The night Rob Johnson took control

Wednesday, October 24, 1990, was a long day for me at the Observer.

My day started in the afternoon at Central Regional High School, covering the Shore Conference Tournament field hockey semifinal match between Central and Middletown North. The game went into overtime and in the extra session, Maria Merlucci, the team's top scorer, knocked in a pass from Jean Gardner to win the game for the Golden Eagles, 3-2, and send them on their way to the championship game on Friday night against Wall at Ocean Township High School.

Meanwhile, that was only scratching the service of my day. I had to hurry back to the Observer building to write the game story, leading off with, of all things, the sight on the hills next to the hockey field that Central played on. It was after I got done with my interviews with Gardner and coach Madeline Dutton that Dutton spotted something and made her senior midfielder turn around. There were three deer walking along the ridge of the hill overlooking the field. I'll never forget that sight whatsoever.

"I think that's an omen," Dutton said to Gardner and me. Turns out two nights later it wasn't as Wall won the SCT title, 3-1.

Meanwhile, I finished my story and my boss then wanted me to head to Brick Memorial High School to cover the second half of the Shore Conference Boys Soccer Tournament. Chris Christopher, who was our boys soccer writer, got to cover the first semifinal between Brick Township High and Middletown North. I got the nightcap, which started at 8 p.m., between two-time defending champion Jackson Memorial and Toms River East, a pair of Shore Conference Class A South rivals who were now going to mix it up for the right to move on to the final.

But this game was something more than just a winner and a loser on a cool night in the northern end of Brick Township. No, there was more to this story.

This was the night that Jackson Memorial's best player and Ocean County's best athlete, Rob Johnson, was returning to the Jaguars lineup. Was he injured? No. Was he out for personal reasons? Hardly.

Johnson was coming back to the Jaguars' lineup on this night after sitting out a two-game suspension mandated by the New Jersey State Interscholastic Athletic Association after an ugly incident that had taken place just nine days earlier. On that Monday the 15th, the Jaguars were in Hazlet to face off with Raritan High School's squad. Now, Raritan had this reputation of being rough and tumble, hardly a picnic to play. They also had a predominantly white team.

You can see where this is heading. They were also marking Johnson, the team's talented center-midfielder, very tight the entire game. But he found ways to frustrate them and get free. Still, he was also paying a price by getting tripped up and having his body banged around. Again, far from a picnic.

It was somewhere in the second half when it happened. The young man who was frustrated having to follow Rob Johnson all over the field finally snapped. In one motion, he reportedly fouled him and called him the word.

Oh, did I mention that Rob Johnson is African-American? Sorry.

Within one second, that young man who dared to "go there" went there. And when I mean there, I mean to the ground in a crumpled mess. One shot ... that's all it took. One damaged jaw. Apparently, that was what was needed for Jackson's amazingly talented senior to supposedly snap. Personally, I wouldn't have condoned the behavior, but believe me, I certainly would've understood him doing what he did.

No one deserves the "name" calling.

However, things got very complicated. The game was stopped for good, a near riot broke out and in the end, both Johnson and teammate Ashley Eure, another African-American who also took offense to what the kid said, got two-game suspensions. Jackson coach Mike Costa was suspended by his school for two games, but he went further than that, and suspended himself for the entire Shore Conference Tournament.

So the SCT began with Jackson Memorial defending a championship without its best player, a major supporting player and its coach. Turns out they didn't need them as they won both games. Now the Jaguars, the Class A South champions and tournament top seed, were about to face off with the Raiders of coach John Crowley, the fourth seed and a fairly talented club in its own right. But the Raiders hadn't beaten the Jaguars yet this season and was 10-1-1 against everyone else leading into the game.

And doing the coaching for the Jaguars was again, not Costa, but his assistant coach Martin Smith. Here's all you had to know about the man in charge: He was quite vocal and he was quite vocal in a British accent. Yes, he was a huge football fan (soccer over there). And if you didn't get to where you were supposed to get, he'd let not just you know, but he'd let the entire complex know! 

In other words, he was a perfect fit to be Costa's assistant coach. As for Costa, he's one of the most enjoyable people I've ever been around in terms of coaches. He also had a way to -- how do I say this -- be direct about his opinions. Let's just say he was not the most liked guy out there.


However, I enjoyed him and knew him from coaching the Jackson Memorial girls soccer team in the spring season. By now, though, he was just looking to talk to anyone but Chris. Understandably, Costa got tired of reading about the fight, the punch, the aftermath, and soon, the legal fees that were about to be paid because of this fracas.

Let's just say he saw me when I got onto the field and couldn't wait to unload his anger and frustration about Chris on me while he was leaning against the fence, nothing more than a spectator while his assistant was in charge.

Let's also say it was a tenuous time for the program and the relationship our paper had with them.

In other words: I had to be the go-between and play Switzerland.

So as I wrote down lineups for both teams and wished both coaches Crowley and Smith well, I noticed something immediately ... Rob Johnson was not in the starting lineup, but Ashley Eure was. I remember asking Smith if this was continual punishment against Johnson and he simply said, "No."

East and Jackson kicked it off on this cool evening, knowing the winner was going to face Brick in the final after the Green Dragons had dispatched of Middletown North in the first semifinal, 3-1. To East's credit, it held firm defensively as Eure and teammate Carlos Vasco were doing their darndest to keep the ball down at the Raider end. Goalie Scott Bennert, though, was frustrating the Jaguars' front line by either taking the ball away from a dangerous moment or making the save to stop any threats.

This went on for a good amount of the first quarter as the teams played to a scoreless tie. And still no sign of Rob Johnson, who was sitting on the bench awaiting his moment to come into the game.

The second quarter was nothing more than a repeat of the first quarter. But almost six minutes into the quarter ... and I can still remember the time without reading the story I did on the game ... Smith glared at Johnson. Johnson took his warmup hoodie off. He began to jog on the sideline in preparation of the first out-of-bounds ball that East hit last.

So with 13:42 left before halftime, Johnson had finally stepped onto the field, his first action since the unfortunate incident at Raritan High School. Immediately, the pace of Jackson's game got faster. Johnson was not afraid to get the ball and roam where he wanted to, but he had East players trailing him wherever he went. Some of his passes were just missing the mark and Bennert was at the other end covering up and sending the ball back.

The Raiders had done a tremendous job in holding the fort down. And at halftime, the game was scoreless. But I could see the look on Crowley's face -- it wasn't good. He knew there was still another half of soccer left and he knew Johnson was getting warmer as the night wore on.

Costa and I talked along the fence at halftime. He told me he was fortunate enough to have a coach like Smith to take over the team while he was in exile over the incident. He had that much confidence in this very vocal Englishman. Oh, he was also still steaming over the coverage in our paper over an incident none of us witnessed in person.

I smiled. I didn't know exactly what to tell him at that point, but he understood my quandary of having to take his ration and me telling him a lot of times, "Yeah ... yeah ... uh-huh." I just didn't know where else to turn at this point.

The second half began and once again, to East's credit, it did everything it could defensively to bottle up Vasco, Eure and Johnson, the three main threats the Jaguars had offensively. But one pass was about to change the complexion of the game.

In the game of soccer, it takes a player just a split second to leave his defender and get to a ball and not be called for off-sides. If Eure and Johnson had worked this play out over and over and over again, I wouldn't have been surprised. Eure had the ball at about the Raider 30-yard line. He tapped a pass by two defenders who were on Johnson. The ball landed perfectly on Johnson's feet and the only person left in the way was Bennert.

Somehow, Bennert figured he was about to be posterized, soccer-style. Before Bennert could even commit to a direction to go, Johnson had already made his mind up and ripped a 15-yarder past the goalie to give Memorial a 1-0 lead.

The seal was open and the Raiders were now in trouble because they needed to become more offensive just to tie the game up. They had played defense for a good amount of this game whether Johnson was in there or not. Now he broke through and Crowley and his team had no choice.

And after chasing the Jaguars all around the field for three quarters, the Raiders were looking like a tired team going into the fourth. That's when the Jaguars decided to put the hammer down. Yada Carew, another talented midfielder, fed Johnson on the right side of the field with a pass. He slipped past his defender and then started coming on toward Bennert. Again, before the Raider goalie could react, Johnson fired a left-footed shot past the keeper to make it 2-0 with 5:48 left in the game.

Two minutes later, Johnson scored maybe his prettiest goal of the night. Another talented midfielder, Damon Richvalsky, found Johnson streaking down the middle and fed him. Johnson once again beat his defenders and went to the right of the goal. When Bennert came out to take on Johnson, the Jaguar star floated a right-foot kick over the goalie's head and into the back of the net to finish out the natural hat trick and a 3-0 lead with four minutes to go.

East pushed up to make something happen, but it was all too late. And when Vasco got a hold of the ball, he found himself streaking down the left side of the field with no one in front of him and two Raiders trailing him. Once again, Bennert felt awfully alone. He beat Bennert to finish out the 4-0 victory.

And the Jaguars were on their way to the SCT final again, this time to face Brick in the first all-Ocean County final since Jackson Memorial beat East in the 1986 championship.

So I approached Smith first and I asked him why he started Eure, but didn't start his superstar center-midfielder.

"Whatever the rights and wrongs, you shouldn't hit someone," Smith started, sounding like he was still punishing Johnson for what happened over a week earlier. Then he changed tone. "I think a more important reason (not to start Johnson) was because (midfielder) Sean Donnelly kept him out. He's played the last two games. Even if it was an injury or whatever reason, I don't think you throw someone straight in."

