Sidelines
Les returns to ‘his’
stadium as era beginsHE came out of the bullpen, wife Dot beaming, new grandson screaming, but the coach deep in thought.
There was no uniform this time, no cap. He was retired now. But he was still studying his notes, so meticulous, so precise, so determined, just like always. He was going to do this right.
It was Les Murakami Night at Les Murakami Stadium.
It wasn't like the first one, like the retirement ceremony. Nothing could be. But in an effort to recapture that feeling, it was shown on the new projection screen on the new scoreboard, the one that featured the new name.
"This is the old tape," Rainbow radio voice Don Robbs told the coach.
"Tonight we do it again, but we do it in an even more special way," he told the crowd.
All the faces were there. All the names had a front-row seat. Governor and lieutenant governor. Regent. President. AD.
There were youth baseball teams and old players and cameras galore.
And Mike Martin, Murakami's old friend and foe from Florida State, for a pregame handshake one last time.
And then the pomp started, and the circumstance.
"Welcome to Les Murakami Stadium!" Evan Dobelle said.
"This stadium is a testament to Les Murakami's vision," Ben Cayetano said.
"This will always be the House That Les Built," Hugh Yoshida said.
But the coach concentrated on his notes.
Finally, when the time came, he spoke. His voice was soft, but strong. He sounded good.
"I don't know if I deserve to have the stadium named after me," he said. He was the only one.
Then he shook his successor's hand, and leaned in, gesturing excitedly with his right hand, offering Mike Trapasso some last-second advice.
The torch had been passed. He'd done his last task. Relaxed now, the coach smiled. In the distance, while being carried on a mollifying walk through the infield, away from the grownup seriousness and formality, the young grandson in the rainbow bib wailed.
There was life in Rainbow Stadium again. And in Les Murakami Stadium for the first time.
It was official now, and now it was his. The stands seemed only sprinkled with people, but they rose, and Dobelle raised his hands, palms inward, embracing the moment, and the soft applause was hearty and perfect.
"A wonderful sound," Robbs said. "Welcome to Les Murakami Stadium."
And so it was, the end of a ceremony and the beginning of an era. At Les Murakami Stadium, it was Opening Day.
The ladies behind home plate blinked back tears.
He was away from podiums and speeches at last. The players came up to him then, all the old players of every age who had come for this, and each stood in line to offer a hand or a hug to their old coach, to congratulate him on this honor.
The faces told the story, theirs and his. They were his boys, every one.
The stadium was his now. But then it always was.
Kalani Simpson's column runs Sundays, Tuesdays and Fridays.
He can be reached at ksimpson@starbulletin.com