Of eight teams in the Class A draw, two were still standing, McKenzie and Forrest. The two teams were going to meet Friday morning at Middle Tennessee State University's baseball field.
It was an exciting time and a relaxing time now. The grind of pool play was over and the Rebels knew they were going to be one of two teams playing for a title. Everybody, parents, players, fans, were euphoric. I remember McBride and I heading back to the hotel talking about how thorough a thrashing it was over Summertown. Coach Maddox was right, the Rebels proved they belonged up at the 'Boro.
We got back to the hotel and I immediately went to the lobby computer and updated the website as quickly as I could. There would be time to write the story later, but I needed to put a score up. Then I remember thinking it was Friday, not Thursday, so I had in the headline that the championship round would be played Saturday. Hey, it felt like a Friday to me. It was a bright, sunny day, it felt like a vacation and the mood was upbeat. It might as well have been a Friday. But once I was alerted to the error, I fixed it in less than 30 seconds. No harm, no foul.
On the way back up to the room, a beaming Coach Maddox was there in the foyer, about to head up the steps. His wife, Julie, was standing next to him. Maddox asked me, while I was wearing a McKenzie Rebels shirt and hat, webmaster of "mckenzierebels.com" if I was going to to be there Friday morning. "Coach, I have tickets to the ballet in Nashville," I said, faking lament. "So I won't be there, sorry coach."
He and I both shared a laugh, but I did notice a disconcerting look from his wife. More on that later. The plan was to head to Outback Steakhouse. McBride and I thought it was going to be the team and a somewhat small gathering of parents and some fans. When we got there, it seemed everybody from McKenzie in the 'Boro was at Outback. We were on the patio outside. The jovial players were remarking how they were going to spend their summer if they won, some talked about the game, some talked about the chicks at the restaurant. There must have been more than 50 people gathered on the patio where we were. It was somewhat miraculous that everybody got their order somewhat expeditiously and accurately.
Once the meal had been served and finished, many of the players got up and walked around. A few went inside to encounter the Forrest team. Drew Hayes wasn't around with the crew passing through the dinning room, but many of the McKenzie players knew that Forrest wasn't really sure what Hayes looked like, so some of the Rebels were referring to one of the random players as Hayes, which got Forrest's attention.
I was outside and didn't see what went on in the dining room, but word was that Forrest was belittling the Rebels, mocking them, almost making fun of them, as if the state title game was merely a formality. All that did was add fuel to McKenzie's fire. That was table talk when the guys got back from inside. The Forrest players got McKenzie's attention and rasied the ire.
Dinner was over and soon, it seemed like social hour ensued. I had just done the game Summertown game for the state radio network. I was on call to work whatever game I could, whether it was McKenzie or not, but Dan Hughes, one of the grand poobahs of the Tennessee Sports Radio Network, basically stuck me with the Rebels. About 10 that night, we were still at Outback and the phone rang. It was Kerry Mallard again.
"Jim, do you think you could call the Class A game tomorrow?" he asked.
I told him I'd be honored to and then I asked if I could bring Larry Joe Smith in as my color commentator. He and I worked so well together in that second Summertown game and the chemistry was there. Mallard was on the same wavelength.
"I was going to ask you if he was available, too," Mallard said.
I found Larry Joe amid the throngs of Rebel fans at Outback and told him our services were desired that morning and I told him that I wanted him to be part of the broadcast. Larry Joe beamed with a big smile and agreed. That was settled.
The atmosphere continued to be festive. It was warm, humid, a typical southern summer night. But it was nearing curfew and the McKenzie contingent decided it was time to leave. But before everyone returned to the hotel, Coach Maddox and the team decided they wanted to go to the stadium. At first, I just wanted to get back to the hotel and write my stories, do a bit of laundry and be done with it. Game time was 10:30 and I wanted to be sharp for the broadcast. But McBride said he wanted to go. I went along. What was an extra 15 minutes or so, right?
Once we pulled into the stadium parking lot and saw the lighted stadium, I was glad McBride talked me into going. It seemed like we pulled around behind the pressbox, next to a series of dumpsters and strolled to the yard. The players looked around the park, the stands, the fence, the bases, the foul lines. They were drinking it all in. It reminded me of that scene from the basketball movie "Hoosiers."
The little school of Hickory was at the Butler University Fieldhouse to play for the Indiana state basketball championship. In Indiana, they had no classification, so a small school could, theoretically, play a school from a large town, like South Bend. In the scene, Gene Hackman, who played the coach, took out a tape measure and scrutinized the distance from the foul line to the rim and the height of the hoop.
"See," Hackman said, in the movie. "Just like at our gym back home."
The players, who were already wide-eyed from the immense size of the arena, seemed to relax upon learning this. Going to the park the night before seemed to be good therapy. Even someone muttered that the bases were the same distance as our bases at home, etc. It brought chills up my spine and the hair stood up on the back of my neck. One of the things I noticed right off was that the outfield dimensions at McKenzie were bigger than the dimensions at MTSU. By comparison, the Blue Raiders' field was a band box.
After about 20 minutes, everyone decided to leave. We got back to the hotel and I went to the lobby. Some Spring Fling participants from Jackson were checking their email accounts and "MySpace" pages on the community computer, but it was getting late and I knew they'd be gone soon enough. Meanwhile, I decided to do some wash. I had worn the same thing for every game and I wasn't going to take any chances on Friday morning.
I went to the laundry room, which was just outside the computer area and was prepared to do my wash, which was just my shorts, my red Rebels shirt, etc. When I got there, there was no detergent in the vending machine. This posed a problem for the team, which needed its uniforms cleaned, too.
I went back to the room and asked McBride to do me a favor. There was a convenient store just down the street from the hotel. I asked him if he'd run over there and get me a small jug of detergent. He agreed, I gave him the money and off he went. I got started on the stories, Tony and Jeneane Jones got started on the uniforms and McBride returned with my soap. Things were clicking right off.
As I was writing my stories, I noticed flashes outside. A storm moved across the midstate and it was thundering, flashing lightning and pouring a torrent of rain. My thought was the game was going to be delayed or even postponed. But I figured the groundskeepers at MTSU knew what they were doing and the field would be in perfect shapen whenever the game would be played. I uploaded my last story, retrieved my clothes from the dryer and headed back to the room. It was leaning toward 4 a.m. when I finished. McBride woke up and wondered what time it was. I told him it was late.
"Well, you said you'd be late," he said.
He turned over and zonked right back out. I was worn out, too. I turned down the blanket in my bed, stretched out, and though tired, just couldn't get to sleep. I was curious what the situation was with the weather, how good was Forrest and how would we respond with the stakes so high.
I finally dozed off and the wake up call came too soon. It was 7 a.m.. I was up, wide awake and the first thing I did was look outside. It was overcast and the ground was still pretty waterlogged. I picked up the cell phone and called coach Maddox, who surely had to be up by now. I wanted to know if he'd heard anything about postponing the game.
As it turns out, I basically woke him up.
"I don't know a thing," he said.
"Sorry for calling so early coach," I said.
"Not a problem," he said.
I didn't dwell on the faux pas so much. McKenzie was playing for a state title. I'm sure I'm the only one who remembers waking Maddox that morning. We'd soon find out that would probably be the least memorable event of the day.
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