each year. Typically, it took place near the end of January, but no later than the first weekend of February. After all, our beer bust had to be scheduled before the season started.

As you might suspect, the 400 Club Winter Meeting wasn’t all business. Adult beverages were being consumed while team concerns were being discussed. Then, once it was decided what new players we were going after and the date for the beer bust, it was time to start doing some serious drinking.

Given the track record of our group, it should come as no surprise that the Winter Meeting could turn into a raucous evening of partying. However, by 400 Club standards, most of these get-togethers were not very memorable.

However, one particular Winter Meeting does stand out from all of the rest.

There was about a dozen members of the team in the 400 Club on that Saturday night in late January. The only other customer was a guy who rented a room above of the iconic tavern. He was known as “Larry D” and sat in his regular spot at the far end of the bar and was nursing a tap beer.

It looked like a relatively quiet night for the bartender, Skip. He liked it that way. Skip wasn’t what you would call energetic. The less excitement, the better. He liked it quiet. Unfortunately for Skip, it wouldn’t stay quiet.

Not by a long shot.

The “business” portion of the meeting had concluded and the guys from the team were relaxing with a few cocktails. For a 400 Club team activity, it was relatively subdued. That is until the front door suddenly exploded open and Mark Ekern burst in. Without any warning, he jerked Larry D from his bar stool and threw to the hard tile floor. 

As a team, our jaws collectively dropped in astonishment. Mark was the brother of 400 Club stalwart, Glen “Munk” Ekern. Despite the fact that they were the sons of our sponsor Vern, they had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing.

Munk was, hmm, let’s see, I need to put this nicely. Munk was aggressive and loved confrontation. He was a big reason the 400 Club had the image it did. On the other hand, Mark was mild-mannered, unassuming and generally kept to himself. He didn’t seem to have a hostile bone in his body.

That was the reason we were so astounded. What could have possibly happened to provoke Mark’s physical attack on Larry D?

We got a clue when Mark hollered, “I told you to stay away from Bonnie, but you wouldn’t listen!” Bonnie was the eldest of Vern’s six daughters and a very sweet girl. Evidently, Larry D had persisted on hitting on her even though he was warned against it.

Mark had taken exception to this and let him know it in a very violent fashion.

The manner he used to express his displeasure with Larry D wasn’t for the faint of heart. He used his fists. He used his feet. He used tables, bar stools and anything else he could get his hands on. The enraged Mark didn’t give him a chance.

Larry D was helpless and could do nothing to protect himself from the onslaught. He was bounced off of walls and the bar, knocked to the floor, then picked up again so Mark could repeat the process.

It wasn’t pretty.

In fact, at one point, it got so ugly it prompted Red DiCello, no shrinking violet himself when it came to fighting, to ask me, “Shouldn’t we stop him, Paul?” Having a soft spot in my heart for Bonnie, I said, “No, not yet, let him go.”

Finally, when Mark began to ram Larry D’s head into the heavy wooden base of a video game, I told Red and the rest of the guys that now was the time to put an end to the vicious beat down.

After things had settled down, Mark left, but not before reminding Larry D in no uncertain terms that he had better “stay the f*ck” away from his sister. Larry D, broken and bloodied, could only nod his head as he slowly crawled up the stairs to his room located above the bar.

While we were picking up bar stools and getting the bar back in order, a visibly shaken Skip answered the phone. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone and announced, “Vern said to get the guys a drink.”

The team roared its approval. Behind the bar, Skip just shook his head as he started setting up our drinks. Above the bar, Larry D tended to his wounds.

Yes, even by 400 Club standards, that was a memorable Winter Meeting.

Until next time…from the booth.

All-Star Time

Tonight’s Major League Baseball All-Star Game will be the 84th edition of the Mid-Season Classic. It will be played at Citi Field in Queens, New York City, the home of the New York Mets. I look forward to watching Carlos Gomez and Jean Segura of the Brewers being introduced prior to the start of the game. After that, I will probably watch the game itself until 8:30. Then it’s time for Hard Core Pawn: Chicago and Shipping Wars.

In honor of the game, I came up with an all-star team comprised of guys that played softball for the 400 Club, Hoff’s Players, Finney’s West and Koos Inc. teams that I managed over the years. There is quite the talent pool to draw from; I estimate there were at least 83 players. But that’s being conservative. Realistically, it’s probably closer to 100.

The collection of athletes was quite eclectic. I had at least seven cops, a half-dozen teachers, a jeweler, a pilot, a principal, a TV Host, an NFL wide receiver, Kenosha’s Assistant DA, Kenosha’s Sheriff, the Racine Raider’s head coach and Tremper’s basketball coach. Sweet, huh?

It wasn’t that hard to whittle the group down to my 18-man all-star roster. Not only did I base my criteria on talent, but I also required a minimum of two years of playing for me.

Here is my personal All-Star team:

Pitchers
Tony Halpin*
Dennis FitzGerald*
Danny Llanas*

Infielders
Ron Clark*
Jeff DiCello*
Glen Ekern*
Bruce Meyers*
Kevin Mikolas*
Mark Montague*
Larry Tostrud*
Steve Hess

Outfielders
Bruce Edmark*
Jimmy Gentile*
Matt Montemurro*
Randy Aulwes
Gene Heckel
Steve Neiman 
John Schwarz

Predictably, 13 of the players named to my squad had played for the 400 Club. They are marked with an asterisk. It is a considerable achievement for the five that never had the privilege of playing for the 400 Club and they should be proud of the accomplishment.

Not wanting to offend anyone, I was reluctant to name a starting line-up. However, after much deliberation, I thought, what the heck! Here’s my the batting order for my All-Star team.

1. Bruce Edmark – RC
2. Gene Heckel – LC
3. Bruce Meyers – SS
4. Matt Montemurro – LF
5. Kevin Mikolas – 1B
6. Ron Clark – 3B
7. Glen Ekern – C
8. John Schwarz – DH
9. Jimmy Gentile – RF
10. Danny Llanas – P
11. Jeff DiCello – 2B

There ya go, hopefully no one’s feelings are hurt by being left off the roster or by not making the starting line-up. Enjoy the game tonight. Until next time…from the booth.