Then he added about Eure starting, "Ashley was different because I actually thought we missed him more than Rob."

I stood there almost jaw-dropped. I'm thinking, "Really? This game was scoreless until you put Rob Johnson into the game and then he broke down East's defense."

To this day, I'm still struggling with that rationale. Sean Donnelly was a nice player, but he simply wasn't Rob Johnson, period. I hated to burst ol' Martin's bubble there, but Rob Johnson was an exceptional player.

I then approached Johnson, who was doing his first interview with anyone since the incident. He was cool with me.

"I wasn't really frustrated," he started. "I felt like I let the team down (not being on the field those two other games). I get nervous about my conditioning sometimes. But after I got in, I was just working hard."

This was when I knew I was talking to someone very, very special. At 17 years old, Rob Johnson was not thinking about himself or whatever he did. He was thinking about what he could do for his team. He was being the consummate team leader coaches dream of and can't coach up themselves.

And things changed in an exciting way for the Jaguars after that game. They went on to win the SCT title three nights later against the Green Dragons, then went from there to win the state Group IV championship. And Johnson finished out a brilliant winter by winning his second straight individual wrestling championship. In the spring, he went on to win the county 100-meter dash championship.

He was, easily, the best male athlete in this county. To this day, he's still the best male athlete I've covered in 30 years. Johnson went on to a very successful soccer career at Rutgers University, helping the Scarlet Knights to a Final Four in 1994. He went on to play for the New York Metrostars in Major League Soccer before moving on to a coaching career in the sport.

Rob Johnson accomplished quite a lot. But it was at his most vulnerable he stood up and took charge when his Jackson Memorial soccer team needed him. And it was a thing of beauty when he did.

It made that long day at the newspaper well worth it.

Brick National's version of 'What if?'

Five days had gone by since witnessing one of the greatest Little League All-Star comebacks of all time when Brick National dug deep down 9-3 in the bottom of the sixth inning to tie it up, then fall behind 10-9 in the seventh before scoring twice in the bottom of the seventh to win the New Jersey state championship over North Trenton.

It was also two days since I had arrived in Southington, Conn., to stay at the Suisse Chalet right off I-84 and then head along State Road-29 to State Road-6 and into Bristol to watch the team play in the East Regional tournament. In the first two games of the single-elimination regional, Brick National had scored a 9-7 win over Hagerstown American, Md., on the strength of a three-run home run in the top of the sixth by Justin Marsch and then continued that momentum into the next day with a seven-run first inning that led to another 9-7 win over Springdale Little League of Stamford, Conn., one of two teams representing the host Nutmeg State.

These were good times for the Brick National kids. They had lost only twice in New Jersey play and though they weren't completely steady so far, they had wins and were still alive in the regional, which was now down to the Final Four.

On the night I finished watching the win over Stamford, I was working on my story on the company-owned Radio Shack Tandy TRS 80 Model 100 in my room when I took a short break from it. I had walked out into the parking lot of my hotel room and recognized a few Brick National parents with some of their non-team member kids. Some of the parents, like myself, were taking the 10-to-15 minute ride from the hotel to the newly named A. Bartlett Giamatti complex each day. After a few minutes of chatting, they were asking me what I was writing on the latest win.

"Wanna find out?" I asked them.

They took me up on the offer and headed into my hotel room to watch me finish up the story that would be going into the Observer the next morning. I never knew if they were impressed by the process, but at least those parents and some of the kids related to the team got to see how it worked.

I had a chance to get ready for the next game. It was to be held in the early afternoon of Thursday, August 16, 1990, and most likely, the winner of this one was going to be favored to win the regional on that Friday and maybe head off to Williamsport, Pa., for the Little League World Series.

Yes, I was excited. I had been covering Little League for seven years and now, I had gotten closer to a World Series than I ever had. In 1987, the Toms River Junior Leaguers won the state title and won the opening game of the Mid-Atlantic Tournament, but then lost the next two games and were done. And in 1988, Toms River Little League, who I was affiliated with at that time, had gotten the rights to host the East Regional Junior League All-Star Tournament, but none of our local teams were in the tournament so the World Series was out of the question.

And so as I woke up on that Thursday morning set to make the 10-15 minute ride in my 1977 Dodge Aspen, I could see a nice-sized crowd at Breen Field, the main field of the two at the complex. All week, the temperatures were unusually warm at the complex, temperatures hovering in the upper 80s. On top of that, the "headquarters" for all the teams were at a private school near the field. And for Brick Nationals players and coaches, that meant a week of complaining about how humid and warm the classrooms they were staying in were. Maybe it was taking something out of them, but I knew once they got through this tournament, they would have better accommodations in Williamsport since they were quite a bit more established.

Brick National had a solid team, led by the big boppers in the middle of the lineup in shortstop Jim Kish, right fielder Justin Marsch and center fielder Brian Patton. They were surrounded by sure-handed and sure-armed players such as Mike Russomano in left field, shortstop-pitcher Mike Terranova, second baseman-pitcher Brian Yakovchuk, third baseman Mike Mendes and catcher Roni Bigelow.

The only thing missing, though, was their manager. By now, Roy Yakovchuk, a hard-talking but truly proud gentleman, could not get off work from the trucking business he was a part of. He had used up all his vacation time and they expected him back at work. So he had to hand over the managerial reins to his assistant coach, Rich Harden, whose stepson, Terranova, was on the team. Hardee wasn't as tough-talking as Yakovchuk, but he was pretty assured and knew how he wanted this team to run. All through the tournament, I had been in touch with both the manager and his coach, so the transition to dealing with Harden was an easy one.

This game, though, Harden was understandably nervous. The team across the way from Shippensburg, Pa. was very, very good. Their two best players were also their two aces on the staff, David Orndorff, the son of manager Glenn Orndorff, and Bob Shannon, who was to be the catcher on this day calling signals for Orndorff. Second baseman Gregg Mellott was a nice little leadoff hitter and shortstop Scott Thrush had some pop in the cleanup spot. But other than those four guys at the top of the lineup, Shippensburg wasn't going to crush the ball. The Pennsylvania state champions were going to rely on the pitching of their aces and playing defense to get through the tournament.

On a sun-splashed, warm day, I set myself up on the third-base side of home plate up in the metal bleachers where I wasn't going to move since metal and the sun don't make for the most comfortable experience around. And in the middle of yet another hot afternoon, I was thankful those nice people from Brick National had given me one of their team hats to wear as protection since my arms and legs weren't going to be very protected.

Let's say Brick National president Mauro Gagliardo liked me a lot and what I did for his league.

This was during the time period when ESPN didn't even come close to covering Little League ball, even though their studio was no more than about four miles from the complex. All the news on how this Little League game happened was coming straight from my nimble typing fingers and from other scribes as well as word of mouth.

Shippensburg won the coin toss and elected to hit last. That gave Orndorff the opportunity to thrust his will on the mound at Brick National's hitters. And he did so by striking out Russomano and Terranova on four pitches. He walked Kish, setting it up for Marsch, who was 2-for-7 in the regional, but whose hits were the three-run home run in the opener and a double in the seven-run first inning of the second game. Turns out Orndorff had brought it up another notch, striking Marsch out on three pitches, each one harder thrown than the last.

Where Orndorff depended on brut strength, Terranova depended on mixing his pitches up to keep the other team off-balance. And Brick National's most dependable pitcher was also economical in his pitching. He retired Mellott on a first-pitch groundout, Orndoff on a first-pitch flyball and Shannon on a groundout on the third pitch.

So far, so good.

In the second, Brick National built a rally against Orndoff. Patton walked. Yakovchuk beat out an infield single and was replaced on the basepaths by pinch-runner George Cavanaugh. After Bigelow struck out, Mendes was able to sacrifice both runners up a base, setting it up for No. 9 hitter Stan Czekay, who played an important role in that amazing comeback in the state final against North Trenton. On a 1-1 pitch, Czekay lofted a flyball that had carry to it. I can still see center fielder Jim Smith drifting back and drifting back. About eight feet in front of the fence, he made the catch to end the inning.

"What if?" I thought. Another nine feet and it's 3-0 and Terranova has control of the game. Believe me, it would have been a totally different game.

By the bottom of the third inning, Terranova had already retired the first six batters he faced. But he walked leadoff hitter Rodney Halter. That brought up Smith, the No. 8 hitter. On an 0-2 pitch, Smith reached out and poked a ball into center field. It landed in front of Patton for a single. Patton got the ball immediately and saw Halter take off for third. He threw a one-bounce strike to Mendes, who got the ball and waited on Halter to slide into the tag for the out.

The play, unbelievably, was not over.

After tagging out Halter, Mendes saw Smith taking off for second. Showing that he who hesitates is lost, Mendes got the ball out of his glove quickly and fired to Yakovchuk to put the tag on the runner and complete the extremely unusual 8-5-4 double play. All seemed to be going Brick National's way. But No. 9 hitter Mike Okker continued the threat with a single and Mellott singled him to second. But Orndorff hit a grounder at Mendes, who stepped on third to end the inning.

Still scoreless. It was obvious we were in for a pitcher's dual at this point and that 9-7 for a third straight game seemed to be out of the question. Orndorff struck out three and walked one in the fourth inning, bringing his strikeout total to seven.

