The Great Dane

By Marshall Adesman

Back when we were all pre-occupied with Y2K ­ remember that? ­ we found ourselves bombarded with lists. It was like a "century-in-review," from all sorts of perspectives ­ top news stories, most memorable people, best films, etc. The sports world was perhaps as guilty as anyone, with ESPN doing their year-long series on the century's 50 greatest athletes, and BASEBALL AMERICA chiming in with their own series of lists, including some voted on by readers. 

All of which got me to thinking (always a dangerous pastime): based on my own twelve years in minor league baseball, what would I choose as my own Millenial Moment? 

It would have been easy for me to choose some historic event, like the famous home runs hit by Bill Mazeroski or Mark McGwire. Or Cal Ripken's record-setting 2131st consecutive game. Or the Mets' improbable 1969 World Series triumph. But I wasn't personally involved with any of these, other than as a spectator, and I wanted to pick something that had a little more relevance to me personally. 

This led me directly to Dane Ilertsen. 

I'd be surprised if any of you recognized his name, but he has always been one of my favorite ballplayers. A big, strong righthanded hitter from California, he played first base for the Amarillo Gold Sox in 1979. The Sox were the San Diego Padres' Double-A affiliate in the Texas League, and I was Assistant General Manager. He was our cleanup hitter and chief power threat, and he was also a man with a great sense of humor. In addition to my administrative duties I also served as the PA announcer, and I generally acted like your basic morning DJ, complete with bells, whistles, horns, kazoos, tapes for appropriate occasions, and a steady supply of jokes to keep the fans amused. While I, of course, was outstanding (ahem!), I often found myself playing to a small house: I believe we averaged fewer than 1,000 fans per night that year. In addition to the artificial noises, we used to do other things over the PA, one of which was to bark like a dog when Dane came to the plate (Great Dane, get it?). He loved it, and would occasionally even make suggestions for further silliness. 

We had gone into Amarillo in the fall of 1978, having taken over the operation from the previous owner, who was heavily in debt. We had very high hopes that our modern marketing techniques and youthful enthusiasm would turn things around, but that would eventually prove to be a pipedream. Amarillo is a wonderful town, full of active people who like to hunt and fish, travel, play softball and go bowling, but they don't like to just sit and watch. As a result, attendance was relatively low for a Double-A franchise, and some years later the team was eventually moved, first to Beaumont and then to Wichita, where it is now doing quite well. But at the beginning of the 1979 season we still firmly believed we could succeed, and scheduled a lot of promotions right from Opening Day. 

But nothing worked. Small crowds meant we weren't taking in nearly enough money to pay all of our bills, as well as the ones we inherited from the previous regime. John Dittrich, our owner/general manager, was rightfully concerned about our balance sheet, and so for early June we scheduled an Advertiser's Night. I love Advertiser's Night, it's a guaranteed winner. For everyone who has bought any ads from you ­ fence signs, program ads, insert ads, whatever ­ you give them a supply of free tickets to a particular game, and ask them to pass them along to their customers. "Just our way of saying thanks for being part of the team" we would tell them. So people come to the park for free, which does kill your gate for the night, but these fans generally bring their children and their appetites with them, which makes concession sales quite rewarding. On this particular Advertiser's Night we were not only hoping for the frequent ring of the cash register, we also wanted the people of Amarillo to experience the craziness we were offering at the ballpark so they would be inclined to come back throughout the summer. 

That night they did come out, well over 3000 in what proved to be our largest crowd of the season, and they got to see quite a ballgame. We were playing El Paso, an Angels farm club at the time, and they had an explosive offense. We were a .500 team, but on this night we hit like the 1927 Yankees. Unfortunately, we pitched like the 1962 Mets. As I recall, we jumped out to a good lead, and the fans were really getting into it... and then we gave it right back. But we pulled ahead again, only to let them tie it up. Pitching and defense were pretty much non-existent on this night, it was kind of like watching professional wrestling! At one point John came up to the press box, just as El Paso once again had runners racing around the bases. He started pounding the walls. "Our first decent crowd of the year and we're playing like this!" he screamed, though I think his exact words were a little more colorful. The thing is, though, the fans were enjoying the fireworks; as we have seen in the last few years, offensive pyrotechnics are exactly what the casual baseball fan prefers. But on this night John wanted to see our Gold Sox play well in all phases of the game so they would make a good impression on the people of Amarillo. 

There had been minor league ball in that old ballpark for more than thirty years. A screen went from foul line to foul line, preventing foul balls from coming into the stands. Many years before, fans had begun thrusting dollar bills through the fence when one of their boys would hit a home run; a player could pick up $20 or so for hitting one out. 

So we staggered into the ninth inning, trailing by a score of 16-15. (No, that's not a typo) But the fans were still there, rooting the Gold Sox on, and were excited when the first two men got hits, putting runners on first and second, bringing our boy Dane Ilertsen to the plate. Now, traditional strategy in this situation would call for a bunt, which would put both runners into scoring position. But Dane, as I mentioned earlier, was a big strong guy, and probably hadn't been asked to sacrifice since Pony League. He got the bunt sign anyway and stuck the bat out... strike one. Here's the stretch, here's the pitch, here's Dane trying to play little ball... strike two.  

Dane stepped out of the box to get the sign. Up in the press box we debated whether he'd be allowed to swing away, or if a play would be on, or what. Dane got back into the box, and when the pitch came in ­ "I honestly closed my eyes" he told me the next day ­ he swung and drilled the ball some 440 feet or so to dead center field for a game-wining three-run homer! The fans went berserk and rushed to the fence; later on, when Dane counted it up, he had over $120 in those big hands. 

It would be wonderful to say that his dramatic hit proved to be the turning point of our season; certainly Hollywood would write it this way. But in truth we remained a .500 club in the first half, and in the second half, after our starting shortstop and ace pitcher were promoted to Triple-A, we finished dead last in our division with a winning percentage of only around .300. And as I mentioned earlier, attendance never did pick up, although we did do somewhat better at the gate in our second season. John sold the team in the fall of 1980 but stayed on as GM for another year before moving on. A couple of months later I got the job as General Manager of Waterloo in the Midwest League, and unfortunately, although I still have friends there that I write to frequently, I haven't been back to Amarillo since. And Dane did move up to Triple-A but that was where his career stalled, and I guess he eventually went back to California, got a "real" job, raised a family, yadda yadda yadda. 

But I have many fond memories of my two seasons in the Texas Panhandle, topped by Dane Ilertsen's ninth inning home run. When I think of special 20th Century moments in my own baseball career, that's the one I think of first, and I'll bet Dane does, too, and it wouldn't surprise me if more than a couple of baseball fans in Amarillo, Texas wouldn't agree.