My Apologies

I must apologize for not having posted a blog in over a week. I have been busy working on my book, “More Kenosha Softball” this past week and plan on doing the same for the foreseeable future. Oh ya, I have do a column for the Kenosha News this week as well. Hopefully, this chapter from my first book, “Some Kenosha Softball” will hold you over. Again, I apologize.

Be Careful What You Ask For
 

On a warm Tuesday evening in late June, I watched my 400 Club softball team warming up near the tennis courts at spacious Roosevelt Park. As I made the lineup for our 6:45 pm contest with Pasquali’s Bar, I noticed Matt Montemurro making his way from one teammate to the next. It was obvious that the young outfielder was the one doing most of the talking and all of the conversations ended with a mutual nod of the head and often a pat on the back. When it became evident what Matt was doing, a smile broke out on my chubby face and I went back to working on my batting order.

The reason I was smiling was because Matt had taken the advice I had given him in a phone conversation we had had earlier that afternoon. Based on our discussion, the talented young ballplayer was apologizing for what he had done the previous weekend.

Let me explain what Matt had done.

The Thursday before that eventful weekend, our 400 Club team had decided to play in a tournament in Whitewater at the Hawk’s Nest. When Matt heard that we were playing, he begged off saying he was getting “burned out” and needed a weekend off. I said fine, we would find someone to take his place.

If that was all that had happened, there would be no story.

 Our first game of the tournament had just finished and our team was making its’ across the parking lot to the bar for some “lunch” when Matt’s flashy sports car suddenly appeared. Screeching to a halt, Matt hopped out of the car and cheerfully asked, “How did you guys do?”

Not too many of us heard Matt’s question. We were too busy staring at the Tirabassi uniform he was sporting. Evidently he wasn’t too “burned out” to play in a tournament in Janesville with the archrival Tirabassi Excavators.

After the initial shock wore off, the response from his 400 Club teammates was less than cordial. After the burly Munk Ekern menacingly blurted out, “Get the fuck out of here!”, I suggested to Matt that he had better heed Ekern’s advice. He did so, and what could have been a very ugly scene was avoided.

Those are the events that led to Matt making that phone call to yours truly prior to our Tuesday game with Pasquali’s Bar.

The first words out of Matt’s mouth were, “That was pretty stupid of me. Am I still on the team?” After I reassured him that he was indeed still on the team, his next question was, “Is it fair to assume that I am not starting tonight?” After chuckling, I told him that was an accurate assumption and then suggested he apologize to the rest of the team before the game.

With the apologies and all the drama behind us, the game proceeded as most of our games with Pasquali’s Bar typically did…we were kicking their ass, only with Matt on the bench. Matt being a good soldier, eagerly coached third base and enthusiastically cheered on his teammates.

With our team preparing to bat in the bottom of the fourth inning, a well-intentioned Bruce Edmark approached me, pleading emphatically, “Puddles, Mattie has learned his lesson.” With chewing tobacco dripping down his chin, he added firmly, “Now get him in the game!”

It was then that I thought to myself, “Eddie, be careful what you wish for”…

With the emotional Edmark staring at me, I nodded in agreement and said, “Bruce you are right, Matt has learned his lesson. He should be in the game!” I then turned toward Matt  and bellowed, “Matt get in there. You’re batting for Eddie and playing left-center.”

Edmark, realizing that he had in effect just taken himself out of the game, slapped himself in the forehead and doing his best Homer Simpson, uttered a loud “Doh!”  Montemurro then hit a double in the gap, while a shaken Edmark was relegated to coaching third as the 400 Club went on to defeat Pasquali’s Bar by a rather embarrassing margin.

What could have been a potentially tumultuous situation was resolved and the topsy-turvy world of the 400 Club softball team was now back to a state of normalcy. Well, as close to normal as it could possibly be.

Until next time…from the booth.

A Memorable Winter Meeting

In 1977 the legendary 400 Club softball team was formed with yours truly calling the shots as the manager. We started out playing teams like Kerry’s Kritters and Tappa Hafa Kega Dai. Before long we were competing with the likes of Tirabassi’s, Finney’s and Pitt’s Decorating. Over the years, our team had its moments of glory, at one point rolling off 38 consecutive city league games. In addition to league play, our team also did well in tournaments, filling the trophy cases of tavern owner and sponsor Vern Ekern.

While the team made a definite mark on the Kenosha softball scene, it should be noted that it wasn’t only for their triumphs on the diamond. The 400 Club also had a reputation for being a bunch of rowdy renegades.

We were the proverbial square peg in a round hole. There were several colorful characters on the 400 Club. We weren’t always the nicest team and had gained some notoriety as the Oakland Raiders of the softball world.

That being said, there was a reason our team was successful, it was well organized. That was my job. I made sure entry fees were paid, that uniforms were ordered, that beer busts were scheduled and, most importantly, made sure we had players that were of “400 Club quality”.

Because of our rebellious reputation, it wasn’t always easy attracting new talent to our squad. Not everyone was comfortable being a part of a team with a bad-boy image. The ideal 400 Club candidate had to have skills at the bar as well as on the diamond.

Acquiring just the right guy was much too big a job for just one man; it was a team effort. Since I wanted everyone’s input, this was a subject that was discussed at our annual Winter Meeting. 

That’s right, the 400 Club had an annual Winter Meeting. Typically, it took place near the end of January, but no later than the first weekend of February. After all, our yearly beer bust had to be scheduled before the season started.

As you might suspect, the 400 Club Winter Meeting wasn’t all business. Adult beverages were being consumed while team concerns were being discussed. Then, once it was decided on which new players we were going after and the date for the beer bust had been determined, it was time to start doing some serious drinking.

Given the track record of our group, there was always the potential that the Winter Meeting could turn into a raucous evening of mayhem. However, by 400 Club standards, most of these get-togethers were honestly not very memorable.

However, one particular Winter Meeting does stand out from all of the rest.