In the bottom of the fourth, Shippensburg put another rally together. An error by shortstop Kish on a Shannon grounder was followed by a forceout by Thrush and that was followed two batters later by a double to left-center field by Bob Knox. Glen Orndoff stopped Thrush at third knowing Patton was sending the ball back into the infield, putting runners on second and third with two outs and putting the pressure squarely on Halter again. Halter hit a second-pitch comebacker to Terranova to end the inning.

Another rally squashed. Maybe this was Brick National's day, even though at this point, this Shippensburg team seemed a little better.

In the fifth, David Orndorff built his strikeout total to nine by fanning Czekay and Russomano and got a groundout off Terranova's bat. It just seemed Orndoff was on cruise control with the nine strikeouts, three walks and two hits allowed in five innings, throwing only 70 pitches by this point, 47 for strikes.

It was Terranova's turn again. He had thrown just 44 pitches in four innings and his mixing of pitches had frustrated his opponents for a good amount of the afternoon. But Smith blooped a single into right-center field to lead off. A wild pitch moved him to second. Ocker, the No. 9 hitter, walked, putting runners on first and second with no outs and bringing the dangerous top of the lineup back to the plate.

This was not looking good with very little regulation time left in this one. Mellott worked the count to 2-0, but had shown bunt on both pitches. On the next delivery, he bunted between the plate and the mound, easily moving the runners up a base. Terranova grabbed the ball and threw toward first, but his throw was in the ground and bounced away from Czekay for the error that allowed Smith to come home and move Ocker to third as Mellott scampered to second.

The string had been broken and Shippensburg had the lead. Worse, there were still no outs and the big aluminum bats of Orndorff and Shannon were still to come up. Orndoff hit a grounder at Mendes, who looked Ocker back to third, then threw on to Czekay for the first out.

At this point, Harden came out of the dugout to talk to his stepson and the other infielders and Bigelow. They had a plan in mind -- they had gotten through Orndorff, but they weren't going to mess with Shannon, who had hit two hot smashes at Kish. One solid stroke and 1-0 would become 4-0. Terranova threw four wide ones to Bigelow to intentionally walk Shannon and load the bases.

They were taking their chances with cleanup hitter Thrush. Terranova threw a first-pitch strike to the hitter. But you could see Terranova was laboring. His motion didn't look right and he seemed to be struggling with his arm. Ball one. Then ball two. Then ball three.

Harden came out again. Terranova gave him a look as if he couldn't do it anymore. With the count 3-1, Harden made the difficult choice to take his stepson out. Who was going to replace him, inheriting the count knowing that one more ball forces home a second run?

Harden called on Steven Haines, a bigger and harder-throwing pitcher compared to Terranova. A tough place to be for the young man, though. He threw his warmup pitches and Thrush stepped back into the batter's box with the 3-1 count.

Haines threw his first pitch high. Ball four. Ocker scored and it was 2-0. A one-run deficit seemed easy to make up, but a two-run deficit seemed impossible against Orndorff and, still with one out, Haines had to get out of the jam. He struck out Donnie Miller and then got Knox to pop out to Kish.

Brick National was down to its last at-bat. Do nothing and the season was over. And if Brick National was going to do it, it was going to be with the two top bashers in the lineup leading off. First up was Kish. He worked the count to 3-2, then Orndorff bounced the next pitch into the ground for ball four.

Brick National had a runner on base. And the hot-and-cold Marsch was up. He had delivered sixth-inning home runs in two of the previous three games, one to tie up the state championship, the other to put his team in front just two days earlier against the kids from Hagerstown. He couldn't possibly do it again?

That was just asking too much of a 12-year-old to do again and again. Orndorff was coming after Marsch. The count was 2-2. Marsch fouled off the next offering, a hard fastball. Orndorff tried another fastball.

Piiiiiiiiiiiiiiing!

I knew that sound all too well. That was the same damn sound I heard in Spring Lake Heights and I heard again two days earlier on this same Breen Field. The ball took off and neither left fielder Miller or center fielder Smith moved. The ball cleared the left-center field by a good 40 feet. Unlike that grand slam to center field that tied the North Trenton game, I saw this ball clearly land harmlessly on the grass.

Brick National's fans cheered, yelled, screamed and just flat-out celebrated. This really couldn't be happening again. The boys from the south side of Brick Township had tied the game at 2-all and there were still no outs and had a pitcher who was cruising along on the ropes.

After Patton grounded out, Yakovchuk singled to center field, Brick National's fourth hit. Harden replaced Yakovchuk for the second time in the game with pinch-runner Billy Popp, meaning Yakovchuk was done for the game and was nothing more than a spectator on the bench. Orndorff recovered to strike out Bigelow on three pitches, bringing up Brian Gatto, who was pinch-hitting for Mendes after Mendes had sacrificed and struck out in his two at-bats.

To build the drama, a passed ball by Shannon moved Popp to second, then a wild pitch got Popp to third. The go-ahead run was 60 feet away and one hit was going to get him in. The count got to 3-2. On the next pitch, Gatto hit a grounder that went off Orndorff's glove toward Mellott at second. Mellott had to race in to get the ball. He threw to Knox and was able to get the slow-afoot Gatto by a step to end the threat.

Again, I thought, "What if?" What if Gatto had a little more speed. He beats the play out, Popp scores and it's 3-2 going to the bottom of the sixth.

The game was now in Haines' hands since Terranova was taken off the hook by Marsch's sixth-inning heroics. And starting with no one on base this time, Haines got the bottom of Shippensburg's lineup out in order on two groundouts and a strikeout.

Once again, Brick National was going to have to decide a game in extra innings, just like five days earlier. And after playing back-to-back-to-back games in this tournament (Shippensburg had earned a first-round bye to play just one East Regional game) and having to deal with oppressive conditions in their makeshift excuse for living quarters in Bristol while the complex was being built on the grounds, I was wondering how much was left in the collective tank.

Orndorff struck out Haines, Russomano and Terranova, now playing first and second base, respectively, in the top of the seventh to build his strikeout total to 13. Haines, meanwhile, had little trouble in the bottom of the seventh as he gave up a single to Orndorff, but got out of one-out trouble by getting Shannon to hit into a force play and Thrush to fly out to Patton.

On to the eighth. Once again, Kish and Marsch were to lead the inning off. If both got on base, I was pretty convinced Brick National was going to score and take the lead, leaving it to Haines to finish out the victory and move to the region championship the next afternoon.

Kish did his part without having to work hard -- Orndorff walked him on four pitches as if he didn't want him to ever touch the ball with his bat. That brought up Marsch, who was still basking in the afterglow of the game-tying home run two innings earlier. On his second pitch, Orndorff uncorked a wild pitch to move Kish into scoring position. With the count 2-2, Marsch lined a single to right field. Halter got to the ball quickly and fired it back into the infield.

That was huge since Harden was left with no choice but to hold Kish at third, putting runners on first and third with no outs. This brought up Patton and once again, Brick National had Orndorff on the ropes. This was really looking good. Orndorff got the count, though, to 0-2 quickly, forcing Patton to be defensive at the plate. On the next pitch, Patton hit a soft liner.

But Mellott was shaded over toward first base instead of his normal second base spot. Mellott reached high to snag the line drive, then saw Marsch a little too far off first base. He chased him back to the base and made the tag before he could step on the base to complete the double play.

Well, that's what I thought. Really!

In the middle of all this happening, Kish was back on third base and about to push the envelope. Mellott was finishing up tagging out Marsch when his teammates yelled for him to throw the ball to the plate. Yes, Kish was coming home, trying to sneak in with the go-ahead run in the middle of this traffic jam.

Mellott composed himself and threw a strike to Shannon, who got Kish at the plate by a step, blocking the plate effectively.

Yes, I had just witnessed my first triple play in my six-year career. And a first-and-third, no-out rally turned into a sudden end of the inning. I was simply dumbfounded.

Brick National jogged back out onto the field after watching that rally go by the wayside. Now they had to find the inspiration again to make it through the inning defensively and push this already classic into the ninth.

Miller began the inning by blooping a single to left field. This brought up Knox. He hit a slow groundball to the left side of the infield. Mendes got the ball, but his throw to second was late in getting pinch-runner Randy Clendening, who had replaced Miller moments earlier. Halter walked on five pitches and the bases were loaded.

This was not looking good. Harden came out one more time to calm down Haines and set up the defensive alignment that now had the infield and outfield in. It was one out at a time.

But two pitches into his at-bat, Smith hit a low liner where no one would have been normally standing. It was a one-hopper in front of Patton to score Clendening, though the fact Clendening was coming home wasn't stopping Patton from grabbing the ball and firing to the plate where, luckily, the ball never hit anyone as the rest of Brick National's fielders were walking slowly back to the dugout.

In a matter of eight minutes, Brick National went from threatening to take the lead to seeing its season end. It was over with Shippensburg winning 3-2. I interviewed Glen Orndorff afterward. This was a time period in which you could freely walk up to any manager or coach and just ask him questions after the game and not deal with the planned press conferences that happen now.

The manager was relieved. He knew, like I did, that the winner of this game was going to move onto Williamsport and the World Series. He praised his son (not surprisingly) for throwing the entire game, allowing five hits, walking five and striking out 13 while throwing 120 pitches, which if this were 2014, wouldn't be allowed. If these were 2014 circumstances, Orndorff would have been relieved during that sixth-inning rally at 85 pitches. Let's just safely say it was a much different world in 1990.

