America's
pastime
The SLO Blues deliver entertainment and a nostalgic sense of community
BY GLEN STARKEY
PHOTOS BY CHRISTOPHER GARDNER
Fourth of July picnics, neighborhood block parties, small-town parades - these are the events that define American life, those moments when everyone sets aside their differences, where four generations mingle effortlessly, where celebration, patriotism, and socializing combine into a shining moment devoid of everyday worries. Sadly, these moments seem few and far between, but one place you can experience Americana nostalgia on a regular basis is Sinsheimer Park anytime the SLO Blues semipro baseball team takes the field.
Watching the boys of summer run onto that green field, cocky and towering in their crisp uniforms, hearing an a capella rendition of the national anthem belted out by a local singer as fans young and old stand reverently with hands over hearts, hearing the ump's voice call out "play ball!" - pure magic, I tell you.
Team owner Tim Golden revived the team in 1994 after it had drifted rudderless since 1983. In fact, before Golden took the reins, the team had experienced one false start after another, each time ending after a short run due to financial insolvency. It seemed that no one was interested in seeing live semipro baseball in SLO County, though that wasn't always the case.
 |
TAKE HIM OUT TO THE BALLGAME |
Shortly after World War II, in 1946 to be exact, a San Luis Obispo man named Sandy Leguina, since deceased, decided the town needed some entertainment, and the returning vets of the war were the ones to provide it.
New Times interviewed the then-79-year-old Leguina in 1994 when Golden first jump-started the Blues.
"I was playing for the Santa Maria Indians at the time," said Leguina. "The San Luis City Council took me aside and said, 'Why don't we have our own team?' I said, 'You'll have it. I'll start it.'"
And he did, though it was no easy feat. Due to war shortages, no uniforms were available save a set in North Hollywood, and even those were sans caps and socks. Then there was the field problem. Where were the Blues going to play? Leguina approached the SLO Mission priest, who gave the team the go-ahead to play at the Mission Prep field.
"It was nothin' but a gravel pit," recalled Leguina, who organized the building of a fence with business sponsors, which resulted in a profit for the team. "We worked every goddamn angle there was. You can't imagine. And it drew like hell. The town just went crazy for baseball."
Players' wives ran the concession stand, and to smooth out the field Leguina would drag it in his Cadillac. Eventually the field was sodded.
"The city council tried to charge us for the water to water the ball field," said Leguina. "I said, 'You have a lot of guts. You ask me to start a baseball team and then you want to charge us for the water!' They billed us for it, but we never paid it.
"Then we decided we had to have lights. The Santa Maria Indians had them, so we had to have them, too. We started checking around and found out the wire wouldn't cost us nothing. It would just disappear from the PG&E storeroom."
 |
STRIIIIIKE! |
As many as 2,000 would show up for the games - not bad for a town of then 12,000. If the current Blues team drew similarly, that would mean 7,500 people! (Instead, most of this summer's Blues games average about 500 spectators.)
By the mid '50s, the Blues' popularity began to wane, mainly due to new entertainment competition in the form of television. Soon the team couldn't pay its bills and disappeared. The team was revived off and on, but the crowds didn't come and no one had the business acumen to keep the team going, at least until Tim Golden came along.
"That first game in 1994, I was expecting 100 or maybe 150 people, but 600 showed up," recalled Golden recently. "I was absolutely shocked. I had to keep making runs to Smart & Final for more food."
Over the last decade, Golden has built the team into something special. About 1,200 showed up for opening day this season. The last three years, the team has made it to the national showdown in Wichita. They came in third place in 2002. This year's team is his best, according to Golden, who's also coaching this season.
About a dozen friends and I hit a late-afternoon game a couple weeks ago and were treated to a slice of Americana heaven. I arrived about 5:45 p.m. for the 6:05 game, and Sinsheimer Stadium was quickly filling up with baseball fans as announcer Scott Cusick introduced each team's roster.
