Longmeadow, Massachusetts - Saturday, July 28, 1973

“Please God, let him hit it to me,” I thought as I bent over to pick up a pinch of left field grass and to check the wind for the third time in as many minutes. The timeout called by coach Jim Marrone and the trip to the mound to talk with Mike Leclair seemed interminable. Catcher Pete Gamache stood by Leclair’s side with his catcher’s mask in his mitt. Sweat was beading from Gamache’s chin in the late afternoon humidity of the day. Gamache and Leclair listened intently as Marrone gave the Leominster battery a chance to catch their breaths. My heart was pounding as I internalized the enormity of the moment.

There were two outs in the seventh inning, and we were leading 2-1 over Burncoat of Worcester with the potential tying run on first-base. Another out and we’d be Massachusetts Babe Ruth State Champions, a feat achieved by Leominster in each of the prior two seasons. I did not know it at the time, but until then, no other Massachusetts town had ever won three consecutive state championships.

It wasn’t that I felt that I was the only player on the field capable of making that third put-out. I wanted to be the hero. I wanted to fulfill every kid’s dream of either knocking in the winning run in a walk-off, or making the final put-out on the field. Ted Rockwell was to my left in center field. Dave Arsenault in right. Dave Bergeron, who made a dazzling play to his left earlier in the inning to rob a Burncoat batter of a potential extra base hit was at third-base. Mike Gasbarro at short. Bob Angelini at second and Mike Catalfamo at first.

My mind drifted to the journey we took to get to this moment. In some regards it started in the summer of 1970 when I and several of my current teammates, were eliminated in the Massachusetts Little League State Championship tournament just three years prior while playing for the Leominster American Little League all-stars. And here we were again with a chance for redemption.

Back to the moment. We were sharp. We were focused. And we were very talented. Yet we were mentally and physically exhausted. We had needed to win five games just to advance to this tournament. And since we lost our tournament opener to Longmeadow, we were dropped to the losers’ bracket which in turn required us to crawl back to play this, our fifth game in the last three days.

The stands at Strople Field were packed with fans, players from the other teams, and league officials. The lights were turned on to neutralize the late afternoon shadows. I could see my parents on the first-base side of the grandstands. They and the rest of the Leominster following were standing and clapping.

As coach Marrone jogged back to the dugout, I surveyed the situation. Two outs with a man on first. Joe McLean, Burncoat’s right-hand-hitting first-baseman, stepped into the box. Leclair, pitching from the stretch, peered in for the sign from Gamache. I crouched into a ready stance on the balls of my feet, waiting for the pitch. From the set, Leclair fired a fastball to the mitt. I pivoted as I heard the crack of the bat….