Sophomore catcher Gavin Knoblich made two sterling defensive plays Monday as Coupeville nipped Chimacum 1-0 to move into a first-place tie. (Photos by JohnsPhotos.net)
Wolf hurler Matt Hilborn threw a gem, whiffing nine in a complete game shutout.
Games come and go, and, after awhile, a lot of them blur together.
But a couple of times in your life you’ll play in, or coach, or lose your voice screaming in the stands, at a game that transcends mere sports.
A slice of time when a handful of young athletes will seize the moment and deliver the kind of win which will still be talked about when they have grandchildren of their own.
Monday afternoon was one of those moments.
Blazing sun as far as the eye could see, barely a whisper of a prairie breeze and a truly dynamic 1-0 win for the hometown nine, as the Coupeville High School baseball squad drove a stake through the heart of Chimacum.
The win, the seventh in the last eight games for the streaking Wolves, lifts them to 4-1 in Olympic League play, 10-4 overall.
It also gets them payback for their lone loss in the last month (a 5-4 defeat in a rainstorm at Chimacum), moves them into a first-place tie with the Cowboys (4-1, 6-7) and eliminates Klahowya (1-5, 2-11), the defending league champs, from playoff contention.
Port Townsend (1-3, 1-8), which hosts Coupeville Wednesday, still has at least a mathematical chance at being one of the two Olympic League teams to make the postseason.
But there is little doubt the league crown is a two-team race, with the Wolves and Cowboys set to meet for a third and final time Friday.
That bout, like Monday’s tilt, will be on Whidbey.
Since Chimacum doesn’t play again until that day, it will have plenty of time to let the enormity of Monday’s loss sink in.
It was a superbly-played game, ultimately decided by a mere handful of plays, primarily the ones the Wolves made.
Start with Kyle Rockwell, the urban legend and fan favorite, who completed the trifecta with his third jaw-dropping play in as many seasons.
In football, it was a fumble recovery in the home finale, after he leveled a rival runner and forced the ball to pop loose.
Come basketball season, Rockwell was a beast in the paint, and his fourth-quarter rebound and put-back on Senior Night denied Klahowya a league title.
Monday the burly, good-natured guy, who has spent much of the season camped at first, was patrolling the far reaches of right field and just minding his business in the top of the seventh inning.
Exactly where destiny wanted him to be, come hero-making time.
Down to his next-to-last throw before WIAA pitch count rules would have forced his removal, Wolf hurler Matt Hilborn was hanging by a thread.
The junior pitcher had been brilliant all day, whiffing nine, with some of his biggest K’s ending innings, but now the tying run was at second and the Wolves were still one out short of a celebration.
The same restrictive pitch count rules left Coupeville’s mound ace, Hunter Smith, firmly fixed at short, unable to come to his teammate’s aid, even for one batter.
Chimacum, which had one solid hit to its credit, way back in the first, had gotten a man aboard on a one-out nubber that drifted an inch too far wide of the mound for Hilborn to make a play.
A bunt pushed the Cowboy runner to second, and then, a low voice, a whisper more than anything, crawled across the prairie. Surely you heard it.
“Mr. Spielberg, the light is perfect. We’re ready to make some magic, sir.”
Cue the camera, cue the cinematic finale.
Fan butts, very likely clenched to the point where they could produce diamonds, hung off the edge of every seat in the packed stadium.
Except for Wendi Hilborn, who was chewing her nails as she stalked circles around the stands, her eyes locked on her baby boy as he tugged as his hat and paced the mound.
Connie Lippo, having possibly lost her voice, rocked anxiously back and forth in the stands, a strained prayer sneaking out, beginning with “Dear Lord,” and ending with “just one flippin’ out.”
On the field, the cool cat twins, Smith and second-baseman Joey Lippo, turned, nodded slightly to each other and tensed for action.
That much of a nod for this duo? They were screaming, internally at least.
And way out in right field, Rockwell arched an eyebrow, chuckled to himself, and, possibly speaking to the ghosts of prairie ballplayers past, whispered “It’s hero time, baby.”
At which point the Wolves got that “one flippin’ out,” in grand fashion.
Hilborn pounded the ball across the plate, the Chimacum hitter launched an arcing shot to right and the Cowboy at second took off like a rocket.
If any of a million little things go wrong, they wouldn’t be building a statue to Rockwell right now.
But they are. Cause this was destiny and nothing went wrong.
Charging the ball perfectly, Rockwell caught the orb as it skipped off the grass, then fired it long, low and hard, dropping it on a dime right in front of Wolf catcher Gavin Knoblich, who was moving up the line towards third in anticipation.
The ball arrived, the sophomore backstop snagged it on the bounce, whirled and slapped the tag on the incoming Cowboy, using both hands and bracing for an impact that didn’t fully come.
Knowing he was (metaphorically) dead, Chimacum’s runner seemed to deflate two steps before reaching Knoblich, his uniform falling off his body as he melted like the Nazi’s at the end of “Raiders of the Lost Ark.”
The uptight Cowboys and their fans may have gotten the ump to deny PA announcer Moose Moran the chance to play walk-up songs for the Wolves, but they could not deny the power of a Rock Block.
Rockwell, for his part, was mobbed and beaten senseless by his delirious teammates, especially cleanup hitter Julian Welling, who after being intentionally walked twice, was just looking for a little action.
And what about that lone run, the difference between a 1-0 win and a scoreless duel between Hilborn and Chimacum chucker Isaac Purser?
It came in the bottom of the third and benefited from a bit of its own magic.
The Wolves were sitting with two outs and no one aboard when Lippo turned on a ball and beat it savagely, trying to knock the stitches off as he deposited it deep to center for a double.
After Smith sacrificed a chunk of his back to a wayward fastball, Coupeville loaded the bags thanks to what seems like a questionable call by Chimacum’s catcher.
A third strike on Welling skittered away from his mitt, bouncing slightly towards the third base side of the plate.
Scooping the ball up, the Cowboy receiver elected not to go for Welling, who was ambling for first, but instead tried to nail the quicksilver Lippo coming in hot at third.
Predictably, that did not work out the way he intended.
Given new life, the Wolves forced across what would turn out to be the lone run of the game when Dane “Eagle Eyes” Lucero eked out a bases-loaded walk.
Trotting home at a much-more leisurely pace, Lippo tapped home, giving Hilborn, Rockwell and Co. all they would need.
Not that the Wolves didn’t want, and probably need, more.
CHS had runners aboard in three other innings, getting a two-out, first-inning double from Smith and lead-off singles from Hilborn (5th) and Jake Hoagland (6th), but couldn’t bring them around.
Purser was strong for Chimacum, but Hilborn was stronger.
He whiffed Cowboys in six of seven innings, three times nailing two hitters in a frame and ending FIVE different innings with a K.
Hilborn, who also pulled off the successful post-game Prom proposal with Wolf hoops star Ema Smith, benefited from flawless defense from his teammates.
Not only didn’t they commit an error, they made inspired play after inspired play.
Smith pulled a liner off the top of the grass, Lucero made a superb snag on a ball that took a weird bounce at third and Knoblich was the front-runner for best defensive play before Rockwell arrived for his curtain call.
Knoblich lost the handle on a third strike and chased it to the backstop, but then shocked the world (and the Cowboy batter), by arcing an epic throw while rocking backwards.
The ball took off like it caught a ride on a 747, dropping out of the air at the last possible moment.
When it plopped down, it did so into a glove attached to the arm of Welling, who pulled it in while wearing a huge grin on his face.
It was that kind of day for the Wolves.
Magical.
