The Crackerjack Gang

By Robert Tandy

The Crackerjack Gang is a collection of the most unorthodox, but sincerely exceptional, group of baseball players I coached over the last twenty (20) years.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Mar 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543923858

Book preview

TEAM

PREFACE

Crackerjacks, those glorious molasses-coated popcorn morsels, have been synonymous with the game of baseball since approximately 1896. Colloquially, the term crackerjack means a person who is noteworthy for his exceptional ability. In baseball dugout vernacular, however, the term crackerjack represents the most peculiar, outlandish and unusual player on the team; and as the actual snack, the Crackerjacks depicted in this book were true prizes in every dugout.

Outlandish, peculiar and unusual players have donned baseball uniforms since the first pitch of a professional baseball game. Rube Waddell, a former professional baseball pitcher from 1897-1910 elected into the Baseball Hall of Fame in 1944, left in the middle of games to chase after passing firetrucks and missed other baseball games to play marbles. Kevin Rhomberg, nicknamed by his teammates Touch Me, Touch Me, because he, as legend has it, had such a well-known need to touch any person who contacted him first that umpires once halted a game to chastise and warn the opposing team to stop touching Rhomberg so the game could continue, Crackerjack players have and will always grace baseball dugouts.

If you coach long enough, in any sport, you come to appreciate the true Crackerjacks every year on your team. Crackerjack players make the long hours logged on the field and the monotony of team drills worth every second. Whether it’s the hours spent cramped in uncomfortable team vans, weekend trips to tournaments, team meals, their on-field antics, or just sitting next to them in the dugout, the anticipation of a Crackerjack player routinely engaging in extraordinarily memorable conduct and speech has always been just as exciting as the game itself. While I had the good fortune to experience these Crackerjacks on the baseball diamond, I genuinely believe Crackerjack players transcend the foul lines of a baseball field, and similar characters of the rarest, most peculiar breed are found in every sport and walk of life.

The Crackerjack Gang is a collection of the most unorthodox, but sincerely exceptional, group of baseball players I coached over the last twenty (20) years. This unique troop of un-popped kernels would not be who they are without their equally unconventional parents to whom I dedicate this book. Without you, The Crackerjack Gang would never have been possible. The Crackerjacks contained in this book are my all-time favorite players. While their names have been changed to protect me, the unusual collection of players who make up The Crackerjack Gang are real and continue to play or coach to this day. Although none of the players in this book ever played on the same team, I often wonder about the What if factor. What if the Crackerjacks described in this book played on one team? What if the assortment of curious personalities were teammates? What a truly memorable story that would make. In many respects, I continue to coach year after year in search of the next Crackerjack player - - because when you find one of these Crackerjacks, you are in for a magical journey.

Ch. I.

Mike Miller

I first met Mike Miller and his dad, Jeff, when I coached Mike in tee ball. Yes, even at the tee ball level, Crackerjack players exist. It was my first coaching experience at the five-year-old level. Up until that point, I had only coached at the High School baseball level and older.

Hi coach, my name is Jeff Miller, and this is my son Mike.

It’s nice to meet you Mike, I’m Coach Tandy.

You’re the Coach? Mike asked.

I am Mike. Are you excited about this season?

His father replied, You bet he is Coach, the only thing he cares about is baseball …… Baseball, Baseball, Baseball, right Mike?

Mike looked at me with an awkward smile and unenthusiastically questioned: When do we get snacks Coach?

I immediately replied, Run down the line and warm up Mike and your dad will take you to Dairy Queen after the game! The hope of Dairy Queen, specifically, the promise of Jeff taking the entire team to Dairy Queen after a game became a common utterance on our team.

Wanting to make a better first impression for Mike, Jeff quickly advised me, Mike’s really excited to start the season Coach, but he had a sore throat and a fever yesterday, so he is a bit out of it this morning. He slept on the couch all day yesterday. You’ll see Coach; he loves baseball! He can’t get enough of it.

As I watched Mike walk to right field ever so slowly directly on the newly laid, pristine first base chalk line as if he were walking a tightrope and pretending he was a descendant of Wallenda lore, stopping every couple of steps so as not to alert the bees of his presence, Jeff announced I signed up to be an Assistant Coach with you this season. What do you need me to do? I quickly assessed Jeff’s knowledge of the game by his khaki-pleated shorts, loafers, Baseball is Life t-shirt and his Big Daddy baseball glove he obviously won in a chocolate-selling fundraiser contest and thought to myself, Can I get away with Jeff keeping the scorebook at the tee ball level in a league in which we do not keep score?

Well Jeff, we are going to break the kids up into four groups to start. Can you work on pop-ups in the outfield with a group of boys?

Great, I can do that. Where’s the racket to hit fly balls? Puzzled, I thought to myself, Where’s the racket? I quickly replied, On second thought Jeff, I need you to help me with my group. We will only have three groups today.

It was Mike’s turn to hit. His first time batting in an organized setting anyway. While Jeff was helping me with my infield group, I heard all about how he and Mike had taken bp (batting practice) all winter long in a mock batting cage he built in his basement. I learned it was important when the Millers were looking to buy a house that there was a basement big enough to convert to a functional batting center. At two years old, Mike apparently demonstrated prowess at the plate that was unrivaled in the sandbox on the playground.

When it was time to hit, I set a batting tee out in front of home plate. Mike was still in the dugout fumbling through his newly purchased bat bag. It was newly purchased because it still had the store’s sales tags around the straps of the bag. Jeff, who was now proudly waiting for Mike’s turn at bat, nervously yelled out from behind second base What are you doing in there Mike? Just get your batting gloves, wristbands and thumb guard on and get to home plate!

At this point, Jessica Miller, Mike’s mother, appeared out of nowhere and began dressing Mike in the dugout. Sorry, she nervously yelled. Coach, this batting glove is the wrong size. Does that matter?

It might fit by the time he gets to the plate was my thought, but I patiently replied I think it will be fine. Get up here and hit Mike.

He’s coming Coach, Jessica exclaimed.

Jess, make sure there is no mud in his cleats. He will be off-balanced at the plate, Jeff chimed in again from behind second base. I could now hear Jeff commenting to himself out loud that he should carry tongue depressors in his back pocket to free the thick mud in Mike’s cleats.