What a great weekend Barbara and I had. Words like marvelous, outstanding, heartwarming, and terrific come to mind, because it was all of those things and more. It was also an honor and very humbling, but mostly it was just fantastic fun to spend a couple of days with a bunch of guys I haven’t seen in a long time. It was worth the wait.

We flew down to St. Louis on Friday, picked up my rental car (which, oddly enough, had Minnesota plates on it) and drove over to Collinsville, Ill. a few miles east of Gateway Motorsports Park. After checking in at our hotel, where a big dune buggy show was going on in the parking lot and multiple soccer teams were coming and going on luxury charter buses, we followed our emailed directions up to Dave Schaake’s beautiful home in Edwardsville. Dave and his wife Kathy live no more than a mile or two from our alma mater, SIUE.

When we arrived and parked out front, I saw James “Oscar” Noffke walking up to the front door and shouted his name. I’d seen Oscar just about a month ago when he, Radar, and Lance came to the Twin Cities for our annual weekend get-together, but most of the other guys I haven’t seen in decades. When I shouted Oscar’s name, I heard a reply from the tall guy he was saying hello to. It was my good buddy Stan Osterbur, and he said, “I know that voice” before he literally (I’m not exaggerating) sprinted full speed across the front yard to give me a hug and a kiss on the cheek. My hamstrings almost exploded just watching him.

Stan and I have a lot of history. By my sophomore year, we’d become friends. By my junior year, 1977, we were rooming together on road trips and had become very close friends. Somehow, because baseball scouting is an inexact science performed by mere humans, Stan didn’t get drafted after the ’77 season was over and we’d bowed out of the NCAA Div. II World Series, in Springfield, Ill. That wasn’t right. He was easily good enough to have been drafted by an MLB team. They all whiffed on that one.

He went off to play independent ball in Beeville, Tex. that summer, while I played for two different high-level collegiate summer teams. For a month, I went up to Seattle and played for the Cheney Studs where most of my teammates were from the University of Washington, Washington State, and Oregon. Then, in midseason I came back to the midwest to play for the Danville Roosters in the Central Illinois Collegiate League, alongside some great players from Texas A&M, University of Texas, LSU, and other top programs. I was proof you could go from being a Stud to a Rooster in one summer.

After my senior season, in which we as a team collectively stunk without guys like Stan, Dave, Mike Brown and a few other key players, I signed with the Detroit Tigers and ended up playing in the Appalachian League for the Paintsville Hilanders, in the coal mining hills of eastern Kentucky.

When our pitching staff was struggling to get left-handers out, and our manager recognized the lack of quality lefty pitching on our staff, I told him and the owner about Stan. They signed him and he arrived in Paintsville about 24 hours later. We’d be teammates and roommates once more.

I’d been living with two other guys in a one-bedroom place, so our owner found Stan and me a studio apartment in town. What a place it was, too. It sat atop a long-closed and abandoned drug store. Our door had no lock on the knob and no deadbolt, so we used a padlock on the outside of the door when we left, and then we put it on the inside and locked ourselves in at night. Not that anything nefarious was going to happen in little Paintsville, but still… We had a great time that summer.

We would never play or room together again, and we lost touch with one another for quite a while, until Lance and I put a reunion together in 1997. Before Facebook or LinkedIn, it was hard to find guys from the past and stay in touch with them. So, after that reunion we parted ways and again found it almost impossible to stay connected.

Then, Facebook did what it does best. We found each other there and have been in regular contact since, sharing stories and photos from college and pro ball, and catching up on each other’s lives.

Within seconds, after the mad sprint across the front yard and the big hug, we were talking as if it had all happened yesterday. He’s still got the same great sense of humor, and we can still crack each other up. Some friendships are built that way. They last forever.

The dinner at Dave’s house was fantastic, and a lot of the guys attended. I can’t say I recognized all of them at first glance, and some of us did have to put out a hand and say our names, but many of the guys look almost exactly as they did back then, 39 years ago.

