Walk on by (Don't stop)
Walk on by (Don't stop)
Walk on by (Don't stop)
Throughout the annals of time, certain sporting events rank among the most famous, unforgettable and epic battles that have ever unfolded on the playing fields, ice, or rings of history.
The 1980 Miracle on Ice.
The 2004 Red Sox comeback.
Frazier vs. Ali.
Billie Jean King vs. Bobby Riggs.
The 28-3 Falcons Super Bowl premature drubbing of the New England
Patriots.
The Strawberry Hill little league baseball championship.
What’s that? You say you don’t
know about Strawberry Hill?
Then man, are you in for a treat.
If you’ve ever had the unique experience of running, walking, or just hanging out with our
crazy band of runners, known collectively as the E Streeters, it’s something that tends to stay with
you. An assorted band of brothers and
sisters, we first came together as basketball and volleyball teams fresh out of high school in the 1980s, and we’ve stuck together, and then started running together in groups on weekends for more than three decades, give or take a year.
Walk on, walk on
What you got they can't steal it
No, they can't even feel it
Walk on, walk on
The runs are usually loaded with inappropriate jokes to help
pass the time. Over the years, we’ve
seen our numbers include dozens of different participants, from all walks,
genders, ages, and talent levels.
And sometimes, during those runs, the stories that unfold in
the midst of the mileage reach epic proportions.
Such is the case of the 1976 Strawberry Hill baseball
championship, when a 12-year-old Chelmsford lad named John Piekos carried the
weight of the collective Chelmsford baseball world on his shoulders as his team the Mets played the Bears for the title.
His mother Anne, says she has a hard time remembering the specifics of that day. Likely because the ensuing years provided so many more athletic exploits among her offspring.
His sister, Anne Marie, believes she was the bat girl for the
team. But she too, seems to have blotted
out the event.
Barry Scanlon, the preeminent sports writer in the Greater
Lowell region, considers the legend one of the greatest he’s covered in his long
and storied journalistic career.
And John himself? Well, he’s too modest to discuss it, but might grudgingly recount some of the details with you if you’re fortunate enough to pass the North Chelmsford field during one of the morning runs that wind through that neck of the woods. Heck, he'll even share his Glory Days version of the event if you just want to talk baseball anywhere!
It's a scenario every baseball player dreams about being in - getting up to bat in the bottom of the last inning, the score tied, two outs, and the game comes down to you. All you need is a single and your team wins the championship
It's gonna be a long walk home
Hey pretty darling, don't wait up for me
Gonna be a long walk home
A long walk home
Today, that Chelmsford baseball legend, John Piekos, enters a new decade of life.
So on behalf of E Streeters near and far, best wishes for a happy birthday today to John, immortalized here with a poetic recounting of the most dramatic four pitches in baseball history, leading to a championship victory, and likely, some form of trophy, also lost to the ravages of time. Every word of this is true, or so John would lead us to believe.
Presented, for your enjoyment, Piekos at the Bat.
The outlook
wasn't brilliant for the Chelmsford Mets that day:
The game was the last this collective team would play.
The score was tied at four, the game was ending fast,
Two outs already recorded, who would make the last?
The all-star second baseman, John Piekos was his name,
He meandered to the plate and silence fell upon the game.
A straggling
few got up to leave in deep despair, hands clutched against their chests.
John’s father, coaching third, clung to hope inside his breast;
John’s sister Anne Marie, a gymnastic pro on the mat,
She and her mom Anne gasped “oh God, it’s Johnny’s turn to bat.”
The bases,
they were loaded, 'twas nowhere for John to go;
He sauntered to the plate, his tiny bat in tow.
The fans got to their feet, there was nobody could sit.
His team would win the championship if John could just manage a hit.
From all the gathered throats there was heard a nervous mix,
It rumbled through the valley, in that 1976.
It pounded Strawberry Hill ballfield and recoiled upon
the flat,
They could only stand in dread, for it was young John
Piekos, advancing with his bat.
There was
ease in young John’s manner as he stepped into his place;
There was pride in Johnny’s bearing but no smile upon his
face.
And when, responding to the cheers, he lightly doffed his
hat,
Many watching from the crowd asked can John even hold the bat?
Ten thousand
Bears eyes were on him as he rubbed his hands with dirt;
The Mets fans, they applauded when he wiped them on his
shirt;
Then while the writhing pitcher ground the ball into his
hip,
Defiance flashed in Johnny’s eye, a sneer curled on his
lip.
And now the
leather-covered sphere came hurtling through the air,
And Johnny stood a-watching it, he seemed to barely
care.
Close by the sturdy batsman’s head the ball unheeded sped—
"That ain't my pitch," said John. "BALL ONE!" the brave umpire said.
From the
benches, filled with people, there went up a muffled roar,
Like the beating of the storm-waves on a stern and
distant shore;
"Kill him! Kill the umpire!" shouted someone from the stand;
And it's likely they'd have killed him had John not
raised his hand.
With a smile
of Christian charity little Johnny’s visage shone;
He stilled the rising tumult; he bade the game go on;
He signaled to the pitcher, and once more the round sphere
flew;
And Johnny, he ignored it and the umpire screamed, "BALL
TWO!"
"Fraud!"
cried the maddened thousands, and echoes answered "Fraud!"
One determined look from Johnny and the audience said
“Dear God.”
They saw his face grow tense and cold, they saw his
trembling knee,
He stood there like a statue as the umpire yelled “BALL
THREE!”
The sneer
was gone from Johnny’s lips, his teeth were clenched in hate,
He pounded with cruel violence his bat upon the plate;
And then the pitcher palmed the ball, and quickly let it
go,
The Chelmsford air was placid with the lack of Johnny’s blow.
Oh,
somewhere in that Chelmsford town the sun was shining bright,
A band was playing somewhere, it really was a sight;
Bears parents they weren’t laughing, in fact they
couldn’t talk;
Four straight balls were thrown in Chelmsford — John Piekos drew a walk.
