Tom Lahart and ‘The Big Red Machine’
 |
| The Reds: 1979 Kingston Little League National League Champs. Coach Tom Lahart is at far right. |
Kingston Little League coach left his players with
lasting memories
My old Little League coach,
Tom Lahart, passed away last week. I played for him in Kingston from 1978-1980.
That’s a long time ago, but with his passing, he’s been on my mind a bit over
the past few days. He was a good guy, a fine baseball coach and someone that
had a lasting impact on my life.
I was 10 years old in the
spring of 1978 when I found out that the Kingston Little League team that had
selected me to play for them was the Dairy Queen Reds. I had moved to Kingston
from South Wilkes-Barre in 1976, and though I had played one year of baseball
at St. Therese’s, I was not by any means a polished baseball player. I was a
quiet and shy kid, and though - because I had a “Johnny Bench Batter-Up” pitching
machine in the backyard - I could hit OK, I could not for the life of me catch
a fly ball.
Mr. Lahart taught me how.
The Reds practiced often. We
practiced on cold spring days on fields all over Kingston. When he was teaching
his outfielders how to play the position, Mr. Lahart would put us in
the outfield and he would stand in the batter’s box. He’d then point to you
with his bat, to let you know this one was for you, and he’d then toss the
ball in the air and hit it in your direction. He was good at it, and he’d
always loft you a nice, soft, high fly ball. I, however, was much too
eager. As soon as he’d hit a ball towards me, I’d start charging in for
it at full speed. And it would always land about 30 feet behind me.
 |
| 1978 Kingston Reds |
Mr. Lahart fixed that. He
taught me how to hold my ground, read and track the ball, and go catch it.
Two years later, in my final year of Little League, I was the starting left
fielder in an All-Star game.
Thank you, Mr. Lahart.
One of my fondest memories of
my All-Star season does not involve a game, but a practice. Once the All-Stars
had been selected by the coaches in the league, the practices were pretty
intense. There were about 15 kids competing to be one of the nine starters, and
at the final practice before the big game, one of the assistant coaches who was
pitching batting practice was really dealing. He was challenging us with some
serious heat in what was essentially a simulated game, and as I stepped into
the batter’s box with two strikes, my teammates started busting me that I
was about to whiff.
 |
| 1980 Kingston Reds |
I launched the next ball not
just out of Kingston’s Memorial Field, but into Janjigan Field, which sits
behind it.
I was the only one on the squad to hit one out
during all of the All-Star practices we’d had, and with that swing, I had made
myself a starter. But what I remember the most about it was walking away from
the field with Mr. Lahart after practice. It was just the two of us, and I
think he was proud that one of his Reds had shined. I’d actually, at that
point, never hit a ball over the fence before – I just don’t think I was quite
strong enough at the time – but he told me he thought I was quite capable of
it, and that I probably could have done it many times. Perhaps it was
the competition at the practices that raised my game. Or maybe, as I was playing my
final games as a Little Leaguer, I was finally developing into a better player. All I
know for sure is that my coach believed in me. And that meant something.
Thank you, Mr. Lahart.
 |
| 1980 Kingston National League All-Stars, managed by Tom Lahart |
In my first year with the
Reds, Mr. Lahart taught me how to play. In my final year, I was one of his best
players. But neither of those seasons is the season that I remember the most.
It was my middle season playing for him, in 1979, when we had the best team. We
were led by Mr. Lahart’s son, Eddie, who was not just the best player on our
team, but probably the best player in the league. He was only a year older than
me and he was my teammate, but I looked up to him. We all did. If Mr.
Lahart could take a skinny and clueless kid like me and turn him into a decent player,
you can imagine what he was able to do with his own son. Eddie was our star and
he led us to a 15-3 record and the Kingston National League Championship. We
were a pesky, scrappy team, and when we squared off in the Kingston World
Series against the undefeated 18-0 American League Champion Yankees, nobody
gave us much of a chance.
Except Mr. Lahart.
He believed we could win and
he certainly made us think so. We were Kingston's version of the “Big Red Machine,” we were not intimidated
by anyone, and in Game 1 of the best of three series, we beat the mighty
Yankees. It seemed like the whole town was there watching those games, and
thinking back, it still feels pretty good to have stunned them all. They were
good times. Our moms became our biggest fans, the “Radical Reds,” and they all arrived
at one of the games on a float. Our dads watched with appreciation,
trusting in their sons under Mr. Lahart’s guidance. I can still remember in the
dugout before Game 2, he told us that the Yankees were probably still pretty shocked
that we beat them in Game 1, and that if we could come out and get an early
lead in Game 2, they might panic and fold, and we could wrap things up that
day. But it was not to be. The Yankees were not 18-0 for no reason. They had
some fine players and they were also well coached, and they beat us to even the series.
Game 3 would be for all the
marbles.
I remember it like it was
yesterday. “Are you nervous?” asked my Dad, as he drove me to the field. “No,”
I said. “Good,” he said. Mr. Lahart had us ready to play, but what happened on
that warm summer night is still to this day the most heartbreaking loss I’ve
ever been a part of on any field.
It was the bottom of the
sixth inning, which in Little League is the equivalent of the bottom of the 9th.
We had a one run lead. There were two outs. The Yankees had runners on
second and third. There were two strikes on the batter. The crowd was loud. A
strike, or any type of groundout or pop out, and we were the champs. A base hit,
and the Yankees were the champs. It was about as good of a baseball game as you
will ever see. I was in left field, fully anticipating a strikeout. I was
expecting to be tossing my glove high in the air and running into the infield
and mobbing my teammates, just like you see MLB players do after the final out
of the World Series. But that’s not what happened.
The pitch got by the catcher.
The tying run scored from third.
The catcher could not find
the ball. It had gotten stuck under the backstop. He frantically looked around
for it as Eddie, our pitcher, ran in to cover home while yelling and pointing
to where the ball had lodged.
Too late.
The winning run scored. All the way from second base.
We lost the World Series. On
the last pitch. Because two runs scored on a past ball.
We were heartbroken. And,
because we were still just little boys, we cried.
 |
| Base of trophy from the 1979 Reds, Tom Lahart's best team |
My son played t-ball this
year, and though he played his home games in Larksville, he had a few “road”
games on the fields in Kingston – the same fields that I played on more than 30
years ago. And every time we went there, I thought about the things I have
written about here today. I thought of Mr. Lahart.
I have been asked if, next
year, I would like to serve as a coach on my children's team, and I have already
said yes. I think it will be fun to help teach young boys and girls how to play the great
game of baseball, and I know that if I’m ever stuck on something, I can
draw on some of the things I learned from my old coach: How to track a fly ball.
How to prepare for a big game. How play with confidence, but not cockiness. And
how to display good sportsmanship. And I will know that the many hours spent, volunteering time with those kids, is not being done in vain,
and that decades later, some of them still might appreciate it.
I know I do. And I always will.
Thank you, Mr. Lahart.