Dave had a display in his living room, with tons of photos and clippings from his scrapbook. We enjoyed flipping through all of that and a number of other guys brought stuff with them, as well.

Now, about Dave Schaake. We were college kids. Most of us were goofballs. Dave Schaake was not. He seemed like a pro among amateurs, and he carried himself with dignity and class when the rest of us didn’t know what those two words meant. He was big, strong, and could just flat play.

The fact he also did not get drafted just reemphasizes the mistakes scouts can make. Dave was one of the best shortstops I ever played with. He was actually the very best shortstop I ever played with. He had all the tools. He could hit, hit with power, field the ball, and throw strikes to first base. And just like with Stan, all the scouts totally whiffed on him. I’m still shaking my head. Dave was also our leader.

His co-captain in the ’77 season was another team leader, named Mike Brown. Brownie did get drafted, by the Mets, and he absolutely deserved it. He played right field, and since I was the centerfielder we played next to each other that year. We both had our ups and downs, but in the end we helped the team get back to Springfield for the second straight year.

On Saturday afternoon, Barbara and I headed over to Radar’s house and hung out there for a while, with him and Oscar, enjoying one of the most unique “man cave” garage set-ups I’ve ever seen. Then we drove down to Oscar’s brother’s house, 20 minutes away. To get there, we had to drive through Highland, Ill.

In college, we mostly stayed right in Edwardsville when we went out, but one tiny little disco called Off Broadway lured us to Highland many times. It was just a small brick building, and very old. Within was a small dance floor and a few Christmas lights. I don’t know what we found so fascinating about it, but for some reason it was worth it for us to drive 25 minutes to get there.

As we drove through Highland, with Barbara and me following Radar, I told Barb all about Off Broadway, which (you’re not going to believe this) sat just a half block off the road we were then on: Broadway! (Get it?) And then I saw it and pointed it out to Barb. At the same moment, Radar put his window down, in his truck ahead of us, and pointed. I gave him a thumbs up. I hadn’t seen a lot of these guys in decades, but I know for a fact I hadn’t seen Off Broadway since we last danced to the Bee Gees there. Stayin’ Alive!

Before we knew it, we had to hustle to get back to the hotel and get dressed for the 2016 SIUE Athletic Department Hall of Fame Induction ceremony. It was fantastic to be back on campus, which has grown so much since I went to school there. There are more buildings currently on the sprawling campus that I have never stepped foot in than those that were there when I was a Cougar. The place looks marvelous.

Stan was there when we arrived, and we once again fell into our easy banter, telling the same jokes and insults like we always had. I think Stan, Brownie, and Dave win the award for being in the best shape and looking the best, nearly 4 decades after we all shared a dugout and bus rides with each other. They all look like they could put on their spikes and grab a glove right now.

And the truth is, we were all a pretty smart bunch of guys, as well. We took school seriously, we got good grades, and for the most part we’ve all gone on to great careers. At the induction ceremony, there were bank presidents, senior level executives, and guys with other outstanding resumes, plus one former PR guy who is writing a book. And they were all on the baseball team.

The word had spread about “Bats, Balls, & Burnouts” thanks to social media and our interconnectivity these days, and the guys were peppering me with questions about it, including the single most common question: “When will it come out?” I sure hope the answer is before Christmas, but that’s still to be determined.

Speaking of that, though, one quick aside. I’m now on Chapter 32, in which I join Team Wilkerson in 2009. That’s how close we’re getting, and my editor, Greg Halling has been on fire lately. He’s extraordinarily busy as the Executive Editor of the newspaper in Ogden, Utah and for a while that’s kept him from keeping up with me. Lately, though, he’s firing the chapters back at a rapid pace. He’s right on my heels, and his work is priceless.

Now back to the ceremony…

Since a number of guys who couldn’t make it to Dave’s house were able to make it to the induction, it’s a good thing they gave us name tags. I didn’t need to see Steve Novak’s name tag, though. Steve and I roomed together for a couple of years. He hasn’t changed a bit and his wife Linda has simply not aged at all. They were high school sweethearts, so we all got to know Linda very well back in the 70s. It was great to see her and their son Ryan.

