2004

New logo. New shirts. New website. Pretty much the same old team.

Cue the music: that ubiquitous Green Day song about having the time of your life. It’s something unpredictable, but in the end it’s right… Can you hear it? Good.

Now let that run in a loop in your head as we roll the slo-mo footage. The lighting is rich and golden, with rays of sunlight glinting off the chain-link backstops of a dozen municipal ballfields. We see a lean man in a red MPR T-shirt in the midst of a crowd. They’re hanging on his every word. “Group A!” he barks. “Rothman, Keith, Catlin, Gorenflo….”

Fade to a montage that encapsulates the long, hard, painstaking labor that went into the invention of power lounging and the softball wake…. Fade to the day at Jimmy Lee Field when all the forces of the universe were perfectly aligned-when his gun of an arm unleashed a white-hot bullet that rocketed past the backstop, zipped through the open window of a parked car, and negotiated the space (there couldn’t have been more than a millimeter on either side) between the steering wheel and the belly of a pregnant woman….

Fade to the dark day at Nokomis when, while playing first base, a collision left him with a badly wounded wing-which he only discovered later, at the bar, when lifting a beer proved excruciating…. Fade to more bars-the All-American, the Cromwell, DeGidio’s, J.R. Mac’s-and the familiar litany, win or lose: “Does everyone have a beverage of choice? Helluva game!” or, more often, “Helluvan effort!”….

And finally, fade to that last evening on the active roster, when with his glove and his bat he ensured that the game ended the only way it could, after all these years: in a tie. No winners. No losers. Just people playing ball. Get yourself a beverage of choice and join the Historian in a toast: “Helluvan everything, Mr. Eichten! This team wouldn’t exist without you, and we hope you had the time of your life.”

Roster

Brian Bakst
Jenner Beauchman
Clifford Bentley
Chris Benson
Jim Bickal
Michelle Bjork
Thor Bjork
Eugene Cha
KT Cragg
Colleen Davies
Tim Dennis
Gary Eichten
Dan Gaede
Diane Gaede
Allison Gredesky
Randy Greenly
Jeff Hand
Amy Hoelmer
Tim Jacobson
Jeff Johnson
Laurie Johnson
Randy Johnson
Valerie Kahler
Steve Nelson
Kari Ness
Langdon Perry
Tim Pugmire
Pam Rhines
Nancy Rothman
Tom Rothman
Egide Ruzindana
Suzanne Schaffer
Tom Scheck
Al Schoch
Bick Smith
Elizabeth Stawicki
Shannon Storlie
Bill Wareham
Linda Wareham
Kate Weinstock
Curtis Zaun

Hall of Fame notes: Now entering the Hall: Mike Edgerly…. Now entering the Satchel Paige Wing: Clifford Bentley…. Now entering the Wally Pipp Ward: Randy Greenly and Nancy Rothman…. Now entering the newly created Ted Williams Suite: Gary Eichten.

The Hall

Mike Edgerly (’92–’02 )… Our Hot-Corner Hillbilly. Kentucky born and bred, Mike brought a consistent bat, solid glove, and a touch of the Old South to his play at third. No backwoods hick, Mike is a connoisseur of fine literature and fine bourbon. As an expert angler and camper, Mike was our team guide to the great outdoors. As the victim of a legendary Wake, Mike was also our guide to the dark side of Cuervo Gold. Truly a Hall of Fame teammate, and a “Stand By Your Man” man when the going got tough. The Historian says, “Welcome to immortality, Mike.”

The Satchel Paige Wing

Clifford Bentley (’84– ) (MVP—’86; Golden Glove—’89, ’93; Whippet of the Year—’03; Men’s Team Captain—’92–’96, ’99)… Many were the players who thought they would never have to buy Clifford a welcome-to-the-Wing gift. He’s so young, they’d tell themselves. I’ll be dead by the time he gets to the Wing. Well, guess what? Start shopping. Clifford, despite his now-advanced years, will always be the quintessential Young Pup: fast, strong, prodigiously talented as a hitter/runner/fielder, and enough of a smartass to keep everyone on their toes. His fellow Wingers say, “Welcome to the La-Z-Boy, buddy,” while the Historian reminds Cliff that the Wing, like all areas of the Hall, is BYO Wine Cooler.

The Wally Pipp Ward

Randy Greenly (’85– )(Whippet of the Year—’91; MVP—’86, ’87, ’89, ’90, ’95, ’97, ’99, ’00, ’02; Batting Champ—’89, ’90, ’93, ’95–’97, ’99; ’02; Rookie of the Year—’85; Golden Glove—’94,’96; Captain—’90–’92, ’95–’03)… Mister Softball. Our premier power hitter for most of two decades, Randy has adjusted to our quirks, channeled his intensity, and introduced the team to the world of real softball. Randy is our on-field leader, our rulebook guru, master groundskeeper, and the best-fielding pitcher around. What’s he meant to the team? Check the awards! As he enters Pippville, the Historian welcomes him with a resounding “NO WHEELS!”

Nancy Rothman (’84– ) (MVP—’96; Rookie of the Year—’84; Golden Glove—’87; Batting Champ—’92, ’96, ’97, ’02; Most Improved—’92)… Our fixture at first. Graceful and athletic, Nancy has been an outstanding fielder, a solid hitter, and our infield anchor since the day she joined the team. If she had a nickel for every errant throw that has whanged off her shins or forced her to leap into the path of an onrushing baserunner, well, she wouldn’t have to hang around with us. Off the field, Nancy reigns as the Queen of Banquets, Queen of T-Shirts (though with age has come cunning, and in ’04 she managed to weasel out of that job), and First Bride. A true team favorite, and a model Fart. The Historian says, “Enjoy the Ward while you can, Nancy—Linda will be here soon.

The ¶¶ALL-NEW¶¶ Ted Williams Suite

Gary Eichten (’81–’04) (Whippet of the Year—’87; MVP—’00; Most Improved—’95; Captain—’83–’85, ’90–’92, ’95–’97)… When Gary entered the Wally Pipp Ward, all the Historian had to say about him was, “He just won’t quit.” Well, now he has quit, dammit, just four years after being a co-recipient of the MVP award. And so, in hopes of one day reviving and repairing the aching body that’s wrapped around Gary’s true-blue softball heart, the Historian, after 45 minutes of Googling and several trips to Menard’s, has created the Ted Williams Suite: a no-frills cryogenics facility located deep in the bowels of the Hall, right next to the boiler room. In the suite, Gary will float blissfully in a galvanized metal tank filled with dry ice and Schmidt Premium, until such time as medical science has developed a cure for the effing back, the bum wing, the wonky thumb, the delicate teeth, and all the other ailments that have forced him from the field of dreams. As the Historian fumbles in his pocket for the key to the Suite, he thanks Gary for a storied career and hopes he brought plenty of spare fuses.

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