Right before game time, local 14-year-old singer Rachel Hough delivered a moving rendition of the national anthem, and I couldn't help but feel my heart creeping into my throat as everyone turned to face the flag, hands over their heart. Sappy? Sure, but there's something about baseball that taps into what is quintessentially American: competition, camaraderie, and community.
The Blues took the field and the crowd sent up a rousing yell. That night our team faced the North Coast Hammers, who turned out to be worthy opponents, scoring three runs in the first inning and forcing the Blues to play catch-up the rest of the game.
The action was impressive, and the tension never let up. In the bottom of the ninth, the Blues were down 3-6 but had just one out with runners on first and second. Quentin Cate, who represented the tying run, swung and struck a line drive to third. The crowd roared, went momentarily silent, then deflated completely when a double play resulted, ending the game, dashing our hopes. No two ways about it: That's great baseball!
"In any given Blues game, you may see eight or 10 Major League plays," said Golden. "In a Major League game you'll see 26. High school ball you may see one Major League play a year. We've got a right fielder now, Jimmy Van Ostrand, a 20-year-old who's been drafted by the Phillies, who's been throwing guys out at third. He's got a gun on him! Last Friday night's game ended in a triple play."
Even if you don't like baseball, the Blues games are a great way to spend an afternoon or evening. The food's good. I plowed through nachos, a burger, and a chicken sandwich, not to mention more than my share of beers.
Kids seem to love it, too, even if they don't know what's going on, and the Blues go out of their way to keep the kids interested. For instance, every kid in the stadium is invited onto the field to remove their shoes, which are then tossed out into center field. They race from home plate out to center, find and put on their shoes, and race back. The real fun, however, is the bat spin, where kids hold a bat to the ground, and head-to-bat spin around until dizzy, then try to race around the bases. This is great entertainment for the adults, too.
 |
FOUNDING FATHER |
"Families love it because - come on - where else are you going to keep the kids entertained for three hours?" asked announcer Scott Cusick. "The parents can relax and have a beer, and there's plenty of other kids around for theirs to play with."
During the game I attended, sitting in the corner of the left-field side of the stadium was Joe Navoni, center field and founding member for the original Blues team. Navoni was one of several team members who worked for the SLO Garbage Company, and he stayed with the team from its inception in 1946 until it first disbanded in 1956. Navoni sat with his grandson and great-grandson, perfectly representing the generation-spanning effects of baseball.
Looking out at the current Blues team, did Navoni think the original team could have beaten them?
"I think we'd beat 'em, sure," boasted Navoni. "People forget, these are still kids, but we were grown men who'd just gotten out of the service. We'd done it all."
The new SLO Blues are halfway through their 11th season, tying the original
team for the longest continuous stint. The team's success is due to two
things: Tim Golden, whose love of the game has driven the Blues through
a decade of semipro action with no end in sight; and perhaps more importantly,
the public, which despite all odds has embraced this cockamamie idea of
a local team in the age of
a half-dozen ESPNs.
There's something pure and unspoiled in semipro baseball, where salaries and endorsements play no part, where players run out on the field out of sheer joy, players whose whole lives are ahead of them, players on their way up, still filled with the childlike joy of catching their first pop fly, running down a bouncing grounder, taking their cuts and connecting, racing around the bases because they know they're going somewhere, somewhere good.
"I love what I do. I love it," said Golden, and I know he's telling the truth. He talks with passion about "the game," lauding his players with hard-earned kudos, talking about Wichita, this weekend's "Best of the West" tourney, which he hopes will eventually replace Wichita's National Baseball Congress World Series as "The Place" for semipro teams to prove their worth.
I watch as the players' shadows lengthen on the field, as the lights go on in the stadium. Leaning against the back fence, I watch as the baseball fans in front of me turn into silhouettes. On the well-lit field below, players scramble in the waning innings of what has been a great game. It's summertime, I'm at a ballgame, and I can't think of a better place to be. ³
Glen Starkey played catcher.
News Editor Daniel Blackburn can be reached at dblackburn@newtimesslo.com.
 |
