By TIM BARTO

“Boys, if we don’t get the bats going, we’re in deep kimchee.” Coach Bob Grover’s favorite saying didn’t make much sense to a group of teenage wannabe ballplayers, but years later he told a story about his time in the Army during the Vietnam War …

Bob had a recurring dream that he was on mound in the big leagues, fooling hitters and getting outs, but on one occasion in the early 1970s, his dream was interrupted by small arms from Viet Cong guerillas. The VC’s target was the transport that Bob and his fellow Military Policemen (MP) were guarding as their boat returned from dropping off munitions to ground troops in Vietnam to a massive supply depot in South Korea. 

A year earlier, Bob was enrolled at San Jose State, taking classes and playing well enough on the school’s baseball team Major League scouts took an interest in him. He lost his college draft deferment when he dropped out of school to help look after his mother, the Army not buying his deferment plea as a sole family supporter.

Boot camp and MP training preceded orders to Korea which, while not “in country” was certainly in Vietnam’s geopolitical neighborhood. Bob’s temporary relief of not being assigned to a unit inside Vietnam was soon shattered as he received an assignment to escort munitions into the badlands via boat.

Drawing fire didn’t happen every escort trip; in fact, their vessel went unscathed on the inbound journey this particular night, so the MPs figured it would probably be a quiet return trip; and it was until brass rounds pinged off steel bulkheads, waking Bob from the pitcher’s mound to the reality of war. He cursed, shouldered his rifle, and cursed the rain and darkness as he looked to find the source of the incoming rounds. The firefight ended quickly and – mercifully – without American casualties. 

Bob and his security detachment made it safely back to their post as the sun began rising.  After cleaning and storing their weapons, the MPs took hot showers and ate some not entirely awful hot chow. Knowing the grunts were eating cold C-rations and sleeping in tents, they suppressed the complaints they very much wanted to voice.

Heading back to his bunk, Bob picked up a copy of the American military newspaper, Stars and Stripes. Unable to quell the adrenalin brought on by getting shot at, Bob lay on his rack reading the paper when he noticed a small print announcement that shot his adrenalin even higher:  tryouts were being held for a division baseball team. Tired as he was, he went over to the division special services office to sign up. 

Being a collegiate ballplayer, Bob figured he had a rather good shot at making the team, but he was surprised at the elevated level of talent that showed up on the grassy field that was used more often for softball than hardball games. Batters drove the ball with authority; infielders displayed soft, quick hands; and fleet-footed outfielders hit cutoff men with strong, accurate throws. 

Nevertheless, a tall southpaw with a good fastball, effective curveball, and deceptive changeup always catches a coach’s attention, so Bob received a new set of uniforms – white for home games, and gray for away. 

The Army sported two baseball teams in Korea in the early 1970s, one in each division of the Korean professional league. Back then, the quality of Korean baseball was good; not as good as it is today, but these talented American athletes who had spent the better part of the past year training for combat and getting shot at in an unpopular “policing action”, found the Korean teams formidable. 

Being used to walking into an American ballpark and smelling fresh cut grass, hot dogs, and tobacco smoke, Bob’s gag reflexes kicked in when he walked into his first Korean ballpark and was overwhelmed by the smell of pickled cabbage. It was often cold in that part of Asia, even during the baseball season, and fans kept warm by eating the spicy Korean staple. 

Bob’s teammates, acutely aware of his distaste for kimchee, and doing what young soldiers and athletes are want to do to each other – ribbing each other mercilessly – began telling Bob he was in deep kimchee when he got himself into trouble on the mound. But that was the only negative aspect of Bob’s Army baseball experience.

Those white and gray flannels were the only uniforms Bob wore during his last five months of active duty. He made good friends and learned intricacies of the game from experienced coaches and teammates, some of whom, like Bob, would go on to play the game at a professional level. 

After returning stateside and finishing college, the Minnesota Twins signed Bob to a minor league contract. After a couple seasons in the minors, Bob made it to Triple-A, the highest level before the big leagues and, after went into the last week of spring training with a shot at making the big team. 

As Bob tells the story, his chance to make it to Minnesota came down to an intrasquad game. Up to bat came future Hall-of-Fame home run hitter Harmon Killebrew. Bob threw and Harmon swung, and Bob never knew a baseball could be hit so hard or so far. I’m in deep kimchee, he thought, as he watched the ball sail over the outfield wall. 

It was, indeed, the end of Bob’s dream of making it to the big leagues, but he became a teacher and baseball coach at Lynbrook High School in San Jose. An honorable man who served his country during a turbulent time, he became a mentor to many young men, including this author. 

Tim Barto is a regular contributor to Must Read Alaska and vice president of Alaska Family Council. Baseball is his first love, and he pestered his coaches with questions (and unsolicited strategy suggestions), so when he graduated from college, Coach Bob Grover asked him if he would like to join the coaching staff at his high school alma mater.