Part 3: Junior Year
The summer of 1994 was my first with a driver's license. It gave me the freedom to do things on my time and not have to rely on rides from my parents or my friends parents. I played baseball again that summer and this year Jody was on my team. We hit 1-2 in the order that year and were much better than opponents at that level. The previous spring I had made the Varsity baseball team, but was relegated to keeping score so outside of practice I didn't get to actually play much. I was eager to play and play a lot. Being a rec league, I wasn't forced to playing solely with just my team. A couple of times during the summer teams that were playing after our games would ask for players to fill their roster and I said yes every time. I just loved playing ball. Splitting time between outfield and first I stayed active, but I just wanted to get on the mound. Occasionally I would get a chance to pitch, but I only threw a fastball. At that level it was enough to not get pummeled, but I knew I had to have a second pitch I was even to get the chance in high school.
With my new found freedom I also got to hang out with my new friends outside of school for the first time. We started to get interested in street hockey. We had a goal and I went out and bought a hockey stick and a group of us would find an abandoned parking lot and play. Running around while trying to play hockey was exhausting. Quickly some of my friend bough rollerblades which were all the rage in the mid nineties. Inline skating was going to be the transportation of the future...was being the key word in that sentence. I had never skated much (ice or roller) so I was not quick to switch and thus forced to play goalie which sucked. I needed to learn how to skate.
The summer of 1994 is known for many things. The United States hosted the World Cup which introduced a new generation to the sport of soccer. I already loved soccer and at the time I cheered for Argentina. Why you ask? I did a report on Argentina in 1989 for a sixth grade class and learned they were the defending champions from the 1986 World Cup. I was at a friends' birthday party in 1990 when they took on West Germany in the Finals of that World Cup and I remember asking my mom as she picked me up "Who won?" and she said Germany I was bummed. The United States wasn't very good at soccer, but they played well that year surprising the world by making it out of the qualification round. Although they lost to Brazil, it marked a turning point for the game here in the states and I quickly left Argentina behind even though they do have a pretty shade of blue on their flag. I was also very privileged to be asked to go to the Mexico/Norway by a friend of mine and that was a wonderful experience. I remember a drunk Norwegian who couldn't find his seat, so he took up residence in the aisle. He just sprawled out without a care in the world, until security hauled him off.
1994 is also remembered for the OJ Simpson slow moving car chase in the white Bronco. It was during the NBA Finals between New York and Houston and we kept flipping back and forth. The drama was so intense. I had only known OJ from the Naked Gun movies, but my Dad grew up watching him play football. It was just a surreal set of events that day and they will never be forgotten by those watched it live. ESPN did a magnificent documentary about that day on their 30 for 30 feature. It is a must watch.
What 1994 means most to me is the baseball season that never was. The Montreal Expos had the best team in the majors that year and because of the strike and eventual cancellation of the playoffs they never got their chance to play on the big stage. All of their best talent (Pedro Martinez, Larry Walker, Cliff Floyd, Marquis Grissom and Moises Alou) would eventually be traded away or lost to free agency and the franchise began a steady downward spiral that they would never recover from leading them to fold and move to Washington, D.C.
Tony Gwynn of the San Diego Padres was hitting .394 and with 45 games left was still within reach of ending at or above the magical .400 mark. Matt Williams of the San Francisco Giants had 43 home runs with 47 games left and was within reach of the record 61 hit by Roger Maris 33 years earlier. The baseball world was being robbed of potential history. It was history of another sort that I was wrapped up in.
The Athletics were still terrible, but they had been placed into the newly formed American League West division with only three other teams and they sucked equally as much. I didn't care what the standing were, I just knew the Athletics had a chance at making the playoffs. On June 13th the Athletics were a miserable 19-43. During most seasons they would have already been eliminated. At the time they were a mere 12.5 games out of first. All of a sudden they became the hottest team in baseball. Over their next 22 games they went 19-3 and on July 7th they were a scant 3 games out of 1st! They reverted back to their losing ways and as the strike date approached I knew that if the Athletics could just be in 1st place at the time of the strike maybe they'd be allowed in the playoffs if everything got resolved by October. They swept a 3 game series from the 1st place Texas with only four days left until 'D-Day' and were within 1.5 games of the Division lead. Two nights later Ruben Sierra hit a go ahead 8th inning home run to beat the White Sox. I was on vacation at the beach with my family but watching the game on WGN and I remember writing 'YOU CAN PUT IT ON THE BOARD...YES!!' on a piece of paper and taping it to the mirror in my Dad's bathroom. With two games left the Athletics had crept to within 0.5 a game of first place. They lost their last two games and finished one game out when the strike hit and the season never finished. Texas led that worst division in the history of MLB with a stellar 52-62 record. It's probably best that fans weren't subjected to a playoff race of sub-.500 teams.
