By Jerry Briggs
Special for The JB Replay
I’ll always remember the images of young ball players in the San Antonio Dodgers’ cramped clubhouse at V.J. Keefe Field in the late 1970s. I remember distinctly that some of them, at the time, would talk about a decade-old, country-rock song by John Fogerty and Creedence Clearwater Revival.
“Lodi” was a bluesy number written in the 1960s that told the tale of a down-on-his-luck musician. One who showed up in a small, Southern California town for a one-night stand, only to spend months there, broke, and lamenting elusive good fortune on the trail to stardom.
Some of those ball players, I suppose, really did suffer from the blues.
The players who dreamed of days and nights at Dodger Stadium in Los Angeles, who instead seemed forever tethered to a minor-league existence that ranged from Class A Lodi in the California League to Double-A San Antonio in the Texas League. They could get down on themselves, I suppose.
But I don’t really remember that about Mickey Lashley, a one-time, eighth-round draft pick of the Dodgers. No sir. My best memory of Mickey? I remember him as an upbeat guy who brought positive energy to a minor-league clubhouse on the West Side of San Antonio in 1979.
Years later, in the 1990s, he brought the same intangibles in helping to start a fledgling baseball program at UTSA.
Sadly, as UTSA announced Saturday morning, Mickey Lashley died on June 13 at the age of 70. I didn’t know Mickey well, by any means. So, why am I writing this? Why does his passing strike such a chord with me this morning? Well, part of it is that he and I were about the same age. Born in the same year. Lashley in rural Oklahoma. Me in Midland, in dusty West Texas.
We were only passing acquaintances, sure, but we both sort of grew up together in the game, in a sense. Lashley was born in in 1954 Muskogee, Okla. Grew up in Bartlesville. Played in the mid-1970s for the University of Oklahoma Sooners, who made seemingly annual treks to the College World Series in that era.
My family moved to San Antonio in the 1960s. I played here when I was a kid and always loved the game. When I first crossed paths with Mickey at V.J. Keefe in 1979, I was a 24-year-old sports writer and he had already become a big-time presence in the game.
Me? I was driving my dad’s old Volkswagen beetle in my second year out of journalism school. Working for the old San Antonio Light newspaper, I thought I was big time, but I wasn’t, really. Man, I did well just to make it through a summer day. From home to the ball park, to the office and then back home every night. I still wonder how my stories ever made the paper.
For me, a good day started with a pre-game dinner at Church’s Fried Chicken on Culebra. It continued into the evening at V.J. Keefe, off 36th street, where if reporters were lucky, we’d have rosters for both teams and the games would end in less than three hours.
That way, I’d have the time to A) call the office and dictate the box score; B) drive fast (and probably beyond the speed limit) eastbound on Culebra, toward downtown; and then C) write six or eight paragraphs at the office for the morning newspaper.
Next day, repeat the previous. Hey, I did well just to spell all the names correctly, much less develop relationships with the players. Consequently, I didn’t know any of the players all that well. Lashley, though, was an easy-going sort and made it look pretty easy doing his thing on the pitcher’s mound, as best as I can recall.
He made appearances in 42 games that summer — all in relief — for San Antonio Dodgers manager Don “Ducky” LeJohn, according to Baseball Reference’s online records. Lashley won six games and he lost eight. He fashioned a highly respectable 3.39 earned run average.
As for my inter-actions with him in the locker room? Man, that’s just too long ago. But I do seem to recall that Lashley, as well as most of the other young guys on that team, were on many levels just happy to know that they could report to the ball park every day and play a kids’ game.
Even if, at times, their road trips on the team bus seemed endless. Or, that their pay check didn’t cover all their daily expenses. Or, that the close quarters in the dressing room at V.J. Keefe required them to be careful while putting on their jerseys, lest they accidentally back-hand a teammate at an adjacent cubicle.
When the media would come in, some players would bring up the “Lodi” song. I do remember that. I don’t remember any of them reciting the lyrics. It’s just that they knew of the song. For a refresher, I looked up the lyrics this morning. First verse goes like this:
Just about a year ago
I set out on the road
Seekin’ my fame and fortune
And lookin’ for a pot of gold
Things got bad, and things got worse
I guess you know the tune
Oh Lord, stuck in Lodi again
Such a sad song. But that was hardly the vibe in the Dodgers’ clubhouse that I remember. It was just a song. The vibe that I recall was one of hope and optimism and camaraderie. In a players’ world, there was just no time to dwell on what they didn’t have. Players had to stay positive and lean on their teammates.
If things didn’t go their way, they had to make adjustments and move on.
Mickey Lashley did just that in his career. Even though he never played in the majors, he had a significant impact on the game in San Antonio. In 1981, UTSA started an NCAA Division I athletics program. By 1992, the school added baseball. Jimmy Shankle was hired as the head coach, and Mickey Lashley worked on his staff.
By 1994, the Roadrunners enjoyed their first big year. They won enough games to qualify for the NCAA tournament. Later, after Shankle stepped down, Mickey served as head coach from 1996-2000.
Today, the program operates under the direction of head coach Pat Hallmark, and UTSA has started to make noise as one of the best teams in the American Athletic Conference. Playing at the mid-major level in Division I, the Roadrunners have won 38, 38 and 32 games in the past three seasons, respectively.
They finished second in the American this season and won weekend series against a pair of NCAA tournament teams — the East Carolina Pirates and the Tulane Green Wave. The Roadrunners went on the road and swept the Green Wave, who later won the AAC tournament.
Even though the Roadrunners sputtered at the end, going two and out in the AAC tournament at Clearwater, Fla., eyes have been opened around San Antonio for a program that holds significant promise if more improvements can be made over the next few years at their home stadium.
I’ve had the pleasure of covering that up-and-coming program in each of the last three years. It’s been a veritable pot of gold for an old ball writer who still loves the game. So, many thanks to Mickey Lashley for all the baseball memories over the years and for helping to make the UTSA program happen for all of us.
Sincerest condolences to your family, Mickey, and RIP.