Eugene Emeralds offer entertainment
Not many fans seem interested in
showing up early.
On press row, KVAL sports director
Walt Fox regards the nearly empty
stands while lobbing peanut shells at
KEZ1 cameraman Tim Jacobson. Jacob
son’s mentor, sports director Todd
McKim, verbally imagines his 11 p.m.
word to his viewers: “The crowd arrived
so late, the game was over.”
What crowd has arrived at 7:15 p.m. is
scattered sparsely throughout the blood
red and electric-blue grandstand, known
officially as the Eugene Public Schools
Civic Stadium.
The Eugene Public Schools haven’t
spent a lot of time here since 1968,
though. While local high-school and
American Legion teams hit a ball around
the park every now and again, the
Eugene Emeralds of the Class A Nor
thwest League are the kings of Civic
Stadium.
Now, 15 minutes before the opening
pitch, more than a thousand faithful are
scattered throughout the grandstand.
They munch nachos and hot dogs, and
wash them down with RC, Bud or Coors
(depending on the individual’s age, taste
and/or socio-political leaning.)
They seem laid-back, almost to the
point of lethargy. There is little discerni
ble crowd reaction as Bruce Morton an
nounces starting lineups. Tonight’s op
ponent: the Bend Phillies.
Morton, now in his third season as the
Emeralds’ park announcer, turns from a
polite rundown of the Bend lineup to a
rollicking introduction for the Emeralds.
Spanish surnames roll off his tongue
with rolling r’s and other inflections that
befit a World War II-era radiocaster in
The Emeralds' reserved section usher
Pete Peters blames the team's poor
record on the players’ youth.
traducing a Latin dance orchestra.
By day, Morton is news director for
KEED radio. He calls his Emeralds job "a
nice release at the end of a long news
day.”
Attraction is more than the game
In the booth to Morton’s right can be
found a contrasting picture. For Pat
O’Connell of Bend’s KPRB-FM, this is a
job as well as an adventure. O’Connell
runs the show himself, including play
by-play and statistics, for the whole nine
innings. No one else in the press box
pays him much mind.
No one but Sandy Douglas, that is.
Douglas is a press box attendant — “a
go-fer,” she says. She is on hand to run
errands for the press row gang. She br
ings food and drink, the names of um
pires and players not listed on game
rosters and a touch of big-city efficiency
and comfort to the press box.
Douglas, a City of Springfield
employee and mother of two, enjoys the
job and contact with Emeralds fans. “I
might make this a career,” she says. "I
don’t know much about the finer points
of baseball, but I enjoy the game. . .the
atmosphere... the regulars who come
game after game. And it’s good exercise,
besides.”
A fan approaches Douglas with a
message: there is a Porsche in the park
ing lot with lights aglow. Douglas relays
the message to Morton who relays it to a
chuckling audience. “If they can afford a
Porsche, they can afford a dead battery,”
grunts one fan.
Meanwhile, the game has begun,
before a somewhat larger but still pretty
quiet crowd. One lone and feeble “boo”
greets the first Bend batter to approach
the plate.
Three batters later, a slick-fingered
Phillie lets go of the bat as he swings.
The bat goes flying into the Bend
dugout, scattering players and coaches.
The incident incites the most vocal reac
tion so far from the fans.
That flying bat was just what the doc
tor ordered to wake these folks up. The
crowd at last comes alive, and from this
point on it seems like more of a ball
game.
Hawkers circulate throughout the
stands peddling munchies and
beverages. Among them are two young
men in Eugene baseball jerseys, selling
cans of beer from small ice-filled garbage
cans. “Coldest brew in town,” says
Roger Blakeley as he pours the
customer’s Oly into a plastic cup (cans,
after all, make good projectiles late in a
ball game).
Blakeley is a Leisure Studies major at
the University. This job is his way of ear
ning a few bucks and learning about pro
fessional sports concessions from the
ground up. He buys his wares from the
ball club and keeps what he earns in the
grandstands.
“I’ll work 31 days this season and
average about 20 bucks a night,’
Blakeley says. “On some nights I’ll see
as much as $00. It’s a good learning
experience.”