Junior year started and it was my first school year not playing a sport other than baseball. Choosing not to play baseball that fall, it gave me ample opportunity to learn how to roller blade. I purchased a pair and slowly got used to it. Going to tennis courts I relied heavily on the brakes and had a very difficult time not crashing into the fence when trying to stop. It was much easier to skate with a stick in hand and once I mastered the crossover life became much easier. My strongest attribute was my slap shot. Not having ever played hockey before it just came naturally. I could hit that ball (we used a tennis ball sized plastic ball that had liquid in it to keep it from bouncing) hard and sometime accurate. Nobody was practicing tip drills in front of the net when I wound up.
As soon as everyone in my group of friends was up to speed in skating we found every waking moment available to play. Abandoned tennis courts were the most ideal and Cavalier Park in Falls Church, VA was where you were most likely to find us. As the weather grew colder, we played more because nobody was playing tennis. I loved to throw my weight around and as I became sturdier on skates it was my goal to drop Justin on his ass as much as possible. Luke did enough of that himself without contact and we yelled "Nancy!" each time. Zack bit the bullet and became our resident goalie. I don't know if he never took to skating or he just relished the challenge, but for our level he was pretty darn good. Trevor and Jody were good skaters and when one of them didn't play a co-worker of Zack's stepped in. Our best player, Isaac dominated us at times. He had played ice hockey all through his youth and until becoming a father this past year was still playing. At first he skated circles around us and beat Zack like a rented goalie on numerous occasions. We tracked our improvement by slowing Isaac down. The best part about it is how frustrated he would get when we stole the puck away from him or got past him while he was on defense. Zack and I would yell "DA DUM" every time he failed and then he would just unload a slap shot harder and higher to prove his worth.
Tennis players never cared about us skating on their courts and our wheels were made of the same material that tennis shoes were made of, but that didn't stop the locals from calling the cops on us on a regular basis. The police claimed we were too loud (we weren't) or scuffing the courts (we didn't) and did their duty by shutting us down for the night. There were plenty of open tennis courts so we just rotated until we were thrown out. It was harmless fun but we got pretty competitive especially Isaac and I. I wanted to be the best athlete in the group and I knew he was miles ahead of me on skates. That never stopped me from trying to beat him and he relished someone getting closer to his level. I never was able to skate with him, but I used his temper against him and that was my smartest move. All I had to do was get him angry and he stop using skill and resorted to being a bull in a china shop and stopping someone going straight at you is much easier than having him go wide and using flashy moves.
If I had thought that the 1993 season had been bad for the Washington Redskins, 1994 proved to be even worse. The Redskins had select Heath Shuler in the draft earlier that year and he was supposed to be the next great quarterback in franchise history. He proved to not even be the best quarterback Washington drafted that year. In the 7th round a little known quarterback, Gus Frerotte was selected and he wound up playing 118 more games than did Shuler in their respective careers. It's said when a franchise chooses the wrong quarterback of the future it sets the franchise back five years with two to three years to prove he can't play and two to three more to find the next savior. This would resonate all too true.
The Redskins lost 6 of their first 7 and 7 of their following 8 only to end with a meaningless victory to end the season a paltry 3-13. It was their fewest wins since 1963...31 years earlier!! From a model franchise to the laughing stock of the NFL in only three years. What a sad state of affairs.
As did the Redskins, the Detroit Pistons drafted who they thought would be the savior of a once proud franchise. With the 3rd overall picked I was dismayed to watch Detroit select Grant Hill from the hated Duke Blue Devils. It was very difficult to root for him and I never embraced him fully. To add insult to injury the Pistons traded for Bill Curley who was the best player on the same Boston College team that had just beaten UNC. To say the Pistons were testing me as a fan is an understatement.
After having two picks in the top 11 from the draft before it was apparent that the Pistons now had the building blocks to be a better team. It didn't show that season. Although Grant Hill led the team in scoring, the team as a whole only increased their win total by 8 games. Don Cheney, the Pistons head coach over the last two horrible seasons, was let go and the team was forced to head in a new direction.
Down a level the Tar Heels were loaded with as both Rasheed Wallace and Jerry Stackhouse were back and with it being their team now, issues of meshing well with the older guys was no longer going to be an issue. They were ranked #2 in the preseason polls and started the season 18-1 as they elevated to #1 in the nation. The most memorable game of that season was against rival Duke who was having an all time worst season with their coach (who shall not be named because if he doesn't count the stats against him he doesn't get a mention from me here) out for the season after back surgery. UNC was 16-1 and Duke was 10-9 and losers of all seven conference games. UNC dominated in all aspects of the game early on including one of the sickest dunks by Jerry Stackhouse that I had ever witnessed.