There was about a dozen members of the team in the 400 Club on that Saturday night in late January. The only other customer was a guy who rented a room above of the iconic tavern. He was known as “Larry D” and sat in his regular spot at the far end of the bar and was nursing a tap beer.

It looked like a relatively quiet night for the bartender, Skip. He liked it that way. Skip wasn’t what you would call energetic. He wasn’t exactly a ball of fire. The less excitement, the better. He liked it quiet. Unfortunately for Skip, that particular night wouldn’t stay quiet.

Not by a long shot.

The “business” portion of the meeting had concluded and the guys from the team were relaxing with a few cocktails. For a 400 Club team activity, it was relatively subdued. That is until the front door suddenly exploded open and Mark Ekern burst in. Without any warning, he jerked Larry D from his bar stool and threw onto the hard tile floor. 

As a team, our jaws collectively dropped in astonishment. Mark was the brother of 400 Club stalwart, Glen “Munk” Ekern. Despite the fact that they were the sons of our sponsor Vern, they had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing.

Munk was, hmm, let’s see, I need to put this nicely. Munk was aggressive and loved confrontation. He was a big reason the 400 Club had the image it did. On the other hand, Mark was mild-mannered, unassuming and generally kept to himself. He didn’t seem to have a hostile bone in his body.

That was the reason we were so astounded. What could have possibly happened to provoke Mark’s physical attack on Larry D?

We got a clue when Mark hollered, “I told you to stay away from Bonnie, but you wouldn’t listen!” Bonnie was the eldest of Vern’s six daughters and a very sweet girl. Evidently, Larry D had persisted on hitting on her even though he was warned against it.

Mark had taken exception to this and let him know it in a very violent fashion.

The manner he used to express his displeasure with Larry D wasn’t for the faint of heart. He used his fists. He used his feet. He used tables, bar stools and anything else he could get his hands on. The enraged Mark didn’t give him a chance.

Larry D was helpless and could do nothing to protect himself from the onslaught. He was bounced off of walls and the bar, knocked to the floor, then picked up again so Mark could repeat the process. It was sort of like shampooing your hair.

Only it wasn’t pretty.

In fact, at one point, it got so ugly that it prompted Red DiCello, no shrinking violet himself when it came to fighting, to ask me, “Shouldn’t we stop him, Paul?” Having a soft spot in my heart for Bonnie, I said, “No, not yet, let Mark go.”

Finally, when Mark began to ram Larry D’s head into the heavy wooden base of a video game, I told Red and the rest of the guys that now was the time to put an end to the vicious beat down.

After things had settled down, Mark left, but not before reminding Larry D in no uncertain terms that he had better “stay the f*ck” away from his sister. Larry D, battered and bloodied, could only nod his head as he slowly crawled up the stairs to his room located above the bar.

While we were picking up bar stools and getting the bar back in order, a visibly shaken Skip answered the phone. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone and announced, “Vern said to get you guys a drink.” The team roared its approval. Behind the bar, Skip just shook his head as he started setting up our drinks. Above the bar, Larry D tended to his wounds.

Yes, even by 400 Club standards, that was a memorable Winter Meeting.

This 400 Club Blast from the Past was first posted January 4, 2012. Until next time…from the booth.

C’mon! Really?

On page C3 of the Sunday morning edition of the Kenosha News there was a brief article titled “Ten teams alive at Rotary”. Something in the third paragraph immediately jumped out at me. Take a look and see if you can see what caught my eye. It was blatantly obvious to me.

DLB plays Coins/Jay Bee Auto in the semifinal 12:30 p.m. today at Lincoln No. 1. The winner advances to the championship round of the double-elimination tournament. The loser moves to the non-winners bracket and will need a victory to force a rematch in the title round.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

I went back and read the entire article again. And again. And a fourth time. There it was – non-winners bracket. Not once, but twice. Non-winners bracket.

During roughly 20 years of softball, I was involved in close to 300 tournaments. Either I was managing the 400 Club in one or I was helping Sam “Finney” Perry and Leon Rosko run one at historic Finney’s West. Never once did I see or hear the phrase non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

People, it’s called the losers’ bracket. LOSERS’ BRACKET! Not the non-winners bracket. I must have drawn up over 200 bracket boards in my life and never once did I write the phrase non-winners bracket on one of those boards. Not once. It was always the losers’ bracket.

My 400 Club team played in tournaments all over southeastern Wisconsin. Not once in Kenosha, Racine, Salem, Kansasville, Whitewater, Elkhorn, Menomonee Falls or Milwaukee did we ever play in the non-winners bracket. Not once.

Over the years, we also played in Illinois and Minnesota. Each time we lost in one of those tournaments, we went into the losers’ bracket. It seemed appropriate enough. You lose, you go into the losers’ bracket. Not the non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

Here’s a blank 16-team double-elimination tournament bracket. Nowhere on it will you see the phrase non-winners bracket.

While the print is rather small, you may have noticed the phrase losers’ bracket. It’s on there, smack dab in the middle. Along with the word loser. In fact, the word loser is on there 33 times. That’s what happens when you don’t win. You lose. At least that’s what I thought until I read that article in the Kenosha News.

Now, evidently, when you do not win, you are declared to be a non-winner. As far as I can tell, based on the article, that’s what happens in the Rotary tournament now. Apparently, these are kinder, gentler times and feelings must be spared. We now have the non-winners bracket.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

What’s next? It’s kind of unpleasant for an umpire to shout, “You’re out!” on a bang-bang play. The base runner might take it personally and require counseling. “You are non-safe” would be more suitable.

Not to offend pitchers, from now on, umpires should refer to balls as “non-strikes”. After all, the guys on the mound are sensitive and have feelings too.

Keeping in the spirit of things, perhaps the Kenosha News could change the name of its Sunday feature, Laurels and Darts. A dart is pointy and can hurt. I can see it now – “Laurels and Non-Laurels”. Much less hostile, don’t you think?

