October is here, which means PLAYOFF BASEBALL. In this spirit, we’ll get a bit personal with this post involving one of my favorite playoff teams ever: the 2013 Connally Cougars. You might not have heard about this group on national headlines, but we were making it big in Pflugerville, Texas, I promise. It is often times said that the best stories are told and the strongest points are made when you’re speaking on a topic that proves close to your heart. As far as my philosophy goes, I like to speak of my experiences in a way that is entertaining and meaningful for my audience, whoever they may be. While this post won’t contain any larger than life names or events that will be recorded in history books, it will encompass a time and a team in which I will smile in remembrance of forever. If you’ll indulge me, I’ll attempt to show you why.
connally vs. everybody
I attended grades 9-12 at a school about fifteen minutes north of downtown Austin called John B. Connally High. We were part of the Pflugerville Independent School District that consisted of three high schools: Hendrickson, Pflugerville, and Connally. I cannot express enough the amounts of negative sentiment that we would receive from these two other schools (almost exclusively from the student body). While there is naturally always a rivalry between schools that share a district, it seemed as if we were the victims of a prejudice that was based on really a lack of knowledge of our school.
Connally was founded in 1996. The school’s districting map contained a number of neighborhoods with great variety, both ethnically and economically. For this reason, the John B. Connally I knew gave me insight to the personalities and rewards/challenges of many different kinds of people. Being there everyday and actively engaging in a positive way, I really enjoyed the atmosphere that my high school experience held. This same encouraging feeling toward Connally was not shared through the other two schools in our district, however. We were often called “ghetto” in ignorance. Albeit being in the same district as Pflugerville and Hendrickson, we were not viewed as equals.
(image by pfisd.net)
Now, understand that I am claiming a general observation that I found through my four years of experience. I had plenty of friends from these two neighboring schools and there were an abundance of good people. The schools and students that attended them were not hostile. I just didn’t appreciate the negative vibe that would be more often times than not be sent toward our school. Of course, the most amplified examples of this behavior would come during sporting events. Sports make people act in colorful ways when defending the teams and people they cheer for. In our case, when we won, it was, “Well, you still go to Connally, and that’s a loss in itself.” When we lost, it was “Connally sucks, y’all wish you could compete at a level that other schools can.” When we would give our two cents back, it was, “Connally doesn’t know what they’re talking about, they’re ghetto and ignorant.” Can you see where that would get tiring after a while?
In this sense, the situation was simple: Connally vs. the world. We were out to get the respect we deserved. No one wanted to see us succeed, and that was why it was mandatory. Through this never ending struggle of attempting to prove ourselves, I forged some of the closest friendships and memories that I will hold until I die.
scrappers
Reflecting the demographic of the students at the school, the Connally baseball team I played on for four years involved a group of guys that had to work hard for everything they earned. No one was blessed with a 90 mile per hour arm. No one was bred to hit lots of home runs in the same season. For this reason, we had to make opportunities for ourselves. This led to a general overlooking of our baseball program. From the outside looking in, there was nothing special about the Connally baseball team. There is something about being in this forgotten underdog situation that can really make or break a team’s character. There are two options of action in this type of circumstance: either roll over and let what everyone says become reality, or do everything in your power to break the spell and forge an identity.
(images from my personal Instagram, @murphnesss)
This type of scrappy, underdog persona became the foundation of a team that I will always regard as being the most close-knit group of guys I’ve had the pleasure of playing with. The connectivity and charisma of this team is what took us from being a mediocre ball club to a playoff contender. I really wish that you, the reader, could understand the type of guys that we had on that team. The Jeremy Sanchez’s, the Cedric Robertson’s, the Ben Green’s, along with countless others. Not only were they some of the funniest guys I’ve ever known, but they were also idols of humility and appreciativeness. Together, we accomplished some pretty cool things. Somewhere along the way, we jumped onto the “Harlem Shake” bandwagon and made our own video, which received close to 70,000 views. (I urge you to click the link- it’s a pretty entertaining video)
Our 2013 “Harlem Shake” video.
Think about the people and events during your time in high school that leave a warm feeling in your heart; that was what these guys were to me. Perhaps that was just my looking up to them being seniors as a sophomore, but many of the qualities that they possessed shaped how I would grow as a ballplayer and as a leader. I am thankful for many things, and that 2013 team is very high on that list.
He did what?
As I stated previously, this team became a playoff contender. The idea that we would actually have a shot at making playoffs began forming in our heads during the first games of District, specifically during a very dynamic game at the brand new Eastview High School in Georgetown, Texas. This game contains my favorite baseball memory that I personally experienced on the field. It involves a grand slam hit by one of the best human beings I’ve ever met.
Erik Herrera quit baseball on the first day that I showed up to the class during Freshman year. Before our coach said a word, he stood up and addressed everyone, saying something very similar to, “Guys, I want to say how much I appreciate y’all and these friendships that I’ve made, but I have to take a step back and deal with some family and personal issues.” As he left, he had tears in his eyes, and the guys that knew him were in shock. My first thought was, “Oh s#%$, I wasn’t expecting that.” From the start, I was hit with how much the program and the bonds that were made in it meant. Progressively, Erik fixed whatever his issues he was dealing with off the field, and began to work back in with us in attempt to earn a spot back on the team. When coach asked us if we felt he deserved a chance, the answer was quick and unanimous: yes.
(The best picture I could find of Erik batting. Yes, that’s my 2012 yearbook)
Playing in that Eastview game during sophomore year, I already carried enormous amounts of respect and appreciation for Erik. In only a year I had grown to look up to him as a role model for dealing with life from a genuine standpoint.
The story of the game went as so: we were winning 8-3, then they came back and tied the score, 8-8. We were shocked. We came into the dugout after they scored five runs in a very questioning mindset. Would we be able to respond? 8 runs is plenty of scoring and should’ve been enough to win the game. Could we scrape across any more?
In a game where everyone was hitting, Erik had struggled. He was 0-4 (meaning he did not have a hit in four attempts) with three strikeouts, and after his third one, I remember vividly him coming to the dugout saying, “Man, me and district just don’t mix.” In the top of the seventh inning (we only played 7 innings in high school, as opposed to 9 played in a standard major league game), he came up to bat with the bases loaded with 2 outs and the score tied 8-8. In short, it was crunch time in a vital game. On the third pitch of the at bat, he hit one of the farthest balls I’ve ever seen. The problem was that it was foul; it didn’t count. In the dugout, we all groaned. “Man, if only that was fair!” “What a moonshot.” On the very next pitch, he straightened it out and hit it over the fence. This time, it was fair, and all the runs scored. He put us on top, 12-8. We rushed to home plate and bombarded him as he scored. It was some of the most fun that I’ve ever had.
you are not supposed to be here
We would go on to win, 13-8, and chant “4-0!” on the way back to our bus. We were undefeated thus far in district. This type of success had not been seen as of late for the Connally baseball program; we were the Cinderella story, and we were enjoying every moment of it. We would go on to be the only team from the Pflugerville Independent School District to make the playoffs that year. I would be lying if I said that didn’t feel damn good.
We also sent two seniors to play in the Central Texas All Star game at the Dell Diamond that year. Our coach, Ryan Burns, was selected to coach that team as well. We made multiple headlines for our successful season. We had numerous all-district selections. In other words, we had made a name for ourselves. That was the biggest accomplishment of all.
Three years later, I still look back to that team and those guys frequently as models for how sports shape a group of people. We started with only ourselves and the support of our loved ones, and that proved to be all we needed. That year, Cinderella made it to the ball. She wasn’t wearing glass slippers, though; on her feet were roughed up Nikes.
The Case For Sports 