Orndorff also praised his second baseman Mellott for making the biggest play and biggest heads-up decision of the afternoon. The manager knew his team was on the ropes and managed to escape.

Harden, meanwhile, had to console his players who just saw their summer of baseball come to an end. And being as level-headed as he was, Harden told it like it was, putting the decision of Kish challenging Mellott on the triple play on himself just to shake the play and game up. It didn't work, but he enjoyed the ride as the team's temporary manager.

I was done with my interviews and started heading to the car. Turned the ignition ... nothing. Turned it again ... nothing again. So I waited a moment. Then one more turn of the key. The car started up. Suddenly, I had a problem with the car. I wasn't going to be stuck in Bristol, Conn. with a broken car, so I took it over to the nearby Firestone, where a woman named Marilyn who was handling my arrangements with the car couldn't have been nicer. I came to find out Marilyn just had her birthday on August 5 and she turned 28 -- ironically, the day that the most famous Marilyn in history, Marilyn Monroe, was found dead at the age of 36.

Trust me, Marilyn knew the irony of her being named.

The car got tweeked so I wouldn't have problems starting up again and I headed off to pick up something through a fast food drive-through, then back to the hotel to write the story of this unbelievable game and even more unbelievable triple play. I was finished with everything by about 9 p.m. and had the rest of the night to myself, though in Southington, Conn., they pretty much roll up the sidewalks at about that time. I spent the night watching baseball on the hotel room TV, hoping to see another no-hitter like I did the night before when Philadelphia Phillies lefty Terry Mulholland threw a no-no against the San Francisco Giants. No dice, though.

Brick National still had a third-place game to play the next morning at 11 o'clock. I checked out of my hotel and started to head back to the field for the game against the Maine state champion, Augusta North, when I put the key into the ignition and lo and behold ... it didn't start again! I'm like, "What the f**k?"

And just like before, the car would start up again on the next attempt and I drove back to the complex to cover the third-place game. Harden didn't take the game too seriously, putting guys in positions they normally wouldn't play. Still, Brick National jumped out to a 3-0 lead in the top of the third. In the bottom of the third, Augusta North scored four runs off starter Popp, then added another four runs off Yakovchuk in the fourth to make it 8-3.

Marsch provided one last memory of a great summer with these Brick National boys by belting a home run to center field in the fifth inning. That was it, though. Brick National lost, 8-4.

There was little fanfare. The parents, family and friends were glad it was over. The players were happy the month-long ride was over, even though it could have ended in the next and final spot of Williamsport. I remember talking with Harden, who reminisced about the summer that just passed. It was a fun adventure, he said, and he was glad he could take over for Roy Yakovchuk after his work wouldn't allow him to continue on.

And after everyone was gone and heading back to New Jersey, it was myself and Harden across the street from the complex next to my car just talking for 15 minutes about everything from baseball to even how I was able to do my job and send stories. He thanked me for everything I wrote on the team and how wonderful the support was from everyone, including elected officials such as the mayor and famed councilman and Brick High School football coach Warren Wolf, who made the drive to Bristol to watch the team play.

Rich Harden knew this was a once-in-a-lifetime experience that might never be duplicated again.

Before saying our goodbyes, I told him about the trouble with my car. To show you the class of the man, he stayed with me in case the car wouldn't start up. But thankfully, the car kicked over on the first attempt. I headed over to Firestone knowing I had plenty of time to get the story done since we didn't have a Saturday paper. Whatever adjustment they made, the car worked and I didn't have another problem with the starting up of it.

As for Shippensburg, it wound up winning the East Regional championship and moving on to Williamsport just as expected. Shippensburg won the United States champion, but was torched 10-0 in the World Series finale against the team from Taiwan. And to this day, I believe if Brick National had won that game on August 16, 1990 that they were on the way to Williamsport and playing for the World Series championship. They probably were not beating the Taiwanese boys, but what the heck. They still would've been there.

The story would've been much different, that's for sure.

Again, what if?

That fuss ... *I* created all that

For this blog, I really didn't know how to begin. How do you encapsulate something you've loved doing for 30 years because it was something you had to do and had to do properly?

Suddenly, my inspiration came walking onto a Lavallette beach on a Sunday afternoon in late July. It was part of a 30th high school reunion weekend and many people I had seen that weekend I hadn't seen in well over 20 years.

This included a guy named Joe Birardi, who was holding down a couple of jobs and just short of his 48th birthday, was about to become a first-time dad. In the case of Joe, though, I could turn the clock back 32 years ago to mid-July 1982. My dad was asked to help out with Senior League All-Star duty at Toms River Little League and so I came along with him. The District 18 Senior League All-Star final that day featured Toms River East, the crosstown rival with a few players on the team going to the same high school (East) as myself, against Brick National.

East's starting pitcher that day was none other than Joe Berardi and, for the better part of that afternoon, he held Brick National's lineup in check. At the end of the game, he was on the mound to record the final out of the afternoon and then do a celebratory dance as East won the district title, 5-2. I was happy for Joe since I knew him for a few years and he was a really good guy.

I got to read about the game in my local paper, the Ocean County Observer, and though there wasn't a whole lot on the game, it was there more as a recap of what happened. No writer from the paper was there, but whoever called in gave enough detail to the paper.

That was my father who was in charge of doing so via the District 18 staff. It was his job and others to make sure every game found its way into the paper. It was great promotion for the league and district. He did it. Others at our league did it. Heck, I even did it a few times.

But not other leagues did it. The request as per the annual District 18 All-Star handbook was not adhered to. So a lot of young boys and some young girls missed out on the coverage they so deserved for winning a championship as important in Ocean County as the districts.

I was looking forward to seeing how far Joe and his Toms River East teammates would go in Section 3 play against Monmouth and Middlesex county competition. They were to play about four days after winning the district tournament.

But if you had gotten a copy of the Observer the day after the game was played, you'd have had a rough time finding it. As a matter of fact, you would have frustrated yourself thoroughly. Oh, and don't bother trying to find out in the Asbury Park Press. Their coverage of Little League All-Star baseball at any level was as worthless as a three-dollar bill.

Same thing with Toms River East's Little League All-Star team that also won the District 18 title, ending Toms River's run of four straight district championship in '82 under manager Jerry DiPoto, the father of future Major League Baseball player and current Los Angeles Angels general manager Jerry DiPoto. If you were looking to see how they did in the first round of the Section 3 tournament, you'd have been reading the paper a long, long time.

Nada. Nothing. Zero. Zilch. Let's just assume East's run in both the Senior League and Little League all-star tournaments came to an abrupt end in the time period when it was single elimination and no team had second chances. The managers or coaches weren't calling in the games, and more appalling, the Observer, the local source for area coverage in all sports, just simply ignored it. The only way I'd know that Lakewood Little League won the Junior League (13-year-old) district championship was because their manager and coaches were pro-active and wanted the coverage in the local paper. That team went on to the state championship before losing, making it the third Junior League All-Star team from District 18 in the last four years to reach the state semifinals after the Toms River teams of 1981 and 1979.

And speaking of the 1979 team -- that team has a special place in my life. I was 12 years old and my dad was the assistant coach of that team with a number of my friends playing on the team that a guy named Bruce Shepherd was manager. That team went all the way to the state championship game, and on August 14, 1979 at Liberty Oaks (now Tighe) Park in Freehold, Toms River edged West Milford, 2-1, to capture the championship.

You would think after such a memory-making state championship victory that someone from the media -- anyone!! -- would have been there to interview the players, Shepherd, heck, even my dad.

Nope. That team won a state championship in relative silence. Seriously. It was our Toms River contingent coming home, then doing a lap around the Ocean County Mall sometime after 10 p.m., going to the town hall meeting to be recognized for just winning a state title, then driving over to the old Baiamonte's Pizza King (now Boston's) on Hooper Avenue and Fischer Boulevard in which this team of ravenous eaters scoffed down enough pizza to ring the final price up at about $120. That was a lot of pizza they, their families and fans chowed down that night.

There would be no tournament beyond the state though. So happens that Junior League all-star tournament baseball would go beyond state level in 1980 -- the year after Toms River's run to the state championship. Just their rotten luck.

And how much press do you think the guys from TRLL got in the six games it won to capture the championship? A total of 35 paragraphs. That's right -- 35! And 22 of the 35 paragraphs were stories of the state semifinal win over Blackwood and the state final over West Milford.

Simply embarrassing, especially since that was 35 more paragraphs than the Press did and the freakin' final was held in its backyard in Freehold Township.

In 1983, Brick National won the district Little League All-Star title, while Holbrook was a winner in the Junior League and Lakewood the champion of the Senior League tournaments. But you would never have known that since there was absolutely no coverage of those finals in the Observer.

By the time 1984 came around, I had graduated high school and was looking for something to do job-wise during the summer. I thought I was going to be interning at the Observer after I had completed two years of journalism at TRHSE. I thought I was going to be a news writer covering night meetings or writing features before I would go on to Ocean County College where my major was journalism.

Then I dropped the now-famous words on night editor Kerry Brennan that changed everything in my life.

"I have a background with sports."

Even I didn't realize the method to my own madness, but when I described to Tom, the assistant sports editor, that I had a background in Little League baseball because of all the time I had been around it and the working knowledge I had about it, I had a foot in the door at the paper every summer I was there.

It turns out no one wanted to cover the sport. My guess was that they really didn't want to deal with the irate and far-from-understanding parents with the meat-cleaver attitude toward not caring about their little darlings. That was a bit much to those guys, who only wrote features on them when forced upon them.