In all fairness, I’m not sure if it’s the Rotary Club that has coined the non-winner phrase or if the Kenosha News staff simply took it upon itself to be positive and upbeat. All I know is that before this morning I never saw the phrase non-winner.

Regardless of who came up with it, I think that from now on, the Rotary Club and the Kenosha News should co-sponsor orange slices for everyone playing in the tournament.

That’s right. Beginning next year, whether you’re a winner or a non-winner, all players at the end of a game would receive a sweet slice of orange. That way no one will have his or her feelings hurt.

Non-winners bracket. C’mon! Really?

Until next time…from the booth.

A Memorable Beer Bust

In 1976 a bunch of guys that I worked with at Koos Inc. decided to form a softball team. We played for The Sands. We were sponsored by Charlie Huck and played in the lowest city recreation League possible. The makeup of the team was quite diverse. There were a few fellows that could actually play softball, a couple of decent athletes, a bunch of guys that needed a new reason to go the bar and a catcher of ample proportions who ran things. That last guy would be me.

The season was a combination of competing against teams that were as lousy as we were and getting destroyed by a team called Tappa Hafa Kega Dai. It would be the first and last season of The Sands team. The players who just wanted a night out found a new reason to go to the bar. Meanwhile, the guys who could actually play softball wanted more, and under the guidance of the catcher of ample proportions formed the legendary 400 Club.

In 1977, we would play as The 400 Club in city league and as Koos Inc. at historic Finney’s West. Forrest McConnell initially sponsored our Koos Inc. team, with Peter Lederer filling that role when he took over the business. The 400 Club had only sponsor – the late Vern Ekern.

Vern Ekern was a barrel-chested Norwegian with hands that resembled old catcher’s mitts. Despite his incessant reminding of us to “stop down and spend a buck”, Vern was the best sponsor a team could ask for. We always had full uniforms, complete with stirrups and entered all the tournaments we wanted. All Vern asked of us was to “stop down and spend a buck”.

And throw an annual Beer Bust.

Throwing a Beer Bust was never a problem for the 400 Club team. All that was needed was to set a date and give every player twenty $2.00 tickets to sell. It was always a sellout and every year something “special” would happen. Being a control freak, I always worked the door and collected the money and raffle tickets.

It was during a 400 Club Beer Bust that I threw the only punch in my adult life.  A greasy little fellow who had signed his raffle ticket “Stormin’ Norman” was the recipient of this memorable punch.

And he had it coming.

Norman was trying to become a bit too familiar with Vern’s oldest daughter Bonnie. Despite her polite rejections, Norman continued to accost Bonnie to the point that she finally requested my help.

Try as I might to explain to the slightly over-served patron that Bonnie wanted nothing to do with him, he persisted. Again and again. Then he stepped over the line and grabbed Bonnie by the arm. I grabbed Norman and pushed him toward the front door.

Maybe I was being kind when I described Norman as being slightly over-served.

The man was drunk on his ass.

That would be the only thing that could explain what he did next.

After just being shoved a good fifteen feet, he turned around and charged at me with a demented look on his face. Now I was by no means a tough guy. In fact I detested fighting. But I was eight inches taller and a couple hundred pounds heavier than “Stormin’ Norman”.

And the inebriated knucklehead still charged at me!

After getting over my initial shock, I did what any gentleman protecting a young lady’s honor would do. I hit him. Hard.

To this day I am not quite certain whether it was my fist or my forearm that connected with Norman. I am also not quite sure just where I connected on my intoxicated combatant’s body. What I am sure of is that he was once again headed toward the front door.

However, this time he was air born.

Norman landed on the hard marble floor with a sickening thud. He didn’t look like he was going to get up. I’m not sure that he could have. A couple of his friends who obviously had more common sense then he did helped him outside.

With Bonnie’s honor in tact and her would-be assailant gone, the Beer Bust continued without further issue.

400 Club Beer Busts were always a highlight of the spring season and this particular one was no different. They didn’t always feature violence, but they were always noteworthy. In fact, another time we had seven or eight Kenosha Police Department squad cars there.

Remind me to tell you about that one sometime, it was a doozy.

Until next time…from the booth.

This ‘n’ That… Again

Once again I have decided to write about a few things that have been bouncing around inside my ginormous head. Just some random thoughts, a little of this ‘n’ that. First, “This” - What’s with all the nicknames in sports? Nice question coming from a guy nicknamed “Puddles” while working at Koos Inc. When I became involved in softball, managing the legendary 400 Club, the name stuck. I was in good company though, because heaven only knows the number of other nicknames that are hung on softball players.

Maybe it was a testosterone thing, but it seemed like everybody had a nickname back in the day. Sure there was vanilla ones like Richie or Reggie, but there were many with considerably more style and panache.

Here are some of the more colorful nicknames from the Golden Age of Kenosha Softball:

Art “Shorty” Llanas, Bill “Mountain” Griffiths, Billy “White Shoes” Johnson, Bob “The Guru of Softball” Dahl, Bob “Stud” Rossi, Brad “Chili” Breiling, Brian “Goon” McGonegle, Bruce “Eddie” Edmark, Bruce “Hollywood” Meyers, Carmen “Noots” Pillizzi, Chris “Swammy” Wade, Chuck “Chooch” Portillia and Chuck “Doc” Lange.

Dale “Bear” Kolmos, Dale “Hummer” Landree, Dan “Ozzie” Ausloos, Dan “The Hole” Tencate, Danny “Love” McGonegle, Dave “Pin” Meier, Dave “Rocky” Roehl, Dave “Smiley” Johnson, David “Uncle Munchie” Aiello, Dennis “Doc” Kalberg, Dennis “Satch” Lumley, Dennis “Tura” Lura, Denny “The Gangster of Brats” DeLoria and Domenic “Rocky” Tirabassi III.

Ed “Buddy” Ade, Fred “The Hammer” Parham, Fred “Wally” Altergott, Gary “Juice” Andreucci, Gary “Speed” Paskewicz, Gary “The Wizard” Petersen, Glen “Munk” Ekern, Glen “Smooth” Marescalco, Glenn “Rock” Evenson and Howie “Cow” Olsen.

