So, someone asked me about the Kaukauna Angels Legion baseball the other day, and boy, did that take me back. It’s funny, the things you remember from when you were younger, especially those summers spent on dusty fields, thinking you were a big shot.
I found myself tangled up with the Angels for a couple of seasons. Wasn’t exactly a star, you know? Far from it. Just a kid from around Kaukauna looking to play some ball after the high school season wrapped up. You showed up, you put your name down, and if you could manage to hit the ball occasionally and not look completely lost in the outfield, you generally got a spot on the roster. That’s how it seemed to go back then, anyway.
Day In, Day Out
The practices, man, those were something else. Out there in that sticky Wisconsin summer heat. We had this coach, old Coach Miller, a real hard-nosed guy. He believed in doing things over, and over, and over. We’d be out there fielding ground balls ’til our backs ached, running the bases ’til we were gasping. Sometimes, it felt more like a chore than anything fun. But then, you’d have a good hit in a scrimmage, or one of the guys would make a diving catch, and for a little while, it all felt pretty good.
The team itself? A real mix, like you’d expect. Some guys were genuinely good, really into it. Others, well, I think they were just happy to have something to do and hang out. But we mostly got along. You kind of had to, crammed onto that old yellow bus for away games, smelling of dirt and sweat.
- Those bus rides were always an experience. Usually too hot or too bumpy.
- I remember the wooden bleachers at some of those smaller town fields – felt like they’d collapse any minute.
- Playing under the lights, even if they were just a few wobbly old poles, still felt like a big deal to us.
I recall this one particular game. Not because we won some major championship – we were definitely not championship material that year – but for a different reason. We were playing some team from up north, can’t even remember their name now. It was scorching hot, the field was dry as a bone, and we were getting absolutely hammered. Morale was through the floor. I think I struck out looking twice that game. Just one of those awful days.
But then, old Jimmy Peterson, a guy who barely ever got off the bench, got put in to pinch-hit. It was the last inning, bases empty, two outs, game totally lost. And he just stood up there, took a couple of borderline pitches, fouled a few off, and then, somehow, he managed to poke a little bloop single right over the second baseman’s head. Didn’t change a thing about the game’s outcome. But the way he hustled down to first base, grinning, and the way the rest of us on the bench actually woke up and cheered for that tiny, meaningless hit… that was something. A little bit of spirit, even when it didn’t really count for much.
What Stays, What Fades
It’s weird what sticks with you from those times. All those Legion ball games with the Angels, you’d think I’d remember the final scores, or some amazing plays. Nah. Mostly just the feeling of being constantly tired and the smell of freshly cut outfield grass. We had this one kid on our team, let’s call him “Flash.” Everyone thought this guy was destined for greatness. Full of himself, you know the type. Strutted around the diamond like he was already playing in the majors. He got a small scholarship, went off to play some college ball somewhere. Last I heard, he was back in town, selling insurance or something like that. All that “can’t miss” talent, and it just sort of… fizzled.
Me? I ended up working in a foundry for a few years right after I finished school. Nothing glamorous, that’s for sure. Pouring metal, grinding castings. Incredibly hot, noisy, and the pay wasn’t fantastic. It was a lot like those Legion practices, in a way. You just had to show up every day, do what the shift foreman barked at you, try not to get hurt, and then go home absolutely drained. There wasn’t any cheering section when you got a clean pour, just like there wasn’t much glory in getting a walk against some pitcher from a town you’d never visit again. But you learned to just get on with it. That’s probably what I really got from all that baseball, more than any big lessons about “teamwork” or “building character.” Just the basic, stubborn habit of putting one foot in front of the other, even when it’s tough and dirty and nobody’s really paying attention to you.
So when folks bring up the glory days of Legion ball, I just sort of smile and nod. It was a part of growing up in Kaukauna, no doubt. Made a few buddies, learned how to deal with a bad bounce. Mostly, it just filled up a few summers. And sometimes, that’s all something really needs to do.