Trust me when you read this -- I was glad to take it off their hands.

By the second full week of July 1984, my first full week at the Observer, there was more Little League baseball coverage in the paper than there had been the previous year combined. By the end of that summer, I had covered Toms River's Senior League All-Star district championship team, Brick National's wild victory over Toms River East (one in which winning pitcher Sean Foley threw 173 pitches in the complete-game, 11-10 victory) in the Junior League championship and watched Brick American, led by 23-year-old manager Rich Caldes, win the Little League All-Star district title by going through the losers bracket to beat Jackson twice. That Brick American team was unique with so many different personalities dotting its roster. They got to the Section 3 championship game before losing in what was a single-elimination tournament at the time.

But as I got upstairs at Sayreville Little League and looked out at a packed Brick American side of the field, I was simply stunned. Later on, Duke Anderson, Brick American's loveable president and my favorite Garden State Parkway toll collector, thanked me for all the coverage I gave his team from the district tournament through the three sectional games I covered, including the championship.

Then he said something very profound that didn't resonate with this 17-year-old at the time.

"Everyone's been reading your stories in the paper. People who wouldn't come out to see our kids play came up here because of your stories."

As is my nature with most everything I've come across in life, I kind of passed it off as if I didn't truly believe what he was saying. Little League fans will come out and support area kids no matter where they were from.

And then it hit me -- 30 years later.

It was Monday, July 28, 2014, while I was on vacation for the aforementioned 30th reunion. On my last full day up in Ocean County, I drove over to Berkeley Little League to watch my old league, now Toms River National (there's an American at the much-bigger league compared to when I played and coached there), face Ocean City-Upper Township for the state Little League All-Star championship.

So much happened there that day. Former Central Regional High School great and ex-Major Leaguer Al Leiter threw out the first pitch. The game was covered by not one, not two, not three, but four separate media outlets, either newspaper or broadcast. And the place was packed with fans from both sides.

It was a great game. Toms River National held on for the 7-6 win, the second state title in the last five years. It was a joyous occasion and I snapped plenty of pictures to remember the championship by.

And as I was watching the festivities, the smiles, the hugs and the state championship flag being run around the field after the game, long after running into one of Berkeley's many members helping with the tournament, Jim Rand, who was a part of that special 1984 Brick American Little League All-Star team, before the championship, it finally hit me.

I caused all this. I did all this, though no one on or around that field realized it. This game had my hand prints all over it and I had not spent a second covering this Toms River National team.

It was me who had spent countless hours covering Little League baseball, whether it was Senior League, Junior League or Little League ball, who set the bar so high that almost everyone knew our District 18 teams, from Toms River to Toms River East, from Brick American to Brick National, from Barnegat to Berkeley to Beachwood-Pine Beach, from Manchester to Holbrook to Point Pleasant Beach.

That was me. That was what 15 years of covering Little League-based baseball did. I put up with a lot of apathy over those 15 years from leagues who weren't willing to call in games on their field and that I had to shame into doing so and the parents who were, well, Little League parents. But after years of trying to perfect this art form, not only did we become the center of Little League coverage in Ocean County, but we were there for almost every single important district championship game, every sectional matchup, every state tournament, and in my case, every East Regional and World Series game I could cover.

I covered eight state championship teams, two on the Senior League All-Star level (Toms River East American in 1997 and 1998), two on the Junior League All-Star level (East American in 1996 and my first-ever state championship team, Toms River, in 1987) and four Little League All-Star teams (Brick National in 1990 and the three Toms River East American teams in 1995, '98 and '99).

By the time I left the Observer in 1999, the two most prolific Little League writers in New Jersey were Jim Davis at The Trentonian and myself.

You are taught to be modest in this business. Writing stories is your job. You get your story done, then move on to the next one. If it makes an impact in the community, then you did your job.

But allow me the one thing I'm proud of coverage-wise for the 30 years I've been doing covering sports, especially on the local level. I made it my goal to let kids between the ages of 11 to 15 have the spotlight every summer and unabashedly, too.

All those nice things parents, Little League people and district workers used to say I took for granted all those years. It was just my job.

It was more than doing my job when I saw that sea of humanity at that Berkeley Little League field on that Monday night. It has been 15 years since I left Ocean County to pursue other ventures in this business, but my impact of how Little League ball was covered still permeates the county landscape.

It's a bit over the top now, but you know what? I was always hoping I'd see that day. Seriously.

Just a few days earlier, Toms River East's Junior League All-Star team was playing not too far from where Toms River National's Little League All-Stars were playing at Berkeley Little League. They were playing in the state tournament, eventually losing to the champion, Parsippany-Troy. There was newspaper coverage of their games.

I suddenly wished that was the coverage of the 1979 Toms River Junior League All-Star team's coverage that got little mention in the Observer and absolutely no coverage in the Asbury Park Press. Where the hell was that coverage 35 years ago?

Again, my impact of seeing so many district championship games and three teams that ultimately made it to the World Series, the 1996 East American Junior Leaguers in Taylor, Mich., and those same East American kids the year before as Little Leaguers in 1995 in Williamsport, Pa., as well as the group of East American kids who won the whole ball of wax in 1998 behind Todd Frazier, Scott Fisher and Casey Gaynor.

I was there when all those teams began their runs to World Series appearances with my district tournament coverage in the Observer. Again, that was my job I enjoyed immensely.

Recently, I read a column by Press writer-columnist Josh Newman about Little League baseball in Toms River and how it took off in 1995. Technically, he was right in that TR has been on a roll since that Toms River East American team that went to Williamsport that year. But he simply did not do his homework. Toms River baseball has been more than fine long before that '95 team's run. In 1993, another Toms River Little League All-Star team reached the state tournament final in Rutherford under manager Al Kononowitz and was one win away from winning the state title that the teams of 2010 and '14 won. It wasn't meant to be as state power Nottingham won two straight to swipe it away.

I know ... I was there.

Trust me when I say this: Little League baseball has been a fixture in Toms River, N.J. long before 1995, Josh. You did a lousy job when it came to research. Toms River had won state titles in 1978 (Senior League), 1979 (Junior League) and 1987 (Junior League again). But I know that's not the Little League All-Star level, so why bother?

Turns out I can still cover Ocean County better than the guys doing it now.

I can look back 30 years later after I started and realize all this Little League hoopla was indirectly due to me. I really don't have to be modest about it. I did all that. I know a lot of people I came across in my life are grateful I put the time and effort in those 15 years I was covering Little League.

Sorry, Joe Birardi. Wished I was covering Little League back in 1982. You, too, my 1979 Toms River Junior League All-Star playing friends. Things would've been so much different.

How it all began ...

The Fourth of July was a Wednesday in 1984. That night, I spent it watching the fireworks go off in the parking lot of the Ocean County Mall in my hometown of Toms River, N.J. It was me and my sister, I was 17, she was 13. We were watching and my friend Jerry Gravante just happened to be passing through where we stood in the parking lot watching the fireworks go off.

It had been 18 days since I saw Jerry when we were both invited to our classmate Kirsten Goodman's graduation party at her house and 19 days since he and I graduated from Toms River High School East.

"What are you doing this summer?" I asked Jerry.

"I'm working here and there, getting ready for college," he said back as he, like me, was about to go off to nearby Ocean County College.

Neither of us knew what the future had in store. I didn't ask him what he was doing in the next 24 hours, but I sure as hell knew what I was going to be doing.

For the first time in my life, I was going to ride into downtown Toms River and find myself a job. And I only had one place in mind to go. The previous two years, I had been a student of our local high school paper, The Raider Readout, and was the features page co-editor as well as a writer on various different topics in my senior year. For as prepared as I was to go downtown and apply for a job at the local newspaper, though, I was still not professional enough to believe I could hang with the "big boys and girls."

But I remembered a couple of things. First, we all had an assignment to ask someone from the local media to come in and address the class on a career in journalism, whether it be print, radio or television. My guest was a really good guy that I got to work with over the phone at what was called Clear Cable-8 named Joe Ascolese. Joe was a whiz when it came to the technological part of covering news, but he also had a lot of knowledge in front of a camera, too, doing the sports report for that channel as well as the Fall Football Saturday show he co-hosted with a guy named Steve McGullem.

Well I forget who asked them to show up, but on one of these "media" days, the guests were Tony Gallotto and Laine Harmon from the Ocean County Observer. You could not have a more diverse pairing of journalists than we had with this duo. Tony, who was in his early-to-mid 20s, was very outgoing and wasn't afraid to tell it like it is when it came to the news reporting business. Laine was more of a laid-back speaker, who spoke about the dealings of her job, she, too, being honest, but not as outwardly as Tony was.

I grew up around newspapers as a child. My father always brought home copies of the New York Daily News, New York Times and New York Post as well as the two local papers, the Observer, which served solely Ocean County, and The Asbury Park Press, which covered the state, but mostly Ocean and Monmouth counties. As a pre-teen, I learned to have an appreciation of what the feel of a newspaper was all about, the black ink on my hands, the smell of it. We also got The Sporting News in the mail as well. When it was done, the papers were either thrown out (this was long before recycling) or taken downstairs and put into the little storage box next to the fireplace and ready to burn on the cold days downstairs when a fire was needed.

When I got into middle school at Toms River Intermediate School East, I gave journalism a try in the eighth grade. Our after-school advisor was a man named Richard Mina and I enjoyed what he offered. He didn't take the whole "putting a paper out" thing seriously and he was very, very laid back.