Then Duke made a run...of course they did. This was during the heart of the era of the Cameron Crazies. The student section at Duke was ahead of its time and they caused havoc on the psyche of opposing teams. Everything that Duke did that night was thanks to the fans. They were undermanned and outplaying one of the most talented teams in the country. They blew past UNC and had a double digit lead in the second half. The Tar Heels clawed backed and forced overtime and that is when the Tar Heels took over. With only 1:30 left in the 5 minute overtime UNC had scored the only 9 points. The game was over, I had survived. I couldn't imagine going to school after losing to Duke. UNC was #1 and Duke sucked. It should have been a blowout, but a win is a win and I'll take it. Oh Duke hit a 3 pointer? Too little, too late. Less than a minute to go. UNC misses and gets the rebound and is fouled. Hey they're rolling the credits of the film crew. Ballgame! Two free throws, an 8 point lead. Duke comes down and hits a two pointer with :30 left. Big whoop. The announcers already have already moved UNC to 7-1 in conference play. Two more UNC free throws and the lead was back to 8. Duke hit a 3 with :16 left and the lead was still a safe 5 points. The Tar Heels made 1 of 2 free throws to extend the lead back to 6 and Jeff Capel took the ball back down the court and charged into the UNC defender for an offensive foul....what? NO! A blocking foul?? Are you effing kidding me?? He made the basket but it was still a four point lead and there is no four point play in college. He made the free throw and during the timeout I was still pissed. How the hell was that not a charge? Duke fouled 7' 6" Serge Zwikker and all he had to do was make one of his two free throws to officially ice the game. He missed them both. Cherokee Parks grabbed the rebound, fed it to Jeff Capel who launched a desperation shot from just over the mid court stripe and buried it! The game was tied at 95 and headed to a second overtime. It felt like UNC had lost. I was dumfounded. It was too late at night to yell, I couldn't break anything but I was furious. What type of crap was this...how was that not a charge!?!
The 2nd OT was just like the first with UNC scoring the only 3 points through the first 3 1/2 minutes. Then Duke hit a 3 to tie the game at 98. Ugh. UNC scored, stole the inbound pass and scored again and were up 102-98...phew. Survived that one. Duke scored with :45 left to cut it to two and then inexplicably didn't foul UNC. :30 :25 :20 and then a forced pass into the paint and the ball was stolen with :15 to go. Duke now could win the game with a 3 since that is what they are best at. Fudge! Crap! Darn it! Yes that is what I was screaming in my head. Freshman point guard and all time poster boy that is all wrong with Duke Steve Wojciechowski (Wojo) slowly dribbled the ball down the court and hurried a two point shot which he missed and the put back was missed as well and the game was over. 102-100. A classic.
The second half of the season saw a few more bumps in the road for UNC and they entered the NCAA Tournament as the #2 Seed in the Southeast. The #1 Seed was Kentucky. My friend Erin and I were now 3 games away from a possible meeting for a trip to the Final Four. Of course Trevor had his favorite team, UCLA in Tournament as a #1 Seed as well.
I assumed that UNC would breeze by Murray St. in their 1st round game and I remember getting the substitute teacher to let us put the tournament on during class so I could keep an eye on it. I should have avoided it all together. The Tar Heels came out flat and trailed the 15 Seed by a point at the half. I had to go to baseball practice at that time so I had no clue what was going on. If UNC lost it would be a total disaster. Erin and I had already began our smack talk on how UNC would crush Kentucky and it looked like both the team and I forgot we had win 3 games first. After practice I got in my car and sat there waiting to hear the scores on the sports ticker. I held my breath the entire time. It was excruciating. Finally I heard "UNC 80 Murray St. 70"...and exhale. Survive and advance.
UNC cruised in it's 2nd round game as did Kentucky. UCLA needed a last second, full court sprint by point guard Tyus Edney to survive and move on. In the Sweet 16 UNC was matched up against Georgetown and spectacular point guard Allen Iverson. My father who was still a Georgetown fan took me to my Uncle's house to watch the game on his brand new big screen television. He was an alum of Georgetown so I was on a very uncomfortable island. Luckily UNC handled the Hoyas from beginning to end and moved to the Elite 8. Kentucky crushed Arizona St. and the stage was set for the most epic battle of my High School years.
For three years Erin and I had been going at each others' throat about which team was more supreme. It was probably for the best that we only had 48 hours to wait for the game because it would've gotten ugly. Our back and forth was all in good fun, but we were serious about our hatred for each others school. UNC already had a championship 2 years earlier and I held the upper hand. A victory in the game and I would hold bragging rights for a long time.
