Quincy College vs. University Northern Iowa (DH)
Sunday, April 2, 1989
I thought playing a doubleheader a day after the Iowa thumping might help the guys, at least partially clear their minds enough that maybe we could put together a good game or two against UNI.
Instead, some of our players put those Iowa games behind them another way by spending the late evening/early morning hours enjoying the Iowa City atmosphere.
Eight or nine QC team members came back to our hotel well after curfew. Several of my ’89 players brought that incident up 35 years later. They seemed to remember that night quite well and the penalty that ensued.
Honestly, I can only recall we played both games of that UNI doubleheader with only nine players. The curfew-breakers, after running poles from the time we arrived at the park until gametime, sat out both games. I didn’t even remember how I found out about that group coming back late to the hotel. They might have even reported it themselves. I didn’t sit in the lobby waiting for them.
We lost both games of the doubleheader. One of our pitchers, Dave Mikolajzak, had never hit or played a position in a collegiate game, started in right field. We dropped the first game, 8-0 and went without a hit. It was the third game in a row that we had been shutout. We lost game two, 10-3.
I never gave a second thought about not playing those eight or nine players that day. It was the first time (at least that I knew) some players had consciously stepped out of line. We had played 13 straight games on the road (UNI would make 15) and only two or three contests were truly competitive.
Driving back to our campus Sunday evening I began to wonder if we had finally reached the breaking point. No one complained outwardly when they found out they had to run, although I’m sure as they ran back and forth over the warning track, some expressed their inner thoughts.
I didn’t tell them to run because we had lost to Iowa or were 0-21. They ran because they did something they absolutely knew was wrong. If I gave them a pass because we had been through 22 straight days (since our March 13 opener) without a victory, then I would have given the appearance of throwing in the towel in the second half of the season.
At the same time, if one of the track stars had decided to just call it quits before or during their road work, and a few of his buddies joined in, our roster size could have dropped to 13-14 guys.
Two and a half hours later when we pulled into our campus parking lot after another doubleheader loss, I wondered if someone or maybe a group of players would come up to me and just say, “Coach, we’ve had enough. This is no fun, and we don’t want to waste our time anymore.”
I would have been surprised if that would have happened, but what these guys had been through from late August to April, eight months of doubt coupled with a losing streak that no one knew when or if it would end during this playing season, well, that could have been on everyone’s mind exclusively.
Two days later, we lost a single game to Western Illinois, 7-4, our fifth straight Division 1 game. We had played seven D-1 games already (all on the road), not including Southeast Missouri State, who was just one year from converting to D-1 status.
Thirty years later my players have various opinions on who set up the 1989 seasonal schedule and who had input into the schedule-making. Opinions were split. Some said Clark, others said Hanks or maybe it was a combination of the A.D. and former coach.
Regardless, the schedule set up this undermanned squad for a series of non-competitive games against teams who were chomping at the bit to pick up easy wins versus the Hawks. Nobody in a QC uniform in 1989 ever complained about the level of competition we were facing. We just kept playing against the next team in line.
Finally, we had some days off- four straight non-game days before traveling to Illinois Wesleyan.
Throughout those 23 consecutive losses (16 on the road) we hadn’t faced a lot of verbal taunting from fans or other teams. There are few well-attended college baseball games in March (especially in the Midwest or northeast). I never asked, but I was always curious if our players ever were teased in the dorms, their classes, in the dining hall or even by their friends back home.
I don’t remember any college personnel ever saying anything to me (pragmatic or otherwise) about the first half of our season. Maybe, they were just trying to be affable, or we were clearly out of the mind of students, professors, and administration.
The losses, of course, are very difficult and some of our guys mentioned in 2024, “It was embarrassing.” There had been only a solitary comment during one of our games that angered me worse than any loss so far during the 1989 season. It was directed at me, and I never told our players about it until now.
We were playing the second game of a doubleheader at Southern Illinois-Carbondale. The Salukis beat us in the first game, 11-4. We were trailing 6-3 in the second game but playing well and still in the game. It was the top of the fourth or fifth inning and we had a man on first with one out. Our hitter hit a ground ball to third that was fielded cleanly, and it looked like a probable double play was in order.
Except, the third baseman’s throw to second was on the inside of second base, too far inside and the second baseman had to come well off the bag to catch it. He relayed the ball to first and our hitter was clearly out there. Our runner at second was clearly safe because of their infielder coming off the bag well before he had the ball.
It was a standard two-man umpiring crew with the base umpire standing in the grass portion of the infield. He watched the third baseman’s throw to second but never saw the second baseman catch it with both feet well away from the base. The umpire had already turned his head toward first and called it a double play, inning over.
I was coaching third and immediately ran out to talk with the base umpire. I told him what I had seen and what everyone else had seen except him evidently. Then I asked him if he could check with the home plate umpire, because it was obvious he had missed the activity around second base.
I’m assuming this two-man crew were Missouri Valley Conference umpires. The base umpire had that, “I’m never wrong and I’m not asking anybody about that call” attitude etched on his face. I knew that from watching him as the home plate umpire in game one, but I had to contest this call. He listened (sort of) to me for less than 30 seconds, turned and started walking away.
We did not have an assistant coach. If I was tossed from the game, then one of my players (most likely Bud) would have to run the show. I still followed the umpire when he turned to me and said, “Coach, it doesn’t really matter because you guys aren’t any good anyways.”
Now I was really torn. With an assistant, it would have been automatic with no delay. I would have said a few words then tossed a sprinkling of some others with more emphasis. I would gladly turn the keys to that game over to my assistant at that point because this arbiter would have joyfully ejected me from the game.
I walked away with a part of me wishing I had made him eject me. We played seven solid innings, losing the game, 9-6.
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