[mattsey9]

When I was 15, playing Babe Ruth baseball, my Clinton State Bank team faced off in a one-game playoff against the Moose Lodge for the 1st-half championship. The winner was guaranteed a berth in the year-end championship game. I played pretty much everywhere but pitcher and catcher that season, and for the title game I was stationed in left field.

I think we played 7 inning games, so in the top of the 7th we were trailing by a run and were in trouble. Moose had the bases loaded with two out and their heavy hitter, a kid named Boomer, was coming up. Things looked bleak when Boomer launched a blast to the gap in left-center field. It was a sure triple if it landed, and likely an inside the park homerun if it got by me.

It didn't.

On a dead run, just shy of the warning track, I made a leaping backhanded catch of the drive. I stumbled, did a shoulder roll, and jumped up holding my glove high in the air with a death grip on the ball. I ran back towards the infield where Boomer was standing on second base with an incredulous look on his face. He gave me a high five and congratulated me on the catch. I got a huge ovation from the stands as I got back to the dugout.

But we were still losing by a run.

Somehow, we got guys on 2nd and 3rd with one out. I came up dreaming of a game-winning hit, but instead flew out to left deep enough for a run to score to tie the game. The next hitter, Jim, lined a single to right, and we had won.

The next day at church, the dads were discussing the game among themselves. I eavesdropped, and learned that while Jim's hit was the game winner, everyone in attendance allowed that my catch was really what won the game. I will never forget hearing that if I live to be a hundred. 35 years later that memory remains vivid.