Chapter 2: Lake LaMonte

Rob Corsini making a throw in front of the ivy-covered right field fence

     “Hey Rich hey Rich, hum fire hum fire, hey Rich hum fire hum fire,” I chatter from shortstop as our lanky pitcher takes the stretch position to hold the Dunellen High School runner on third base with two outs in the top of the seventh and last inning.

“All right Jeskie,” calls catcher Matt Vischetti pointing an index finger down toward the right-handed hitter’s feet.

Hmph he groans delivering the pitch and the batter strokes a hard grounder to the left side of the soggy infield.  

     It had been such a rainy April that our opening day game at LaMonte Field had already been postponed twice. Much is made of the home field advantage and baseball statistics barely bear it out. The home team wins fifty-four percent of games, an advantage attributed to lack of travel, a home crowd, and batting second for a last shot at winning. What mattered more to us players was knowing the quirks of the field that we practiced on, and the Bound Brook High School field had plenty of them.

      Outfielders faced challenges at all three positions. Right field was crossed by a hard cinder running track that baseballs caromed off of. It was backed by a six-foot chainlink fence hidden behind a wall of English ivy. The savvy fielder could raise a hand to signal a ball lost in the foliage, stopping runners at their previous bases. A metal corner of a football bleacher poked into center field, forcing the player to line up on one side or the other. An astute center fielder could start out with their back to that projecting bleacher to be ready to go either way. A well hit lined drive to left-center field could roll the length of the football field unless the left fielder positioned himself deep in that endless hole. 

     The LaMonte infield was another story, wedged as it was into a corner of the field that had historically been a swamp before being filled and leveled. Several drainages coming off First Watchung Mountain confluenced into Carlton Creek below that trigon, leaving the grassy infield a swampy mess after rains. A berm of dirt at the front of shortstop kept water from running toward home plate, but that small ridge shot ground balls upward. The sun was out for our first game, but a chilly breeze coming off the mountain left bats so sluggish and balls so dead that no runs had been scored going into the last inning.

     “Got it!” I proclaim moving up to the berm as the batted ball splutters on the way toward shortstop.

“Shit,” I yelp charging onto the wet grass and gloving the water logged ball.

“Safe,” signals the umpire as the batter’s foot just beats my throw to Geiss at first base and the lead runner slides across home plate behind Matt’s planted foot.

     “God damned wet field today,” consoles first year Coach Arnie Martin in our post-game huddle. “On Friday just be on the bus to Immaculata by three fifteen.”

Final Score: Dunellen (4-0) 2 - Bound Brook (0-1) 1