One day you'll look to see I've gone
For tomorrow may rain, so I'll follow the sun
Growing up in Stamford, CT, an old baseball town, my young baseball career was full of characters - larger than life, you couldn’t make them up, made for Hollywood, characters. Walter Matthau’s coach Morris Buttermaker in the 1976 film The Bad News Bears would have fit right in. Our coaches smoked in the dugout, cursed like sailors, sometimes faced felony selling of illegal fireworks charges, and generally taught us baseball with old school methods and what passed for baseball wisdom.
As I got older, I started to notice the umpires as characters too. Especially as I started to pitch, I would get to know who was behind the plate. And behind the plate more than anyone in Stamford was Nick Koules. Remembered in his obituary as “a veteran umpire and basketball referee who made himself a legend in the local sport scene by officiating well into his 80s with a unique and gruff style”, Nick held a special place in every pitcher and catcher’s heart. He was a mainstay who everyone knew, and who treated the game and its participants with respect - (and if you did the same, he might give you a few inches off the plate when you really needed it).
So when I started umping seven years ago at age 43, it was both a shock and comfort to meet Richie A. At the time just finishing his 60’s, Richie was an umpire in the exact mold (well, a similar mold anyway - they broke Nick’s) as Nick Koules. Everyone knows Richie and everyone has a Richie story. Coaches, players, parents, administrators, assignors, partners - if you don’t have a Richie story, and you’ve been involved in baseball or softball in Western Connecticut in the last 30 years, you weren’t paying attention. And Richie is every bit the equal personality of the baseball characters I grew up with in Stamford (perhaps with a bit more integrity than the felons).
My favorite part of umping with Richie was his first called strike. Nothing would wake up a sleepy 8AM game like that “STEEEEEEERIKE! ONE!” that bellowed out of his small frame like a fire alarm. That energy never went away. In the seventh inning, those booming strikes would keep coming.
And woe to the coach who didn’t follow the correct protocol when dealing with an umpire’s judgement. Richie let them know where they stood, and where they stood was either back in the dugout, or out in the parking lot. After one loud confrontation arguing a tag at home with our hero, a third base coach attempted to appeal to me for sympathy…I told him “coach, you threw a clipboard and audibly cursed, and you’re still in Richie’s game - he’s gone sweet on you for some reason. I’d stop talking, like now.”
But more than the sometimes brash or gruff character he was on the field as an official, he was also a great mentor. Richie would deliver his honest feedback of his partner’s performance with sage advice for improvement, and softened with a story about how someone else was even worse. And he was fun to hang out with. Whenever I was partnered with him I knew he would be there first, sometimes an hour before the game, sunning himself in a chair in the parking lot, waiting for me to arrive to share stories and prepare for the game. He always had something to share and it never failed to be entertaining or informative.
On the field, he was a solid partner. He knew the game and knew how to work in a crew, getting the best game out of his partners. As a member of our umpire association, he served for many years on our leadership board as treasurer, and as a valued voice of experience.
Today, I got to umpire my last game with Richie. He’s moving on in less than two weeks to follow the sun with his wife to Florida, where he can golf and umpire as much as he wants, all year long. Our game today wasn’t particularly memorable (though I’ll be feeling the fourth inning fastball to the groin I took for a while - Richie checked on me, but I could see him chuckling). But the time in the parking lot, both before and after the game - that was classic time with Richie. I got there so early in anticipation I actually beat him there. But when he showed, I got the stories. Stories about his last game, stories about his move, stories about his life. I will miss those times in the parking lot. Before and after the game. I will miss the time with him on the field. I will miss him terribly, as will many in CT baseball and softball. We all wish him nothing but the best.
Weather permitting, his last game in CT will be at my daughter’s high school, with her at third base. And I will be there. Rooting for them both.
Richie A (left) receiving an award from our President Steve (right) at this year’s annual meeting