The crowd slowly gathered on the turf field, milling around on the infield. Small children happily ran the bases, and rock music played over the stadium’s loud speakers. Just beyond the crowd the baseball team stood at attention, listening to their coach, George Horton.
It was a happy talk, unlike the 42 talks after losses last year. Unlike the talk that occurred on the same exact spot on May 24; Oregon’s last game of the 2009 season.
I remember where I was that day. I was standing in left field, watching the people walk around and take in the sight of the temporary grandstands. Horton and I had just finished talking, pretty much all of it about dissatisfaction, losing and growth. He was a disappointed man, and the 35 men he had coached for the past year were all shocked a season that had started with such promise, with such hope of a new beginning, were the same.
What a difference a year makes, huh? The crowd that was waiting patiently for the players this year was there to celebrate a different occasion.
A winning occasion.
Instead of 14 wins, 38 wins was the result. They didn’t know it then, but less than 24 hours later another result would reward them and the team: a bid to the NCAA Tournament. That was another joyous gathering of players and fans.
I was there for all of it and more. I was there for the very first game at PK Park, when Oregon beat the reigning national champions 1-0 on a walk-off single. I was there for the first series win, first Pac-10 series win at home, and a win over the No. 1 team in the nation in 12 innings.
I’ve spent a good portion of my last two years as an Emerald reporter in the confines of PK Park. I can’t express enough how much it has given me joy to watch baseball in the spring at my college. I graduated from high school right after Oregon State won its first national championship — a full year before Oregon would announce it was reinstating my favorite sport.
When the announcement finally came, it made a bunch of other baseball fans very happy. Then it turned up to another level that fall when, at halftime of the Houston football game on Sept. 1, Horton was introduced.
That day, coincidentally enough, was the same day I applied to be a freelance reporter at the Emerald. It didn’t run through my head at the time, but as I started to freelance club sports for the paper through the fall and winter, I realized I wanted more than anything to be a part of the inaugural season coverage. I lobbied to cover the club baseball team that spring, in hopes that if I was hired full-time, I would be able to somehow cover the varsity team.
Looking back, it worked out as planned. I was hired at the Emerald that spring, and the fall of my junior year I met Horton at Thurston High School during fall practice. Six months later, I watched from a tent on the top of the first base grandstands. This year, I became sports editor and enjoyed a second season from the press box.
I kept a scorebook of every game I went to. A habit I picked up when I was little. Last evening I leafed through some of the pages, remembering games or moments. One thing that was in every single one of those memories was happiness. I was doing what I had always wanted to do; something that I worked my ass off to get to.
That’s why Tuesday, when I entered PK Park for the last time as a student reporter to talk to some of the team and Horton before they left for Connecticut, I got a little sentimental. All the football games covered, the Rose Bowl, press conferences, hirings, firings, suspensions and the whole lot came to the forefront of my mind as I stared at the field. It was all ending, just like my time at the Emerald will end officially on Monday.
I went through my interviews with an acute knowledge of this. As I finished talking to Horton, I paused, hesitant about whether or not I should give my appreciation for what he’s done at the University, and how much I’ve enjoyed covering the team. I told him that Monday was my last day and that today was potentially the last time we would talk. He paused and shook my hand, genuinely disappointed. He smiled, then patted me on my arm and said some very kind things about the last two years.
I thanked him, turned and walked down the right-field line to the fence, out a gate and to my car. Horton’s kind words were all I needed to hear. I could do without the awards. That moment embodied what I strived for the last three years, and it helped me start to close a chapter of my life.
For me, there is no more fitting way to finish my time at the Emerald than covering the sport I grew up playing. It has been a great run. I will truly miss it. I know there will be other jobs in the future; other coaches to meet; other players to get to know. But nothing will compare to the three years I spent at the Emerald, where I met the best of friends and some of the best people there are in the world of Oregon sports and journalism.
Thank you.
[email protected]