1 to Remember

"Is that Coach Rain?" I asked myself. I looked down the street at an elderly man who was standing at the corner of Pine and College. As I walked closer, I could see that it definitely was Coach. He's easy to spot - tall, tanned skin, dark rimmed glasses, and always wearing his ball cap to cover his balding scalp. But something didn't look right. Coach Rain was normally confident, joking, gruff voice and all. But he was just standing on the street corner, looking up at the street sign - and he looked confused.

As I approached, I could hear him talking to himself.

"Chuck Rain. Chuck Rain. I'm Coach Chuck Rain."

"Coach?"

Coach Rain turned quickly and stared at me. His eyes were big, although they always looked big beneath his coke-bottle lenses. His breathing was rapid and his shirt was drenched with sweat even though it was a rather cool spring day. "Are you okay?"

He turned away, embarrassed. "Sure, oh sure. Just ... a little ... confused."

"Confused? Confused about what?" I thought. He still had his back to me, so I walked around in front of him. "I was just walking up to the field for the big game today. I assume that's where you're going too."

"Of course. Of course. The game." He nodded his head, but kept looking up at the street signs. "College and Pine."

"Yeah, Coach. Let's go up College to the field."

Coach laughed nervously. "Of course, College would take us to the field." He began to walk. I looked around to see if there was a hidden camera or something. This did not seem like the Coach Rain that I knew for the last four years. I tossed my baseball up in the air as we walked. "Maybe the pressure is getting to him", I thought. Coach Rain had been the baseball coach at The College of Southern Illinois for the last 45 years. Today's game was the last of the season and also his eighth attempt to win his 1,000^th career game as a coach. As the starting catcher, and captain, of the baseball team, I wanted this victory for Coach Rain more than anyone did. His behavior right now was rather disturbing, but then again, Coach Rain was not normal anytime. The guys would laugh at his one-liners at practice and with the media. We didn't laugh when he was chewing us out for a mistake, though. "Where's your head?" he asked me when I was a freshman and had made a freshman mistake in practice. I had pointed to my head, in answer to his question, when I suddenly realized that he intended the question to be rhetorical. How many times did I have to climb that hill behind the field house anyway? All I remember is that he told me to run until he got tired. Coach sure had a lot of stamina. The thought of it made my legs ache.

I looked over at Coach and he seemed to be breathing easier. "Scotty Skinner, right?", he said in a low voice while still looking ahead.

"Yeah. Of course, Coach." It hit me that he had been trying to think of my name all this time. "You okay?"

"Yeah." He paused. "Scotty? Don't ..."

"I won't say a word. But what ..."

He put up his hand and I knew not to ask. I was a senior now, and I knew better. We approached the locker room by the baseball field.

"Get in your uniform and meet me in my office in ten minutes. I want to talk over some strategy for the game today."

"Sure, Coach."

Another strange thing. "He's never asked my advice on strategy before." I thought. "Why start on the day of my last game?" I got dressed, grabbed a baseball, and went to his office. I always like to hold a baseball when I'm under stress or trying to think - it makes me feel better to rub the cowhide, to feel the seams with my fingertips, to smell that smell of baseball, the game I love. Somehow I think better while holding a baseball. And I had a lot to think about now - and it seemed as though things were getting stranger by the minute. I approached the door of his office. Some of the black letters had rubbed off the door, so now it read "C h ain." I knocked on the door, heard a grunt, and entered. The room smelled of cigar smoke. There had been 999 victory cigars smoked in this little room, and 400 or more defeat cigars. Lately, there had been a lot more defeat cigars than victory cigars, though. The walls in the office were covered with plaques displaying Coach's accomplishments. He had led the Redbirds to 21 conference titles and 11 district championships. He was Coach of the Year in the conference 12 times and NAIA Coach of the Year in 1988, when his Redbirds won the national championship. Coach looked up from his lineup card.

"Haven't got many of those awards lately. Good thing. I was running out of room."

"It's been a bad year."

"It's been a bad five years. Twenty-six wins in five years. Shoot, we used to win 20-25 games every year. Now the football team wins more than we do, and they only play ten games a year!"

I was beginning to feel very uncomfortable so I moved some papers out of the chair across from his desk and sat down. Today would be my last baseball game. I knew that I wasn't good enough to play in the minor leagues, so my only motivation now was to help Coach get that 1,000^th win. We had lost the last seven tries, and this was the last chance of the year. "What strategy did you want to discuss Coach?"

Coach leaned on his elbows on his desk and looked over his glasses at me. His normally gruff voice was softened a bit. "I want you to coach today, Scotty." I laughed out loud. Coach wasn't laughing.

"What do you mean?"

"When you found me today, at College and Pine. I ... was lost."

"But Coach, you've walked that route a million times before."

"And it's not the first time it's happened. I get confused easy lately. It's more than just walking from one room to the other and forgetting why I went there. It's stuff like forgetting where my house is, how to get to the campus ... people's names. The doctor says I have dementia, or possibly early Alzheimer's."

The thoughts in my head were swirling around. "Alzheimer's? Coach Rain?" I rubbed the baseball in my hand and squeezed hard. "But Coach," I protested, "I can't coach - you've got to get you're 1,000^th win ..."