Jeff “Cat” Kaeppler, Jeff “Herman” Clark, Jeff “Lumpy” Perrault, Jeff “Red” DiCello, Jeremy “Whammer” Kalbfell, Jim “Ax” Berberich, Jim “Doc” Nehls, Jim “Downtown” Brown, Jim “Downtown” Brown, Jim “Mr. Clean” Wilson, Jimmy “Slash” Gentile, John “Chops” Goodwin, John “Kool Papa” Schwarz, Johnny “Tank Top” Tracy and Jon “Atomic Dog” Naumann.

Kim “Roy” Myers, Kris “Nightmare” Ray, Kurt “Cooter” Sinclair, Larry “Laredo” Weiss, Mark “Bwana” Issets, Mike “Derby” Brown, Mike “Goon” Matuzek, Mike “Itchy” Griedanus, Mike “Worm” Selovich, Neil “White Cloud” Boniface, Pat “Hollywood” Hegewald and Paul “Puddles” Vagnoni.

Randy “Ducky” Aulwes, Rick “Cardo” Bloomquist, Rick “Rollo” Perrine, Ricky “Cousin” Llanas, Rock Jurvis, Rocky Witzman, Roger “Worm” Wermeling, Ron “Big Bird” Danoski, Ron “Mort” Zeith, Ron “Nosh” Rossa, Ron “Pig Pen” Greb and Russ “Cat” Guerra.

Sam “Finney” Perry, Steve “Beaver” Griffiths, Steve “Blade” Hess, Tim “Cupcake” Gascoigne, Tom “Bads” Beth, Tom “Boom Boom” Keating, Tom “Buzz” Pinzger and Willy “China” Yee.

Now for “That” – Back in February when season 24 of the award-winning reality shows Survivor premiered, I announced a contest for my Fellow Survivor Geeks. It is my way to not only celebrate this great show, but also say thank you to the loyal readers of this blog.


Here are the (hopefully) self-explanatory and understandable contest rules of the contest:

1.    Predict the Survivors who will make up the final three. Please use only full names as they appear in the list. No nicknames!

2.    As a tiebreaker, predict who will be voted off in the second episode. If know one picks the correct person for week two, whoever predicts the earliest one evicted after week one wins.

3.    If there is still a tie, the earliest entry wins.

First place will get their choice of the prizes with second place choosing next and third place will receive the remaining prize.

Want to know what they are playing for? Check out the graphic:

Sweet, huh? It will be interesting to see which prize the winner chooses. Here are the current standings with only three episodes remaining:

Jo: Sabrina, Kim, Chelsea
Greg: Christina, Kim

Patty 4-Names: Alicia

England Sue: Sabrina

Jamie: Chelsea

Jeff: Alicia

Karen: Kim
Alaska Karen: eliminated
Mary Beth: eliminated

Auntie Janet: eliminated

Kudos to Jo who sailing along with all three of her picks alive. Currently in second place, Greg nailed the tiebreaker by picking Nina to be the first contestant voted off after week one. Patty 4-Names is in third and is second best if a tiebreaker is needed. She chose Matt who was eliminated the week after Nina. All of the official entries are posted on the right side of this blog directly below the polls.

Well, the contest news was that and the nicknames were this… or something like that. Oh never mind, I’m going to watch the Brewers try to knock off those dirty Red Birds.

Until next time…from the booth.

We Was Robbed!

It’s been well documented that in the world of softball, Tirabassi is a bona fide dynasty. Since the early 1960s, this team has been the softball equivalent of the New York Yankees, Boston Celtics, Montreal Canadiens and Green Bay Packers all rolled into one. For over forty-five years, the Tirabassi Excavators have been the benchmark for slow-pitch softball in Kenosha. They have been that good for that long.

During the 1980s my 400 Club team had several classic match-ups with the Tirabassi juggernaut. Unfortunately, we were always on the short end of the score in every one of those games. Not once during my storied career as manger of the legendary 400 Club did we defeat Tirabassi.

Never. Not once. Not in a tournament. Not in a city league game. Not even in a beer game. Never.

As hard as it is to do, I must admit that they were simply a better team then we were. There is no getting around it. Tirabassi always attracted the top athletes in town. They had no problem “luring” the best players away from other teams. This became painfully evident to me when they later “acquired” two of the best players I ever had play for me, Matt Montemurro and Bruce “Hollywood” Meyers.

That is why it aggravated me greatly whenever we had the chance to beat Tirabassi and let it slip through our fingers. However, it was even worse when it wasn’t our doing that cost us the chance of defeating Rocky Tirabassi and his gang of sluggers. And that is exactly what happened to us one muggy June night at Lincoln Park.

We was robbed!

There is no other way to put. The umpire that evening, Dave Richards, robbed us of having any hope of a victory in the very first inning of the game. He let us know right then and there that we were NOT going to beat Tirabassi in that particular game. Let me explain.

The 400 Club was playing Tirabassi in a city league game. We played in the top division, the Tuesday National, and it was early enough in the season to still have dreams of dethroning them and finishing in first place.

In order to accomplish this considerable feat we needed to be on top of our game and get a few breaks along the way. With that in mind, I immediately lost the coin toss, giving Tirabassi the home team advantage, forcing us to bat first. So much for getting a break. Regrettably it wouldn’t be the only break that we did not receive.

With one out in the top of the first inning, Bruce Edmark stepped to the plate. With Meyers and Montemurro set to follow, I knew that it was crucial that Edmark got on base. We needed some early momentum if we were to knock off our nemesis.

An anxious Edmark jumped on the first offering from Rocky Tirabassi, sending it right back at the pitcher on one sharp hop. DAMN!

But wait, the ball dribbled away from the usually sure-handed Tirabassi and he scrambled to pick it up as the speedy Edmark raced down the first base line.

When I saw Rocky finally secure the ball, I knew it would be a bang-bang play at first base. The ball and Edmark arrived at the bag at nearly the same instant. As the dust settled I heard umpire Richards call out, “Safe!”