Kentucky relied heavily on their press defense that would cause turnovers and I knew UNC could handle this. If they didn't it would get ugly, but if they did and Stackhouse and Wallace got free from breaking it, Carolina would roll. It was tight, it was exciting, but the Heels pulled away down the stretch and UNC was headed to Seattle for the Final 4! Erin didn't speak to me for a week. It was pure bliss. I wore a different UNC shirt/hat combo (I had plenty to spare as well) each day to school that week. Up next was Arkansas. Oh hi, I remember you guys from last year beating Duke for the National Championship. Remember when I said we owed you one? Well forget it.
They didn't forget it. What worked so well for UNC against the pressure defense of Kentucky, failed in Seattle. After leading at half time, UNC fell apart in the 2nd half. Stackhouse and Wallace had only 13 combined shots. They couldn't get the ball. The Heels had to rely on the outside shooting of Donald Williams (the hero of the 1993 Final Four), Jeff McInnis and Dante Calabria who combined for 11 for 38 shooting which didn't work out so well. Arkansas moved on to the Finals where they lost to Trevor and I had to hear about those 11 Championships for another year. We're even Arkansas...ya bums.
The NHL had labor issues just like baseball did and for a moment it looked like the season was going to be lost. Shortly after the start of the new year the each side came to a resolution and the 'Sprint for the Cup' was afoot. Peter Bondra was beginning to become the face of the franchise along with Dale Hunter and in the shortened season he had a spectacular year. In only 47 games he scored 34 goals which is a near 60 goal pace. The NHL was in the middle of the the clutching and grabbing trap era when scoring plummeted and goalies starting putting up ridiculous statistics. Bondra led the NHL in goals during that shortened season and with the emergence of rookie goaltender Jim 'Ace' Carey who had the 2nd lowest goals against average I had high hopes for that playoff season.
Not so surprisingly the Capitals were paired up with the Pittsburgh Penguins in the 1st round. I really hate that team. The Capitals went into Pittsburgh and beat them in game 1 and then lost Game 2. Games 3 and 4 in Washington were blowouts...by the Caps!! The won each game by a 6-2 score and had a commanding 3 games to 1 lead and were doing it in dominating fashion. In game five it was more of the same with Washington taking a 2-0 lead and heading to a power play late in the 1st period. Jaromir Jagr who fashioned a horrible euro-mullet struck with a short handed goal and the lead was shaved in half. The Penguins evened the game up in the 2nd, but Dale Hunter scored his second of the game to restore the lead. Once again Pittsburgh scored late and the game was tied after two periods. Peter Bondra opened the scoring in the 3rd period and less than a minute later the lead was gone as Jagr scored again. Only 26 seconds after that Bondra restored the Capitals lead with his second tally and it was the fourth time the Capitals led. The fourth time wasn't the charm as less than 3 minutes later the score was tied at five when Kevin Stevens scored his second goal of the game which was a very common theme. The game headed for overtime and true Capitals fans knew that if they lost this one the momentum may have been lost forever. Luc Robitaille scored in the fifth minute of overtime for the Penguins and the series was head back to Washington (well Landover, MD to be exact). The next two games in the series will probably go down as the worst performances in Capitals history. They were outscored by a combined 10-1 and the season was over, just like that. To be so close to moving on with four leads in a closeout game only to watch 12 of the series final 13 goals go in against you was shocking.
That spring my High School got a new baseball coach which was good for me. I hated the previous coach as he had told me I would never pitch. I didn't throw hard enough and wasn't good enough. Way to build a player up coach! Tom Horn was our coaches name and he was a revelation. He taught me so much about the game that I realized. He focused on the details and how to take advantage of every situation. Our practices were completely different, they were organized, up beat and we were always learning. Skills sets were developed, confidence was instilled.
Most importantly though, Tom Horns' singular focus was improving the conditions of the field, how we looked and how we were perceived. We had no fence on the baseball field so we built one. Our field was rock hard and didn't hold water well so he imported 'Camden Yards' dirt and we replaced everything. He realized that the mound didn't line up with the plate so we dug that up and aligned it properly. He tore down the mound and built it up for a better angle. We cleaned out the shed that was next to the field and turned it into a clubhouse. We ordered new team cleats and were asked to polish them before every game. We ordered new jerseys because you have to look good to play good. When it rained we pulled out wet vacs to suck the water off so we could practice. We had conditioning practices before school. What was probably taken for granted at bigger schools were brand new to used and we relished in it.
That season I platooned in the outfield and only got to pitch two innings. I was told to practice and pitch a lot that summer to get a chance next season. Two of my classmates were already ahead of me for next year on the mound and our best player who was a grade behind me was probably going to be the third pitcher. If I didn't get better I wasn't going to get to pitch. As a team we lost in the first round of the District Tournament but we had a good feeling about next year with a full season under our belt as a real team.
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