Steve’s been in the sports apparel business since we graduated, and for a few years he was an executive with a firm called Tehama, which was owned by Clint Eastwood. So there’s that.

As part of the ceremony, there were a number of individuals who accepted induction into the Hall of Fame, and one other team, the 1977 men’s soccer team. The final induction was for us, the 1977 baseball squad.

We watched a video that Schaake and Brownie had made, and it was by far the best video of the night. They spoke so glowingly about our coach, Roy Lee, and about the ’77 team itself. We were one big collective question mark, really, because Brownie and Dave were the only returning starters from the ’76 World Series team.

In the video, about two minutes in, they were talking about how the team shaped up and Dave mentioned the fact that Brownie played right field, which was the toughest outfield spot at our ballpark, because of the sun. Then he said something about how nice it was for Brownie that Bob Wilber came along to play center that year. Dave’s quote was along the lines of “Bob had, and he’ll admit this, a lot of confidence, and he could really cover a lot of ground…” When he said the word “confidence” he did it with a wry smile and almost a wink. Confidence = Cocky. I laughed out loud watching the video, and agreed with it fully. You’ll see. It’s worth watching.

What’s funny is that my memory is slightly different than the facts. In ’77, I had barely played any varsity ball for the Cougars. I played strictly on the JV my freshman year, and although I made the varsity as a sophomore I only played in parts of 10 games. I think I only had 14 at-bats, and most of my appearances were as a late-inning defensive replacement. Yet, going into my junior year in ’77, I fully considered the centerfield spot to be mine. There was no question about it, in my mind. I’d been playing at SIUE for two years, and at the time I felt like a veteran. I was actually still a rookie.

When we rode on the bus early in the season, coming back from having played University of South Carolina and Coastal Carolina, I saw an article that said “Bob Wilber appears to have won the centerfield position after a strong road trip.” I was incredulous. I believed it was mine all along. I was not short of confidence.

After the video, they brought us all up on stage to accept our framed photos and after some formalities the host asked if anyone wanted to say anything. When the soccer guys had been up there, no one seemed to want to speak, so I was ready. As I raised my hand and took the microphone, two or three guys said “Oh geez, don’t let him speak!” It’s been a long time since we’ve all been together, but they all still know me. Too well. I kept it short.

After I spoke, Stan wanted to add a few words as well. As always, you can click on any photo to enlarge it, and this one is the best candidate for doing that. I present to you, most of the 1977 SIUE Cougar Baseball Team. We are now official members of the school’s sports Hall of Fame. And very proud of it.

Although Radar was a few years behind us and therefore wasn’t on the 1977 team, everyone knew him and we considered him part of our inner circle, even back then. It seemed only fitting that he’d attend the ceremony to be with us and support us, and I’m glad he did. After the ceremony, a smaller group of us capped off the evening at a local pub for a bit. That allowed me (Wilbs) to hang out with Nove, Oscar, and Radar for another hour. It was terrific fun.

I hope we can get together again, at some point. As Dave said “We probably shouldn’t wait another 39 years to do this” and we all agreed. What’s certain is that the 1978 team will not be the magnet to draw us back together, unless SIUE inducts us into some Hall of Shame. We were, sadly but honestly, that bad…

Much to my chagrin, and counter to my pleas, Lance did not come into town for the induction, which is too bad. He was unable to stand up for himself as we laughed uncontrollably recalling the night he played third-base and threw the ball entirely out of the stadium at Oral Roberts. Out… Of… The… STADIUM! And Oral Roberts has an actual stadium. No, Lance wasn’t trying to do it. Novak was playing first and he initially put his glove up, but then watched it go like the rest of us did. It was a rather incredible sight.

It was a great weekend. I am very proud to have been a part of this group. They’re some of the best friends I’ve ever had.

Congratulations to all of you guys!

Bob Wilber, at your service and in the SIUE Hall of Fame.