Yes! There was the break we needed.  We had a man on with the heart of the order coming up. Just then an angry Rocky Tirabassi began shouting, “I want an appeal!” and interrupted my short-lived jubilation.

I paused for a second before smiling because I realized that there could be no appeal because Richards was the only umpire that night. His partner had not shown up, so all decisions were his and were final. There was no one to overturn the call, no one to appeal the play to.

Or so I thought.

Realizing whom he had just ruled against, Richards immediately lost his spine and a few other male body parts and reversed his decision. He now decided that Edmark was not safe but was out. So much for any momentum for the 400 Club.

I was furious and demanded to know why he changed the original call. Richards meekly told me that Rocky had appealed it. I instantly shouted, “To who? There is no other ump to appeal it to!” he stared at me with a blank look on his face and said nothing.

When it became increasingly obvious that Richards had no intention of seeing the error of his way, I returned to the bench and proceeded to hurl insults at the weak-willed umpire. No cursing mind you, just stuff like, “You’re terrible” and “That was horrible”. But I was loud. Very loud. Extremely loud. You might even say vociferous. Ralph Kramden would have been proud.

As I watched the smug Rocky Tirabassi standing on the mound grinning from ear to ear, I suddenly became aware of two things. One, Richards was not going to eject me from the contest - he lacked the intestinal fortitude to do that. Secondly, I knew that we were going to lose to Tirabassi. Again.

And we did.

On that particular evening, with a line-up comprised of softball studs like Bill Johnson, Mark Hackbarth, Chuck Lange, Larry Carbone and Carmen Pillizzi; Rocky Tirabassi needed Dave Richards, to impersonate an umpire and give his powerhouse team an edge over my 400 Club team.

And he got it. I said it before and I will say it again. We was robbed.

Until next time…from the booth.

Rest In Peace Fred

This past Monday night I attended a meeting of softball luminaries to discuss a potential Hall of Fame. Before we even got started, Pat Hegewald informed me that Fred “Doc” Tenuta had just passed away, losing a battle with cancer. I was shocked. Only 57 years old, he went to Tremper High School before graduating from Marquette University Dental School in 1980. Fred was an active member of the Kiwanis Club and served as the advisor to the Key Club at Tremper. He was also very involved with his alma mater’s sports programs, particularly football and basketball.

His love of sports flowed onto the softball diamond and was involved with many teams. It would be tough to recall all of the different teams that he kept scorebook for. Because I don’t want to overlook anyone, I won’t even attempt to try.

It was through softball that I first met Fred. If he wasn’t bringing a lineup up to the booth at historic Finney’s West, he was keeping book against my 400 Club team in a city league game. No matter where it was, Fred usually had his signature grin working. He always seemed to be smiling.

Well, there was one time that he wasn’t smiling.

On that particular night, the 400 Club was playing Pasquali’s Snowblind Oasis in a 6:00 tilt at expansive Roosevelt Park. Fred was keeping their book and every 5 minutes, starting at 5:45, I hollered across the diamond to see if he had their lineup for me.

Each time I got the same response, “Not yet Puddles, we’re waiting for guys.” I knew what he was going through, I hated that feeling. Finally, two minutes before game time, Fred came over to give me Snowblind’s lineup.

As he started reading off the names, he grumbled, “Looks like we’re only playing with nine guys tonight.” After each name he would glance down 68th street, hoping to see another player. Then, after reading the eighth name, he finished with an uneasy, “And I guess I’m batting ninth and catching.”

Wow, I thought to myself, Snowblind really was short if Fred had to play.

Playing the Snowblind with only nine guys was an edge for my team. Playing them with Fred as the ninth guy was a HUGE edge for my team.

Fred was a first-rate dentist; an all-around nice guy and he possessed many fine qualities. Playing softball wasn’t one of them. That’s why he kept score. He didn’t want to play and I realized that. 
 
A small part of me felt sorry for Fred that warm summer night. In all my years of managing the 400 Club, I never had to play one inning. I always made sure we had enough guys. I never wanted to have to go through what Fred was about to.

The game started out innocently enough as we grabbed a quick lead. By the time Fred came to bat in the third inning, that lead had become comfortable.

As he tentatively stepped into the batter’s box, I shouted at my outfielders to come in a few steps. I knew Fred had absolutely no power and I didn’t want a blooper falling in.

Hey, I said small part of me felt sorry for him. They rest of me wanted to win.

Not satisfied with how much my outfield came in, I stood up and hollered even louder, “Will you guys move in? He’s never gonna hit it that far.” Satisfied, I turned to sit back down.

Before my ample backside hit that bench, Fred stepped out of the batter’s box stared straight at me and hollered, “Will you shut up, Puddles! I feel bad enough as it is!”

Somewhat embarrassed, I mumbled an apology and then watched Fred hit a feeble popup to second base.

For the rest of the game, I kept my mouth shut each time Fred came to the plate. It didn’t really matter, though. He didn’t get any hits and we went on to win the game handily.

After the game Fred’s signature grin returned and from that point on I tried to never make Fred feel bad again. It was much nicer seeing him smile.

Rest in peace Fred.

Dear God, please remember our brothers and sisters who have gone to their rest in the hope of rising again; may you bring them and all the departed into the light of your presence.

Until next time…from the booth.

THAT Bobby Douglass?

The name of this blog is From The Booth for a reason. Beginning in the late ‘70s, softball was a major part of my life. When I wasn’t managing the 400 Club, I could be found in the booth at historic Finney’s West announcing games. During a typical week I was in that booth for 18 to 24 games. All those thousands of games provided me with countless memories. A special recollection was the time a famous quarterback played in a tournament.

It was an early Saturday morning in late June and I was calling for lineups for a first round game. I recognized one of the teams, but wasn’t familiar with the other. They were from northern Illinois and were signed up as Coca Cola.

After a second request, the manager of the Coca Cola team climbed the 13 rickety wooden steps up to the booth. The first words out of his mouth immediately told me this team was going to be interesting.

“We didn’t know this was a 12-inch tournament, we play 16-inch!”