In other words, Mr. Mina made the time and process a lot of fun.

When I got to High School East, I was so concentrated on taking my core courses that I waited until my junior year to take journalism. My teacher was Irene Hartmann. I could not have had a better journalism teacher than Mrs. Hartmann. She made us work for everything, but she made it enjoyable and most everything I learned about basic journalism, I learned from her. We grew very close, so much to the point that she, on one occasion, could not make the trip to Avon By-The-Sea to where the newspaper was printed to look at the galleys. So she trusted in both myself and our editor -- my best friend Ted Oberti -- to check out the galleys for the April/May edition of the paper.

We were put into a room by the guy in charge of printing the papers and when Ted and I saw the absolutely crappy job done by our two sports editors where one story that got laid out came up well short of the hole drawn out for it and my feature on the East softball team's sisters, Donna and Kathy van Halem, had plenty of length on it, but wasn't getting in, the four- and seven-letter rampage began.

"How the f*ck do you go through a whole year of this course and NOT know how to properly use a word count?" was one of the things Ted ranted. "This is an absolutely f*ckin' sh*tty job!"

I stood there next to him, somewhere between angry, upset and just disappointed. He knew ... and I knew ... that Dean had just not given a crap anymore about senior year and now it was obvious that he had neglected even doing this page properly with Kristen, a young lady who was a junior and wanted to take this course -- and her job -- seriously. We had no choice but re-do the page ourselves there and when we got it done, we got the story that came up short to fit perfectly and got more of my story in with the picture of the two van Halem sisters.

And we had no choice but to tell Mrs. Hartmann about why it took a little longer to look at all four folio pages. She was disappointed, but we left it up to her to handle the matter. We had brought back almost 2,000 copies of the month's paper and had them distributed the next day. And like Mrs. Hartmann always did, she graded out the pages. The front page got an A. The editorial page got a B. The features page that I put out with a junior named Kim got an A as well. Then came the sports page.

The red ink said it all ... an F. Oh, and a note was under that grade.

"Dean, Kristen: See me after class!"

Mrs. Hartmann held a celebration for all her seniors in the journalism class at her Madison Avenue home on our class Senior Night, which was Friday, June 8, 1984. We celebrated and just had a good time. She also told me that I had the potential to continue what I did for her in her class into college and as a profession and if I ever needed any backing or references, I could just get in touch with her.

Little did she know she helped push me in that direction.

And so, it was now July 5, 1984. It was about 12:30 p.m. on that Thursday. I parked in the garage across the street from the Observer building on Robbins Street, right next to the Ocean County Library. I walked up the stairs to the second floor where the newsroom was. It was all the news reporters at that point and a pair of editors who were there. One was a guy named Jim Atkins, who was taking a phone call at the moment. The other was a young lady who had been at the paper for a short time as an editor. Her name was Kerry Brennan.

"Hi, I'm Mark Blumenthal. I called you earlier about coming down for a job interview." 

"Oh, hi there. Nice to meet you. Just take a seat over there and give me a few minutes and I'll be back to you."

Approximately 10 minutes later and after filling out the application I was given, she handed me a test. The test comprised of three scenarios. What I had to do was take all the details presented to me as if I was looking at a police report on the matter. I had to take what I felt was the important part of the reports and craft a short story on each.

There were three sets of notes that went to three different stories. Kerry gave me enough time to do this and so I began. I was working at an empty desk, working next to a guy that just got hired at the paper not too long before named Dave Sommer. He, I would come to find out later, covered southern Ocean County. On a phone behind me I can hear the voice I was familiar with from just a few months earlier. It was Tony Gallotto working on some big story.

I was doing everything I could to work on these stories, while I had to put up with the fact that both Dave and Tony were chain-smoking around me. Yes, this was the time when smoking was allowed in the newsroom. How I didn't get second-hand smoke from just that afternoon alone still amazes me.

Anyway, I took each of the information on all three stories I had and put them together like it was a jigsaw puzzle, taking the most important item and putting it at the top, all the while remembering that a good lead is written within the first three paragraphs as I learned from Mrs. Hartmann and each has the five Ws and one H -- the who, what, when, where, why and how.

The test took me over 90 minutes to do. I wasn't writing a 15-to-20 inch story. Each "story" I did was about four or five paragraphs, and I had to write them out ... no typewriters or processors. Longhand, baby!

Sometime after 2:30 p.m. I was done with the tests. I handed them back to Kerry, who was still working on the paper and a couple of other things. I waited patiently for about a half hour and remember sitting in my chair at this abandoned desk next to Dave Sommer, talking to him about the business. One thing I would learn about Dave was that he was big on talk about anything. When he wasn't busy, he could talk your ear off.

It was after 2:30 and Kerry had reviewed the three stories I had done for her. She also looked at the application I had filled out.

"The stories are a little wordy, but they have all the elements in there," she said. "They're pretty good."

I figured I could handle the necessary basics of a story, but her affirmation that I did "pretty good" at least made me feel better about myself. Then she asked me what kind of "experience" I had in the business.

"Other than the school newspaper and working for Clear Cable-8, not a whole lot else, Ms. Brennan," I told her back.

I was up for any challenge she wanted to hand me. Whether it was a night meeting of some kind or feature stories or something that involved someone somewhat important in Ocean County, I was up for it. I wanted to do this. I wanted to be a part of reporting on the scene.

She seemed pretty enthused about my enthusiasm. Then I told her the one thing that changed my entire life.

"I have a background with sports." 

I really did at that point. I had done statistics for Toms River East football games, home and away, for Joe and Steve at Cable-8. I had a very strong working knowledge of the District 18 Little League baseball scene from the years I was at Toms River Little League with my dad as a manager. And my two favorite stories I wrote while I was at The Raider Readout were both sports-related -- the feature on the van Halem sisters and a story I had done that winter of '84, traveling with a photographer named Keith DiFabio to Manchester to meet 92-year-old Abel Kiviat, a decorated Olympian who was a teammate and roommate of Jim Thorpe's on the U.S. squad in 1912 in Stockholm, Sweden.

Kerry did not even hesitate -- she walked me over to the sports side of the newsroom, the immediate right of the news desk and right next to the paste-up room. That's where I met a guy named Tom. He was the all-knowing assistant sports editor at the time. And believe me, he was "all-knowing." Just ask him! Tom was working next to a correspondent who had been in the department for a short time named George Hulse. George was not going to be around much longer with the job so in some ways, I was there to replace George for the rest of the summer.

I told Tom that I would be handling all Little League coverage for District 18, which included teams from as far south as Barnegat to as far west as Holbrook of Jackson and as far north as Brick American, Brick National, Point Pleasant Boro and Point Pleasant Beach. I got no arguments from him. As a matter of fact, I think he saw me as a God-send for this stuff.

And sometime after 3 p.m., I left to go back home. Told my mom and dad, who were the ones who said they could not really "support me" anymore and that I was to go find a job, about this job and I think they were excited.

Three days later on Sunday, July 8, I was heading out to Holbrook Little League in Jackson to watch Toms River's Junior League All-Star team, which my dad co-managed with a guy named Terry Flanagan, take on Lakewood. It was a terrific game. Toms River won the game, 6-5, as Jim Lewentowicz went the first five innings to get the win and Jim Houba went the last two innings to finish it up. Mike Wehman, who played for our Royals team during the regular season, was 3-for-4 and Brian Pietrewicz and Ken Lanzel each had two hits. For Lakewood, James Crudup collected three hits, including a two-run homer off Lewentowicz.

So after getting back home by about 6 p.m., I had dinner and then borrowed mom's car to drive to the Observer building, where Tom was waiting for me downstairs. It was about 7 p.m. and I was put into a corner in the nearly abandoned newsroom. For some reason that night, all the details of a 6-5 game weren't coming together quite the way I wanted them to come together. For my 17-year-old mind, fashioning this game story was not coming easily. Maybe I was nervous. I don't think I was. I knew this was going to be my "first published piece." I wanted to make sure I got it right.

I also had to put together two other games under the one I was at. One was a Senior Little League All-Star game that Toms River beat cross-town rival Toms River East, 1-0, in nine innings as Craig Crosby's bad-hop single off the chest of East shortstop Kenny Hoff scored winning pitcher Dave Holey, who was dynamite in going all nine innings, allowing just one hit, walking three and striking out 15. Losing pitcher Chris Wagner also had a heck of a game, allowing four hits, though walking eight and striking out 11. The other game I had to put as part of the roundup was played at Toms River where Holbrook blasted out 17 hits in an 18-4 triumph over Point Boro.

It was almost 9:15 p.m. by the time I finished writing it. I turned it in to Tom with a number that corresponded to the story. Then he hits me with the news I didn't want to hear.

"We're almost done with the paper and there's no room to get your story in. We're going to get it in tomorrow."

Yes. I was dejected. Spent all that time trying to put this story together -- my first story! And now I'm being told it will not go in until the Tuesday, July 10 edition.

And so I went home dejected and miffed, but at least Tom said to come back the next time there were games. That was two nights later. When the paper came to the house on July 10, I was excited to see my story in print. There it was! Everything I wrote the night before was there and edited well by Tom. The headline on top of the story -- "TR victory is a nail-biter'' -- was just fine. All was great.

Then I saw the byline.

