Touching All Bases: Going Home

By George Ruszat

A story of a talented high school player who hopes to advance to professional baseball. A severe injury in 1957 ends his dream. With the encouragement of his coach, he earns a college degree in sports management to have a career in the sport he loves. For twenty-five years, he climbs the ladder of the minor leagues until he finally finds himself in the executive offices of the Minnesota Twins. With the untimely death of his wife, he loses interest in the job. Moving back to his small Iowa hometown, he starts a second career as the coach of the high school ball club, teaching the players about the game as well as the realities of life after baseball. The story ends at a spring training game in 2018 with a dream blending memories of his youth with famous players, both past and present.

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Sep 1, 2018
• ISBN: 9781543939132

Book preview

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THE GREATEST PLAY EVER

Baseball, it is said, is only a game. True. And the Grand Canyon is only a hole in Arizona.

— George F. Will

Some people say that Willie Mays’ over-the-shoulder catch in game one of the 1954 World Series was the greatest play in baseball history. Others argue that Billie Martin’s shoestring catch of Jackie Robinson’s pop-up in the 1952 Series was. It seems that the best plays always happen in New York. How about the other thirteen teams? They never make great plays?

Well, I happen to believe that the greatest play ever was made in a small farm town in Iowa, far from the bright lights of New York City. And I saw it happen with my own eyes. It happened only yesterday—Thursday, May 10, 1956.

My name is August Rausch, but I usually answer to Augie or Specs. Specs because I’ve worn glasses since the third grade. I live in Wheatfield, Iowa, a small town of about 10,000. Wheatfield has a long history of producing good baseball players. My dad was a good player in his day, but didn’t make the pros. My coach, Elwood Storr, played for the Red Sox before the war, but then he went into the Army. After the war he didn’t make the team, so he came home and is now the coach of the high school and American Legion teams. Everything I know about baseball came from my dad and Coach Storr.

I am a junior in high school and can play almost any position, except catcher, for the Wheatfield Shockers. I am also the second-best pitcher. The Shockers are pretty good this year, with a record of eight wins and only one loss. In northern Iowa, the high school season is short because of the weather. We have only three more games before the end of the school year. But our team remains mostly intact for the summer Legion season when we will play another twenty-five games.

Back to the Greatest Play Ever. We played Black Earth High School on Wednesday, two days ago. I pitched and we won 5 to 2. I also went three for four at the plate—two singles and a double. Pretty good, huh?

Then, yesterday morning, Coach Storr stopped me in the hallway between classes. Specs, you played well yesterday at Black Earth. Take practice off today. Instead, would you help Coach Pfennig with the junior varsity game this afternoon?

Coach Storr knows I want to coach sometime in the future after my playing days are over. Dad says I should consider going to umpire school. Coach Storr continued, Maybe you can learn some things helping with the JVs.

Boy! Was he ever right!

After school let out, the JV squad boarded the big yellow bus to travel to the little burg of Cross Roads, Iowa. Coach Storr came on the bus. OK you guys. You have me today. Coach Pfennig had to go to a meeting so you’re stuck with me. The JVs were thrilled, of course, playing for the head coach, a Major Leaguer.

We were playing the Cross Roads varsity team. The town was so small that it’s lucky they could suit up a complete squad. A couple of their players looked like they were still in junior high school. Their field was not much to speak of. Really just a pasture with snow fences in the outfield. No grass in the infield. No lights. No dugouts, just long benches down each baseline. There were probably no more than twenty or thirty people watching, most sitting on the hoods of their cars or the tailgates of their pickups. So much for the bright lights of New York City.

Wheatfield scored first in the top of the second inning. Our little second baseman, Chuckie Holder, laid down a perfect bunt. He advanced by another sacrifice bunt from our catcher, Foggy Horn. Foggy was only a freshman and will certainly move up to the varsity next year. He’s going to be good. A wild pitch moved Chuckie to third, and he scored on an error by their shortstop.

Let me say something about Chuckie Holder. He’s a sophomore and short for his age and pretty fast for his size. He has an unusually round, big head. He’s always joking, always kidding around. He had apparently caught ringworm, and his mother shaved off all his hair. For the past week, he has worn his ball cap all the time, never taking it off. He’s such a nice guy that no one has kidded him. Anyhow, he manufactured a run for us.

I forgot to mention, my job was to be the third base coach when we were at bat. When we were in the field, I kept a partial scorecard. Most important was keeping track of the pitcher’s count and our errors, hopefully few. Anytime there was some action on the field, I would grill Coach with questions, trying to figure out what we