"Let's go Bound Brook, we're right behind you," echoes into our dugout in an impromptu cheer from somewhere in the home stands.
"Now boys, we'll take this one batter at a time," commands Coach Zujk from in front of the dugout to bring our attention back to the field on a steamy Saturday afternoon in mid-August.
The larger crowd would be on our side and we'd be playing on our own field, though the coin toss gave the Bergen County borough the home advantage in last at bats. The hubub about a team from the host town making it to the finals had an unforeseen consequence that suddenly raised the stakes for us local boys as the game was starting. Twelve-year-old girls from our sixth or seventh grade classes would be watching us play. We tried not to look, but how could we not hear Annie and Tina, Bernadette and Barb, Cheryl and Robin, Laura and Rosemary, Patty and Darlene, the Marshas and others screaming from the bleachers?
"Now boys, we'll take this one batter at a time," commands Coach Zujk from in front of the dugout to bring our attention back to the field on a steamy Saturday afternoon in mid-August.
Our all-star team had won seven games in a row against mostly larger towns. We'd done it with crafty pitching, skillful fielding, or strong hitting, sometimes all three in one game. In the process of winning we'd found a clutch relief pitcher and a prolific pinch hitter. We felt poised to take home the title.
This would be our first contest against an equally small Little League from a similarly working class town, though Wallington had many players of Slovak origin while we were mostly Italian and Polish. The match would be for the New Jersey title and a trip to the eastern region championships. A team from Wayne, New Jersey had won it all in 1970 and we were starting to believe that the World Series was possible for little Bound Brook.
The larger crowd would be on our side and we'd be playing on our own field, though the coin toss gave the Bergen County borough the home advantage in last at bats. The hubub about a team from the host town making it to the finals had an unforeseen consequence that suddenly raised the stakes for us local boys as the game was starting. Twelve-year-old girls from our sixth or seventh grade classes would be watching us play. We tried not to look, but how could we not hear Annie and Tina, Bernadette and Barb, Cheryl and Robin, Laura and Rosemary, Patty and Darlene, the Marshas and others screaming from the bleachers?
"Let's go Bound Brook!" croaks Coach Tomaro with frantic clapping from the third base coaching box in the top of the sixth inning.
We've got runners on first and second base and are behind one run in what's been a back-and-forth game. Our coaches had used all our resources against a talented lefty with a wicked screwball that cut away from our right-handed batters. The use of pinch hitters, a relief pitcher, fielding substitutions, and even a pinch runner had depleted our bench. It came down to our last available player, and a hit now could tie it. An out would end our quest for Williamsburg.
"I'm proud of you young men," Coach Zujk consoles as behind him Coach Tomaro throws down his red and white BB cap onto the infield and in the dugout we players fight back tears. "Now let's hold our heads up and go shake their hands."
Final score: Wallington 4, Bound Brook 3
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| Coach Tomaro, Eric Winchock, Coach Zujkowski, and Tony Thomas after the 1971 NJ Little League final |
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