"By Mark Blementhal"

Reaaaaaal-ly?! Geez Tom. I know I didn't put my name on the story, but could you have at least asked how my name was spelled before you had the chance to introduce me to the rest of the county?!

I can laugh about it now, but oh, was I embarrassed. That night, I got to watch our Toms River Senior League All-Star team beat Holbrook at Lakewood, by, coincidentally, a 6-5 score. When I got into the building again, I told Tom I had the game I was at and was ready to start writing. At that point, I got hit with a "Waaaaaait!" from a voice I had not heard.

It was not Tom. The man sitting in the slot was the main sports editor, a guy named Ken. After I get a round of "Who are you?" from Ken, I explained to him in not so many words that I was there to report on Little League-related stuff that summer. After he introduced himself to me, I went off to do my thing.

And this went on the whole summer until Little League ball ended on Saturday, August 4 with Brick American losing in Sayreville to Spring Lake-Sea Girt, 6-4, in the Section 3 championship, a game I took my sister with me so we could go get after the game ... White Castle hamburgers! Yup ... we both loved White Castles and any opportunity to pick those burgers up, we did so.

But Ken wanted me to continue on from there. I did Ed Carleton League ball and then Jersey Shore Baseball until early September. He kept me on after that to cover sports during the 1984-85 season.

I never left the building until I took a job as the sports editor of the Key West Citizen in August 1999. By the time I left, I put 15 years and a month into the Observer. 

Hard to believe it's been 30 years since I started. I really didn't know what my future was watching those fireworks go off in the Ocean County Mall parking lot. So much has happened in that time period. I put my career first above everything else in my life and don't regret ever making that decision.

I don't regret ever getting into this business, even if it pays you one step above pauper proportions. Whenever I lamented about the pay, I'd have someone tell me, "You're doing something you love."

And they're right. I am. I don't know what life would be like for me without writing. The 22 awards I've won in the last nine years are affirmation as to making the correct decision.

I can be disappointed with things that have happened to me in my life in the last 30 years -- being fired from the job in Key West under the most dysfunctional of circumstances and being unemployed for 16 months, getting engaged to be married in 2006 and having it broken off months later under a situation that I will never forgive me ex for here in Palatka where I am now working for the Daily News since 2003, and losing two of my biggest fans in this decade -- my last girlfriend Shirlene, who died suddenly at 44 years old in June 2011, then in early 2014, my mother passed away, something I never made public because honestly, I really am not a fan of hearing people tell you, "Sorry for your loss." So save it! I'm not sorry ... I was not cheated out of my life with my mom at all. I don't mourn it, actually.

It's been one heck of a journey these last 30 years. I got to cover a Major League Baseball All-Star Game in Philadelphia in 1996. In 2005, I got to cover Super Bowl XXXIX in Jacksonville. I got to cover most of the home games involving the Jacksonville Jaguars since 2003 and have traveled to cover them in Tampa, Miami and in East Rutherford, N.J. I've done an occasional Florida Gators football game at Ben Hill Griffin Stadium. I covered both Philadelphia Phillies games in the late 1980s/early 1990s and then occasional Tampa Bay Rays games in St. Petersburg the last six years. I covered the Junior Little League World Series in 1996 and the big one, the Little League World Series twice, first in 1995, then in 1998 when a band of Toms River East American players led by a future Major League Baseball All-Star named Todd Frazier won it all over a team from Kashima, Japan, 12-9

To this day, that is still the greatest moment of my career, hands down.

Simply put, I can not complain. There's no reason to. I've interviewed some amazing professionals like Cal Ripken Jr., Chipper Jones, Torrey Holt and the late Tony Gwynn. I've enjoyed talking with coaches and managers such as Bobby Cox, Tony Dungy, Mike Scioscia and my all-time favorite, Joe Maddon. Then there's dozens and dozens of high school and college athletes I've talked to who have made this job that much more fun. I'd be here all day naming names, so I won't.

The new technology looks like a lot of fun. Someday, I may get to play with that when we're allowed to do so. I don't know what lies ahead for my future in this business. I hope I'm still needed for another 10, 15, 20, maybe 25 more years.

Maybe one day I will write a book. I keep threatening to do so, but then I remember the patience needed to write one -- I easily stop myself. And I'm not very good at making up stuff. It has to be real with real names and real scenarios or bust for me. Maybe I'll write a script on something that happened somewhere in my career -- then I stop myself again because if I mention a name, someone might get upset that I did and sue me.

I can't win.

For now, I'll just continue to do what I do -- write columns and tell stories. It's what I do best.

Mark Blementhal would agree.

How a guy named Carl Lind made a night of softball fun

Every now and then, this job I do allows me to enjoy what I go out and cover.

Most of the time, it's understandably business as usual. It has to be. We rarely ever put ourselves within the storyline. And it's just as well. We aren't that important in the whole scheme of things.

One of those rare instances where I could allow my hair to be let down -- and I had a lot of it at that point, I may add -- was on Saturday, July 6, 1991. Earlier that week, I was asked by a man named Carl Lind if I could come do the public address system and announce names and play music in between innings for the fourth annual War At The Shore.

Saturday nights are usually tough nights because there's a lot going on, but I was OK on this particular Saturday night because the two District 18 Little League Tournament of Champion final games that would normally be held on the first Saturday of July had been moved to the Fourth of July this particular year and the only Little League All-Star games being played were all afternoon games that I knew I could swoop up and throw into a story before I left to go to the game.

And it was also hard to turn Mr. Lind down. If you watch The Simpsons and recognize Ned Flanders, Homer's next-door neighbor, then you had Carl Lind. The man was not only super nice as a person, he was also super positive as a human being. And he loved high school softball. Over the years, if there was an important game going on in Ocean County, chances are he was going to be there.

He helped to start the "War At The Shore" in 1988 with the softball game featuring the best in Monmouth and Ocean County going against one another.

That is, the best sheriff department officers. While they would have their annual battle, there was nothing as a credible opening act. For this particular year, though, Lind had been able to craft friendships among the players at the Shore and then bring together coaches to lead the teams for this particular game, which was being held at a field I had driven past dozens of times before but had never actually covered an event on in my life -- the Lavallette Boro Field, which stuck out like a sore thumb in the middle of Route 35. It's a cavernous field, so it would take a monster shot to hit a ball over the fence there. Near impossible, actually.

The game was also important for Lind in another way: It was to raise money for the New Jersey Organization of Cystic Fibrosis. That was a big deal. Though you would never know it because of his positive nature that he shared with all of us and with his own children, Lind was suffering from the disease. And he was living life to the fullest knowing tomorrow could be his last day.

For this game on this particular night, Lind brought together one of the greatest groups of softball players ever to grace the Lavallette Boro field. There was well over a dozen young ladies who answered the call to play the game and they were all standouts in their own right. Brick High School, which won the Ocean County Tournament for the first and only time, was represented by third baseman Kim Coco, first baseman Lori Liegl and star pitcher Viki Kara, who was taking her talents to Brookdale Community College to pitch. Lacey High was represented by standout shortstop and All-County player Kelly Hanaway. Lakewood had a pair of dynamite players representing it in shortstop Addie Dix and Jen Cranley.

And most of the rest of the Ocean County talent came from the Toms River high schools. South was represented by 65-game winner and sensational left-hander Jodi Solana and first baseman Tonya Coppola. North was bringing a number of people to this game, including the battery of catcher Kim Niedzwicki and pitcher Heather Richards. And East, which suffered through the throes of a horrendous 5-19 season, had its representative in catcher Kelly Arnold. Though the Raiders weren't very good in their one and only season under interim head coach Joe Arminio, who was taking the reins while head coach Debbie Schwartz was on maternity leave after the birth of her first child, Alex, born that March, Arnold had a monster season, so much so that she earned first-team All-State honors even though the rest of the team wasn't so good.

I'm still not liked by some Asbury Park Press personnel because I upstaged their softball writer's All-Shore first-team selection for catcher that year, Wall's Kristin Durber, who just happened to be there at this game with the rest of the high school players and got the nod as the starting catcher for Kara while Arnold started the game at shortstop.

The head coach of the high school team was John Natoli, who had finished up a two-year stint as Point Pleasant Boro High School's mentor. Before Natoli came in, the program was a laughingstock, losing every game it played in the 1986 season. They languished after that, but when he came in for the 1990 season, he helped to turn things around as Boro won 18 games, captured the Class C division title and he was named the Observer's Coach of the Year for his work. The team won 14 games this particular spring, but the season did not end so well for a much different reason.

Natoli was notified he was being riffed by the Point Pleasant Board of Education in late May. There was no money and the school board wasn't letting its tenured people go. So Natoli, who was only 28 at the time, was being told that he was being sent away. And though his Panthers and the parents spoke up at a Boro meeting in defending him, they couldn't stop the board and thus a man who had actually been a positive influence to the youngsters he was in charge of was being dismissed.

I never said they were brain surgeons at Point Pleasant Boro. So as the head coach on this particular night, he was performing one last Ocean County duty.

Meanwhile, Ocean County College softball coach and all-around super guy Dick Strada was named the coach of the college team of players who performed at either his OCC team, rival Brookdale (Monmouth County's junior college) or Georgian Court College. Like most any other thing he coached, whether it was OCC softball or ice hockey (when they had a team) or Toms River East ice hockey, he took it in laissez-faire, "it's just a game" stride.

Usually, the college talent is better than the high school talent in these kind of all-star games. Not this one. The Ocean County talent alone was better than what was assembled on Strada's side.