Evidently they had assumed it was a 16-inch tourney and most of the guys hadn’t even bothered to bring gloves. The manager went downstairs to discuss the situation with his players. After a short meeting, they decided they would borrow some gloves and give it a shot.

Then he turned in his lineup.

As was my usual practice, I quickly scanned the lineup card in case there were any difficult names to pronounce. I didn’t get any further then the cleanup hitter. 

I looked up and said, “Coach, your right fielder, he’s not THAT Bobby Douglass, is he?” He nonchalantly replied, “Ya, why?” I blurted out something like, “just wondering” and wished him good luck.

For the uninformed, Bobby Douglass was an All-American quarterback who played most of NFL career with the Chicago Bears. He also played for the San Diego Chargers, New Orleans Saints and Green Bay Packers. Douglass retired after the 1978 season, playing a total of 10 seasons in the NFL.

In 1972, while playing for the Chicago Bears, Douglass set the record for the most rushing yards by a quarterback in one season. The record stood for 34 tears. In that 14-game season, he ran for 968 yards and 8 touchdowns on 141 carries.

Now you can understand why I was taken aback when I saw his name in the Coca Cola lineup. After quickly scribbling the names onto my scorecard, I looked on the field at the Coca Cola players warming up, attempting to get use to the smaller ball.

There he was!

Wearing his familiar number ten, the muscular 6’4” athlete didn’t look a pound over the 225 pounds he weighed when he was setting records in the NFL. His blond locks were still shoulder length and framed his chiseled bronze face.

It was THAT Bobby Douglass!

It didn’t take long for others in the ballpark to become aware that there was an NFL legend playing softball at the corner of highways E and 31 in Somers, Wisconsin.

Especially after I announced him as “former Green Bay Packer great, Bobby Douglass”.

The big lefty stepped out of the batters and grinned up at the booth as the crowd began to buzz. Being from Illinois, his teammates razzed him about the Packer reference, but Douglass didn’t seem to mind.

Not being sure how Douglass would take the “publicity”, I was relieved to see his reaction. That was good, because for the next two days, there was a steady stream of kids coming up to the booth asking for used softballs so the football hero could autograph them.

Douglass didn’t seem to mind all of the hoopla, so I continued the grandiose introductions each time he would step to the plate. I would mention any stat or piece of minutia about him that I could think of and the crowd loved it. Everyone was having a great time.

The Coca Cola team didn’t fare badly, considering they were a 16-inch team playing in a 12-inch tournament. Bobby Douglass was an solid hitter and had a rocket of an arm, gunning down those who were foolish enough to run on the ex-NFL quarterback.

When his team was finally eliminated early Sunday afternoon, Bobby Douglass climbed the 13 rickety wooden steps up to the booth. Still a bit in awe, I managed to tell him that I hoped he didn’t mind all of the extra attention.

I will never forget what Douglass did next.

As he extended his massive hand, he said, “I want to thank you for making me feel special again. I haven’t felt like this since I was playing in the NFL. Thank you.” He then shook my hand and left the booth.

Ya, it was THAT Bobby Douglass.

Until next time…from the booth.

A 400 Club Genesis

In 1976 a bunch of guys that I worked with at Koos Inc. decided to form a softball team. We played for The Sands. We were sponsored by Charlie Huck and played in the lowest city recreation League possible. The makeup of the team was quite diverse. There were a few fellows that could actually play softball, a couple of decent athletes, a bunch of guys that needed a new reason to go the bar and a catcher of ample proportions who ran things. That last guy would be me.

The season was a combination of competing against teams that were as lousy as we were and getting destroyed by a team called Tappa Hafa Kega Dai. It would be the first and last season of The Sands team. The players who just wanted a night out found a new reason to go to the bar. Meanwhile, the guys who could actually play softball wanted more, and under the guidance of the catcher of ample proportions formed the legendary 400 Club.

In 1977, we would play as The 400 Club in city league and as Koos Inc. at historic Finney’s West. Forrest McConnell initially sponsored our Koos Inc. team, with Peter Lederer filling that role when he took over the business. The 400 Club had only sponsor – the late Vern Ekern.

Vern Ekern was a barrel-chested Norwegian with hands that resembled old catcher’s mitts. Despite his incessant reminding of us to “stop down and spend a buck”, Vern was the best sponsor you could ask for. We always had full uniforms, complete with stirrups and entered all the tournaments we wanted. All Vern asked of us was to “stop down and spend a buck” and to throw an annual Beer Bust.

Throwing a Beer Bust was never a problem for the 400 Club team. Each year I would give every player twenty $2.00 tickets to sell. Being a control freak, I always worked the door and collected the money and raffle tickets. It was always a sellout and every year something “special” would happen.

For instance, it was during a 400 Club Beer Bust when I threw the only punch in my adult life.  An attendee who had signed his raffle ticket “Stormin’ Norman” was trying to become a bit too familiar with Vern’s oldest daughter Bonnie. Despite her polite rejections, Norman continued to accost Bonnie to the point that she finally requested my help.

Try as I might to explain to the slightly over-served patron that Bonnie wanted nothing to do with him, he persisted. Then he stepped over the line and grabbed Ekern girl by the arm. I grabbed Norman and pushed him toward the front door. Maybe I was being kind when I described him as being slightly over-served.

The man was drunk on his ass. That would be the only thing that could explain what he did next. After being shoved a good fifteen feet, he turned around and charged at me. Now I was by no means a tough guy, in fact I hated fighting. But I was eight inches taller and a couple hundred pounds heavier than “Stormin’ Norman”. And the knucklehead still charged at me!

After getting over my initial shock, I did what any gentleman protecting a young lady’s honor would do. I hit him. To this day I am not certain whether it was my fist or my forearm that connected with Norman. I am also not quite sure just where I connected on my intoxicated combatant’s body. What I am sure of is that he was headed toward the front door again, however this time he was air born.

Norman landed with a thud and was helped outside by a few of his friends who obviously had more common sense than he. With Bonnie’s honor in tact and her would-be assailant gone, the Beer Bust continued without further issue. 400 Club Beer Busts were always a highlight of the spring season.

