The news stories about the closing of the old Mickey Owen Baseball School facilities have mentioned Owen's lengthy major league baseball career and how many people spent a few weeks during the summer at the school, including basketball legend Michael Jordan, actor Charlie Sheen and Philadelphia Phillies manager Joe Girardi.
I have my own memories of the Mickey Owen School.
The school scheduled games with teams from different area cities every year and I played and coached teams that played Mickey Owen at every level from Little League to men's baseball.
I remember three particular hits that my old team the Aroma Express, (Aroma, for those who are not familiar, is sort of a suburb of Granby) had in games against Mickey Owen's oldest age group. All three were to center field.
Carl Thomlinson hit one that soared over the center field fence.
Steve Letts hit a line drive that reached the fence in nothing flat and hit off the top of it, one of the hardest hit balls I ever saw.
But both of those paled in comparison to the mighty fly ball that Stan Johnson launched one crisp evening during the first week of August, which if I recall, was the last week the school operated that summer.
Stan's swing was picture perfect and there was no doubt he got all of it. It was a thing of beauty as it soared toward center field. It was so beautiful, in fact, that Stan, knowing he might never have such an opportunity again, watched it from home plate as it climbed toward the sky. He watched every second- including the part where a summer breeze caught hold of the baseball and it hit off the top of the fence and bounded back onto the field.
I have been watching baseball for six decades and I will say it without hesitation- Stan Johnson hit the most majestic single I have ever seen.
We won some, we lost some at the Mickey Owen Baseball School. Sometimes when they did not have a pitcher available, one of the instructors would pitch. In one game, we faced former Chicago White Sox pitcher Gerry Nyman, I was full of myself when I got two hits in that game. The hits were a bunt single and a bloop that fell in no man's land between the second baseman, the center fielder and the right fielder, but hey, they looked like line drives in the scorebook.
I admit, however, there were moments that I do not look back on with pride.
I was kicked out of two games. One time, when I was in high school, I made an ill-advised attempt to go from first to third on a hard-hit single to the left fielder and was tagged out at third base. I tossed my helmet in the air, not mad about the call, but ticked off at myself for making such a bonehead play.
The third base umpire, who was seated in a chair by the fence, said, "If that helmet hits the ground, you're out of the game."
To this day, I blame gravity for my ejection.
When I returned to East Newton High School that fall, I was surprised to discover that the new basketball coach, Jim Wyatt, was the umpire who threw me out of the game.
The other time I was thrown out of a game, we were facing a pitcher who had a wicked curve. Normally, I hit the curve pretty well, but this guy's pitch had more movement than Jello in a windstorm.
It was late in the game and the batter's box had long since been erased, so I tried to get as far to the front as I could, so hopefully, I could catch the pitch before it broke.
The home plate umpire, realizing what I was doing and that I was several inches in front of where the batter's box should be, asked for my bat and drew the front of the batter's box. When he returned to his position, I took my foot and began rubbing out the line he had drawn.
He told me to stop and sternly warned me that I might not be long for the game if I kept trying to erase the batter's box.
Eventually, when I struck out, and I am not proud of this, I turned to the umpire and said a phrase that if memory serves correctly began with "up" and ended with "yours."
My night of baseball was over.
One more Mickey Owen Baseball School memory.
The Aroma Express had a reputation for being something of a nutty baseball team and at no time did we put that aspect of our game on display more than one evening when our pitcher Brad Letts was at the top of his game and was mowing down the opposition inning after inning.
Very few balls were coming to the outfield that night, so after the third or fourth inning of inactivity, the three outfielders, Tim Letts, Steve Ray and I began amusing ourselves by playing a game we called "Musical Outfielders.'
After each out, all of the outfielders switched positions.
We were having a good old time, even though it was clear Brad was not pleased with the development.
Finally, during the second inning of musical outfielders, Brad stepped off the mound, turned to the outfield and yelled "Knock it off."
As I recall, we never played "Musical Outfielders' again.