So after putting together what I needed to get done that afternoon with the Little League All-Star games, I went home early. An hour later, I turned around with my boom box, collection of cassette singles at the time (yes, it was 1991 ... we did cassette singles!!) and a scorebook and headed over to Lavallette. The game wasn't until 7 p.m., but I always wanted to be there at least 90 minutes before the first pitch. On this day with little else to do, I got to the Lavallette Boro field by 5 p.m.

I sat around and had to wait 10 to 15 minutes before someone associated with the field could open the small building behind home plate for which I would plug my boombox in and get set up for the game. By the time that individual came by, some of the players from the high school team had already started filing in. It was very quiet even for a beautiful and busy Saturday summer day on the Shore. Once plugged in, I started playing all the big hits of that particular day in a countdown leading up to the first pitch. Can still remember the first song I played when I was plugged in and ready to go -- the hottest song in America at the time, Bryan Adams' "Everything I Do (I Do It For You)," which was three weeks away from becoming the No. 1 song in America. And then other songs followed, including Lisa Fischer's "How Can I Ease The Pain," R.E.M.'s "Losing My Religion," Luther Vandross' "Power Of Love/Love Power" and EMF's believably loud "Unbelievable," leading up to the No. 1 song on this particular day and before I could play the song, announcing, "And here's the No. 1 song in America this week ... " I can hear Tonya Coppola saying, "Rush Rush," ... which it was by Paula Abdul.

The little things you remember. After that, I just turned to some random classic rock station in the area to play the music as the crowds began to file in for the opener. Most of the high school players were there as was Natoli and his assistant coach on the night, Joe Solana, Jodi's father and one of the true positive forces in the area in the sport, were getting the young ladies together. A number of the young ladies knew each other not just from playing against each other on the high school level, but also playing for the Jersey Waves team that Solana and Bob Richards, Heather's dad, coached.

The college side, though, was lacking in players. There may have been four players there by 6:30 p.m. Strada, who strolled onto the field about 10 minutes earlier, told me when I asked where the rest of the supporting crew was that he thought they'd be there shortly before the game started.

"They're going to need warmup, aren't they?"

"Naaah. They're pros. They'll handle it."

I think it was also his way of saying to me, "They could've been on this field three hours before the game and they'd still have a tough time against the high school team."


Yeah, these high school players were very, very good.

Mere minutes before the opening pitch, Strada's eighth and ninth players needed to start the game arrived. I think he got one more player after that for a reserve and that was it. The high school team was about 15 players strong and it was up to Natoli and Joe Solana to juggle players coming in and out of the nine-inning game.

Being the consummate pro that I was the last couple of years of doing the PA for the Ocean County softball tournament and also doing the PA for the Shore Conference Tournament field hockey championship that fall at Ocean Township High School when Wall beat Central Regional, I knew how this whole thing worked by now – announce the reserves and starting lineups of each team, introduce the head coaches and then the umpires for the game (who for behind the plate was the funny and enjoyable Steve Hill, Toms River North's head baseball coach), play the national anthem and let the recently graduated high school players go out on the field. The game started at about 7:15 p.m., but I didn't care. I don't think anyone did.

The place was packed, a lot of them there for this game, some who came for the nightcap between the two sheriff's office teams.

Kara, who went 22-4 in Brick's greatest season ever, was getting the ball first with Durber catching her. She came out onto the field to the same song I played during Brick's run to the OCT title, MC Hammer's "U Can't Touch This." And her stuff was untouchable. She set down all nine batters she faced, striking out four of them.

As for the game, it was never really close. The high school team held a 7-0 lead on the college all-stars by the seventh. They were hitting whoever Strada was putting out in the circle. And the team had a difficult time getting to Kara and her replacement on the mound, Richards, who was at that point heading to the University of Delaware to continue with softball. With her regular catcher at North behind the plate, Richards did not allow any of her nine batters to reach base and she struck out three.

With the game in hand by now, it was time to have a little fun behind the mike. The high school team was making some more changes that kept me on my toes as to who was moving where and who was coming into the game. Arnold, who would go 2-for-3 at the plate with a pair of RBI, was coming back in to get behind the plate and Dix, who was being patient so far, was finally coming in to play shortstop. Jodi Solana, who was Ocean County's winningest pitcher when she graduated in 1991, was the closing act in the circle. She was going to throw the final three innings to Arnold, who had not caught a pitcher that threw any harder than her all year. So it seemingly took forever to announce the switches and replacements as the top of the seventh began. Then I look out in right field and see Cranley out there. Cranley was coach Dave McKelvey's center fielder at Lakewood High, but I barely recognized her from a distance in a different position. Still, I knew she was there.

The announcements sounded like this as the inning began with Solana throwing to her first batter: "Now pitching for the high school team, Jodi Solana. Coming back in to now catch is Kelly Arnold. Moving in to play shortstop is Addie Dix. And out there deep in right field, barely visible is Jen Cranley. Say hi to everyone, Jen!"

Such a sweet and fun-loving young lady that she was, Cranley heard me and waved to everyone from her position. Unlike her two other standout hurlers, though, Solana was having some difficulty with the college team lineup. She allowed a hit and that batter got the green light to try and steal from Strada ... even down a substantial amount of runs

As if Arnold knew it, she came up from her catcher's crouch and fired a strike to second base where Dix was waiting. She got the ball perfectly in position and slapped the tag on the runner for the easy out. All game long, I had busted on Arnold and announced her in the pre-game as "the first-team All-State catcher from Toms River East." I knew Kelly Arnold could take it because she knew how to dish it out, too. So as she made the throw, I can still remember the words I said as the out was applied.

"Ladies and gentlemen, that's proof to why she's a first-team All-State catcher."

At that point, she turned back at me with this somewhat angry look on her face with the "Stop it already!" impression on it. I felt bad for Kristin Durber that night. She was a nice catcher for Wall's Shore Conference Tournament championship team that year, but talent-wise, she couldn't compare to Kelly Arnold at all.

As a matter of fact, Arnold won the Most Valuable Player honors for the evening as the high school team walked off the field with a 9-2 victory. Arnold, who was heading to play for the Blues of Brookdale the next year (she eventually transferred to play for Strada at OCC and catch Richards, who came home as well after her freshman year), admitted part of her angry look was the fact that since her high school season ended, she had very little time behind the plate since. But she handled it well.

The win was bittersweet for Natoli, who left Point Boro with a .711 winning percentage in his two seasons in charge (32-13). But he was off to his next challenge. He was hired at Manalapan High School and became the school's next softball coach there.

The players on that high school team enjoyed their time together for one last hurrah, even if most of them were on the Ocean Waves. Richards called it "a dream" to have the players behind her play and that "all I did was go out there and pitched."

 And Strada ... he handled the whole night in true Dick Strada fashion.

"It was a game played for fun," he said. "Instead of lamenting about the misses, there were several joyous moments."

Instead of leaving, I still had to pack up my stuff and put it back in to my 1977 Dodge Aspen. And for about a half hour after the nine-inning game was over, I was still there talking to players and parents who I came to know over the last few years and whose high school careers were now officially ending. It was really over for all the young ladies I got to know. And as I was ready to leave the complex, it was apparent I took the "better music" with me. Whoever took over the microphone after me was stuck with very few choices to play in between innings of the sheriff officers' game.

The Bill Medley-Jennifer Warnes Dirty Dancing song "(I've Had) The Time Of My Life" came over the speakers and Joe Solana, who I had finished talking to, suddenly broke from chat into a comical slow dance ... with himself, as if he had a partner there to dance with. We all started to crack up. Sadly, that would be the last time I saw Joe Solana. He tragically passed away over a year later just as his next daughter, Stacy, had entered South as a freshman. He was and still is very much missed in the softball community.

I still had to get back across the bridge and to the Observer building. It was nearly 10 p.m. Thankfully, there was no traffic that evening and the ride back was a smooth one. I got into the building and our assistant sports editor Dave, who was in charge that week, had this miffed look on his face and wondered where the heck I was.

"It was a fun night," I told him. "Sorry to be late, but I'll have the story for you very soon."

And I did. I had a lot of things to write, but kept in a compact and neat 15- to 16-inch story, which I gave him before 11 that night.


There was more than 350 people who attended the game that evening at the Lavallette Boro Field. And they raised quite a bit of money for cystic fibrosis. Lind never gave me an exact number, but he was always appreciative of those who came that night.

"What we're trying to do is take softball off the back burner and make it the focus. There is a lot of talent in Ocean County and it was evident here today," he said after the game.

It was. Carl Lind saw high school softball in Ocean County as something more than what it was at the time. It was a growing thing. He had hopes of making this college-versus-high school game an annual event, but he could not see that to fruition. This would be the only time they would have this particular game.

I would see Mr. Lind over the next eight years at various high school games, still positive toward the sport and in attitude in general. I wish the young ladies who walk onto an Ocean County softball diamond now had met Carl Lind. They, too, would have come away with the same positive spirit as he had.

Carl Lind sadly passed away in April 2003. He was just 43 years old and left behind a wife and three children. He lost his own battle to the disease he was fighting to eradicate and make those who suffered from it live in a better world. I, like most others who remember his contributions, miss the man very much.

His heart was in the right place. And he knew how he could raise money for his cause – by having an all-star softball game involving young ladies who either graduated high school recently or were playing college ball at that point battle it out.

Mission accomplished. And it was fun for everyone involved.

And I mean everyone.