"I don't want you to coach the whole game, Scotty. I've got the lineup card made, and I'll coach as usual. But you have to watch me. I can sometimes feel these lapses coming on. I .. I somehow know - that I don't know. If you see me struggling like I was today, you make the call. You be the coach."

How could I take on the role of coach? Especially in such a big game. "But ..."

"I'll talk to the team ... tell them that I'm training you to be a coach, and that, as captain, you may make a decision or two tonight."

I squeezed the ball so hard that my hand began to ache. "Coach..."

Coach Rain put his hand up in the air again. I stared into his bloodshot eyes. He was a proud man and this was killing him. I felt limp for a moment, and I relaxed my squeeze on the ball. All protest went out of my body. I had never felt sorry for Coach Rain before, but I did now. He was always just a Coach, a person trying to make me into a better catcher, a better hitter. I feared him and his tough, disciplinary approach. I certainly didn't fear him at this moment. For some reason, I now realized that he had made me a better person over these last four years. And I'm not even sure how he did it. This was my chance to help him. I nodded to him, got up and left the office.

The first seven innings of the game were rather uneventful, with our opponent, Morristown College, leading us by a narrow 4-3 margin. I had a hard time relaxing, constantly looking for any sign that Coach was losing his mind. The distraction led to me striking out in my first two at bats and popping up to the shortstop to end the seventh inning. "Maybe he'll be just fine tonight," I thought. When we came back into the dugout after the top of the eighth, Coach Rain called me over. He looked fine to me, but he said, "Do it" in a low voice. My pulse quickened. I grabbed a baseball and gripped it tightly while looking at the scorebook.

"Ron, grab a bat. You're pinch hitting for Tommy. Roger, warm up. You're coming in to pitch next inning." The players all looked past me to Coach Rain. He was leaning against the dugout wall, looking down at the ground. He looked up at the guys and nodded his head. The players responded to my instructions. Coach went over and sat on the bench in the dugout, staring blankly at the field.

This "episode" was not nearly as bad as the one this morning. Thank God. I saw several of my teammates looking at me and then at Coach Rain. "Let's get number 1,000, boys!" I yelled out. Ron struck out, and we went down 1-2-3 in the eighth. Roger came out to pitch and mowed down Morristown's three best hitters. The score was still 4-3 as we entered the bottom of the ninth.

One more inning to go. One more chance. And Coach Rain just sat there. He sat in the corner of the dugout, where he always did. Normally, though, he would be yelling out instructions, encouragement ... and criticisms. Now, though, his silence was deafening. I sat down next to him. I would bat fifth in this inning, if two guys got on base. If we didn't score, the game would end. My career would end in defeat. Coach Rain would probably never get that magical victory. I looked straight ahead on the field as the opposing pitcher was warming up. "Any better?" I asked softly.

"Fog's lifting."

"You want to take back over?"

"You're doing fine."

I stood up, grabbed a baseball, and began squeezing. "What do I do?" I thought. "If Johnny gets on to lead off the inning, do I have the next batter bunt? Should I have Johnny steal? What about hit and run?" My mind was going a million miles and hour. I closed my eyes as Johnny stepped to the plate.

Coach Rain stood up next to me. "Bunt", he said quietly.

"Come on Redbirds!" I yelled.

Johnny grounded out, but the next batter, Thompson, was able to work the pitcher for a walk. I glanced at Coach Rain.

"Don't bunt with one out. Steal."

I gave the signal for Thompson to steal. He went on the next pitch and slid in safely. I blew out a deep breath that I had been holding for quite a while now. The next batter grounded out to the second baseman, and Thompson moved over to third base, only 90 feet away from tying the game. However, one more out and we lose.

"It's out of my hands now," I thought. If Tommy gets a hit here, we tie up the game. If he makes an out, we lose." I relaxed a bit and looked over at Coach Rain. He was staring at me.

"Are you just going to stand there, Skinner? You're on deck."

The gruff voice startled me, and I remembered that I still may have a chance to bat if Tommy gets on base. I threw down the baseball, grabbed my helmet and bat. I looked up in time to see Tommy smacking a clean base hit to right-center field and the tying run coming home. Tommy ended up at second with a double. We celebrated the tying run, but I realized that this was my chance to do even more. A base hit here would bring Coach Rain his big win. I glanced over to him as I walked to the plate. He smiled and nodded his head. I knew that his mind was clear again.

My mind focused on the task at hand. All I could see was the baseball in the pitcher's hand. All I could think of was hitting it hard somewhere. After taking a ball and a strike, the pitcher gave me what I wanted - a fastball on the inside corner. I turned on it and smacked a clean hit down the left field line. Tommy was a fast runner, and he came around third to easily score the winning run. After I touched first base, I was mobbed by my teammates. Together we walked over to the bench where Coach Rain remained. The old man, the rough, gruff, beloved leader of his team had his back to the field. As I approached, I could see Coach Rain take a handkerchief away from his eyes. It was the only time I ever saw him do it.

The next day, I had a box at my front door. Inside the box was a baseball. On the ball was written, "Rain 999, Skinner 1." I smiled and reached for my handkerchief.