In 1979 we finished second in the Rotary Club Tournament, losing to Valeri 2 in the championship game. Later that same season Margetson Construction eliminated us from the City Tournament in the Quarterfinals. Margetson would become a constant thorn in the side of the 400 Club.

Over the years, our team was successful in the city league and at one time had a streak of 38 consecutive games without a loss. Interestingly, the pitcher of the team that ultimately snapped our winning streak was Jim Nehls. This was significant because Nehls also pitched for Margetson Construction.
 
                                             *  *  *  *  *  *  *

Since my last blog was about the notorious 400 Club softball team, I thought that it would be nice to give a little more history about the team. The above was an excerpt from my book, Some Kenosha Softball, which is available at Sister Act on Roosevelt Road. I have knocked the price down to only $10.  Grab a copy now!

Until next time…from the booth.

A Memorable Winter Meeting

In 1977 the legendary 400 Club softball team was formed with yours truly calling the shots as the manager. We started out playing teams like Kerry’s Kritters. Before long we were competing with the likes of Tirabassi’s, Finney’s and Pitt’s Decorating. Over the years, our team had its moments of glory, at one point winning 38 consecutive city league games. In addition to league play, our team also did well in tournaments, filling the trophy cases of tavern owner and sponsor Vern Ekern. The 400 Club was a successful team that had made a name for itself.

While the team made a definite mark on the Kenosha softball scene, it should be noted that it wasn’t only for their triumphs on the diamond. The 400 Club also had a reputation for being rowdy renegades.

We were the proverbial square peg in a round hole. There were several colorful characters on the 400 Club. We weren’t always the nicest team and had gained some notoriety as the Oakland Raiders of the softball world.

That being said, there was a reason our team was successful, it was well organized. That was my job. I made sure entry fees were paid, that uniforms were ordered, that beer busts were scheduled and, most importantly, made sure we had players that were of 400 Club quality.

Because of our rebellious reputation, it wasn’t always easy  attracting new talent to our squad of misfits. Not everyone was comfortable being a part of a team with a bad-boy image. The ideal 400 Club candidate had to have skills at the bar as well as on the diamond.

Acquiring just the right guy was much too big a job for just one man; it was a team effort. Since I wanted everyone’s input, this was a subject that was discussed at our annual Winter Meeting. 

That’s right, the 400 Club had a Winter Meeting each year. Typically, it took place near the end of January, but no later than the first weekend of February. After all, our beer bust had to be scheduled before the season started.

As you might suspect, the 400 Club Winter Meeting wasn’t all business. Adult beverages were being consumed while team concerns were being discussed. Then, once it was decided what new players we were going after and the date for the beer bust, it was time to start doing some serious drinking.

Given the track record of our group, it should come as no surprise that the Winter Meeting could turn into a raucous evening of partying. However, by 400 Club standards, most of these get-togethers were not very memorable.

However, one particular Winter Meeting does stand out from all of the rest.

There was about a dozen members of the team in the 400 Club on that Saturday night in late January. The only other customer was a guy who rented a room above of the iconic tavern. He was known as “Larry D” and sat in his regular spot at the far end of the bar and was nursing a tap beer.

It looked like a relatively quiet night for the bartender, Skip. He liked it that way. Skip wasn’t what you would call energetic. The less excitement, the better. He liked it quiet. Unfortunately for Skip, it wouldn’t stay quiet.

Not by a long shot.

The “business” portion of the meeting had concluded and the guys from the team were relaxing with a few cocktails. For a 400 Club team activity, it was relatively subdued. That is until the front door suddenly exploded open and Mark Ekern burst in. Without any warning, he jerked Larry D from his bar stool and threw to the hard tile floor. 

As a team, our jaws collectively dropped in astonishment. Mark was the brother of 400 Club stalwart, Glen “Munk” Ekern. Despite the fact that they were the sons of our sponsor Vern, they had nothing in common. Absolutely nothing.

Munk was, hmm, let’s see, I need to put this nicely. Munk was aggressive and loved confrontation. He was a big reason the 400 Club had the image it did. On the other hand, Mark was mild-mannered, unassuming and generally kept to himself. He didn’t seem to have a hostile bone in his body.

That was the reason we were so astounded. What could have possibly happened to provoke Mark’s physical attack on Larry D?

We got a clue when Mark hollered, “I told you to stay away from Bonnie, but you wouldn’t listen!” Bonnie was the eldest of Vern’s six daughters and a very sweet girl. Evidently, Larry D had persisted on hitting on her even though he was warned against it.

Mark had taken exception to this and let him know it in a very violent fashion.

The manner he used to express his displeasure with Larry D wasn’t for the faint of heart. He used his fists. He used his feet. He used tables, bar stools and anything else he could get his hands on. The enraged Mark didn’t give him a chance.

Larry D was helpless and could do nothing to protect himself from the onslaught. He was bounced off of walls and the bar, knocked to the floor, then picked up again so Mark could repeat the process.

It wasn’t pretty.

In fact, at one point, it got so ugly it prompted Red DiCello, no shrinking violet himself when it came to fighting, to ask me, “Shouldn’t we stop him, Paul?” Having a soft spot in my heart for Bonnie, I said, “No, not yet, let him go.”

Finally, when Mark began to ram Larry D’s head into the heavy wooden base of a video game, I told Red and the rest of the guys that now was the time to put an end to the vicious beat down.

After things had settled down, Mark left, but not before reminding Larry D in no uncertain terms that he had better “stay the f*ck” away from his sister. Larry D, broken and bloodied, could only nod his head as he slowly crawled up the stairs to his room located above the bar.

While we were picking up bar stools and getting the bar back in order, a visibly shaken Skip answered the phone. After a brief conversation, he hung up the phone and announced, “Vern said to get the guys a drink.”

The team roared its approval. Behind the bar, Skip just shook his head as he started setting up our drinks. Above the bar, Larry D tended to his wounds.

Yes, even by 400 Club standards, that was a memorable Winter Meeting.

Until next time…from the booth.