University of Virginia Library

Relief Pitching

Wahoo Don's
Inferno

By John Maron

I don't remember much about the trip, how I got there,
when I was there, or how I got back. All I can recall is that,
one night between darkness and daybreak, I found myself
standing in front of a large gate carved from shiny black
marble and accompanied by two men. One, who was
introduced as "Don," was what I guess you would call a
traveling companion. He was a balding gent dressed in an
orange shirt and blue trousers who said hardly a word during
the Journey although the whole tour was primarily for his
benefit. The other man, a bespectacled fellow with thinning
dark hair, told us that he was to be our guide and introduced
himself only as "Blackie."

We were led through the marble gate, walked down a hill
through some trees and along a cyclone fence and found
ourselves on the Scott Stadium playing field. The stands of the
old stadium were deserted but, like the field, they were
littered with all varieties of debris. These assorted hot dog
wrappers and programs were being blown idly about the area
by what suddenly had become a mild breeze. The sky had also
become somewhat darker, making it easier to read the
scoreboard. "Guests 48, Virginia 10" flashed the small bulbs
before they winked out at the precise moment that our guide
directed us to a small, green aluminum building he called "The
Locker Room".

The building resembled greatly the home locker room at
the stadium with the minor exception that the sign over the
doorway, fluorescing in the room's darkness, did not read
"They are ours in the fourth quarter" as I remembered, but
instead carried the inscription, "If y'all had any hope when
you came in those doors, you can forget it now." Muffled
moaning and groaning sounds, I had dismissed them as the
whistling of the wind, suddenly became louder as the lights
flashed on.

The sources of the moans were easily identifiable,
Gathered in the small room, perched on benches, chairs and
rubdown tables, were all the Virginia football players injured
this season. Their injuries, however, had not as yet been
treated. I could see Billy Lanahan tucked away in a corner, his
football pants sliced away on one leg to reveal a knee swollen
to twice normal size. Leroy Still, a broken arm hanging
uselessly from his shoulders, was sitting in front of his locker,
staring vacantly towards the ceiling. They were all there, Gehr,
Michaels, Sroba, Williams, Land, Chris Brown, Sullivan, all
looking as if they'd just played a game lasting twelve quarters.
All were dirty-faced, all were drenched in sweat, all were in
obvious pain.

Just then Harrison Davis and Kent Merritt stepped from the
shower room. Davis, grimacing from the ache of his dislocated
thumb, wasn't wearing his usual confident smile only the
wide-eyed vacuous expression of the others. Merritt's
discomfiture over a shoulder problem was evident. "I think,"
said Don, now close to tears, "that we should go."

"As you wish" said Blackie and we walked from the
dressing room through the darkened stands to the stadium
box.

The lone figure in the box was a man of immense physical
stature I recognized as Dave Sparks, sports editor of the Daily
Progress. He was typing. On his typewriter was a "Sports With
Sparks" dated the Sunday after the Virginia-Duke game. I
picked out his famous sentence "(Mssrs.) Corrigan and
Lawrence have always tried to persuade me of the success of
their Virginia Way, I never really was convinced" and the
subsequent diatribe against Coach Lawrence.

"You rogue and peasant slave" I screamed, "You most vile
front runner. You who were most complimentary after the first
two wins. How dare you turn on this man. Consider the
injuries, consider the other problems. Give this man his fair
chance." Mr. Sparks could only chuckle.

"It's time we left," said Blackie and we walked in silence to
Alumni Hall.

Once in the Hall we went immediately to a secret room I'd
never seen before. Blackie said the magic incantation, "Three
and Eight", and the door swung wide. Inside was a large room
full of light and heat generated by several brilliant bonfires
strewn about the room. "This," said Blackie "is where I must
leave."

He took a seat in a director's chair surrounded by a ring of
flames where he was able to watch films of his six ACC losses
in 1970 on a projector and screen set-up. Scattered throughout
the room were ex-Virginia coaches Bill Elias, Chuck Voris and
Ned McDonald, all encased in fire and all viewing films of
Virginia losses. In a comer of the room was a vacant chair with
"Don Lawrence" written on the back. Films of the West
Virginia loss were now running. Mr. Lawrence turned to walk
towards the chair.