Three-and-a-half innings have passed
The Phillies have rolled up a 9-2 lead
over the Emeralds. One box-seat far
knows why: “(The Emeralds) can’t gel
the ball from the outfield to the base;
quick enough.”
Another one projects, “They can’t ge
any worse — only better.”
Pete Peters, an usher in the reserved
section behind home plate, rationalizes
the Emeralds’ poor showing thus far in
the season. “Those boys are young, and
they’ve got the jitters,” he explains.
“That boy on third base (Luis DeLos San
tos) is only 17 years old.”
“I’d rather see this age group (16-19)
play than any other,” says Peters, a
former high school and Eugene Sports
Program coach. “These boys are bound
to get better this season.”
Many fans seem willing to wait until
try falls short.
“Give her another chance,” yells the
crowd. Kimberly gets another chance.
The ball hits its mark. The crowd roars.
Kimberly leaps about ecstatically.
Proud daddy Steve Mokros explained,
“She couldn’t figure out why that guy
was yelling at her. She got shy.”
Kim had no comment.
That might well sum up the final inn
ings of the game. Bend rolls off three
runs in the top of the ninth. The crowd
begins filing toward the exits. Yet, there
is suprisingly little acrimony toward the
Emeralds from the crowd.
Beer hawker Roger Blakeley pours out another cool one fordwo thirsty fans.
Blakeley packs his beer around the grandstand in a small ice-filled garbage can
to insure fans of the “coldest brew in town. ’’
later in the season to see it happen.
Tonight’s announced attendance: 1,064.
A thundering roar, from human
diaphragms and pounding feet on steel,
emerges from just above the vistors’
dugout. Morton has just announced the
presence of a team from the Overtime
Tavern that played a pregame benefit ex
hibition, for the Eugene Sports Program,
against a team of KZEL-FM disc jockeys.
“We won 15-1, or something like
that,” chuckles a burly Overtimer. “We
quit keepin' track at about that point.
Besides, it was all for a good cause.”
Emerald catcher Lou Puentes raps a
grand slam homer in the bottom of the
fifth inning to give Eugene what will
turn out to be its final run of the night.
But the crowd briefly senses a turning
point in the contest. “Home run, home
run,” the Overtimers chant the next time
Puentes approaches the plate. “Take a
pea shooter and w'ake up the ump,"
shouts an elderly man.
The big late-game excitement comes
when the McDonald’s “Strike-O” con
test board is hauled onto the infield. Lit
tle Kimberly Mokros, 2 years old, is
given a chance to win a free Mcburger by
pitching a softball through the ’O’ from
about two feet away. Overwhelmed by
the challenge, a teen-ager coaxing her
from inside the ‘O’ and 1,064 other peo
ple shouting encouragement, Kimberly
freezes up. Finally, after a preteen boy
shows her how its done, Kimberly
decides to give the game a shot. Her first
Jacobson, who grew up here and
remembers seeing Greg Luzinski and
Mike Schmidt suit up in Emerald green,
says, “It’s the only game in town. People
like to come out, especially on beer
nights, get ripped and watch good
baseball.”
Family man Mokros had a more sedate
explanation. “For the money, the
amount of entertainment you get is good.
On a warm summer evening, it’s good to
get out and watch the national sport.”
Civic Stadium is strictly small-time
compared to Chavez Ravine or the
Astrodome. But for many of the 18 men
on the field, it’s the first step toward the
big leagues. And the 1,064 who came out
tonight — early or late — got a real
bargain for the cost of admission.
No, it wasn’t a stellar performance by
the Emeralds tonight. But the season is
still young. The Mets bounced back in
'69, all the way to the top if you recall.
The Emeralds really didn’t look piad —
Bend just looked awful good.
The season’s still young, though. Like
the Mets of old, the Emeralds may well
be the NWL “Boys of October.” Time,
and practice, will tell.
As Tim Jacobson says, it’s the only
game in town.
Photos by Michael Clapp
Story by Mike Sims
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