Sunday, August 19, 2018
Ask Michael Minner how he's doing, and undoubtedly the response is always the same.
"Livin' the dream."
At first blush it might appear to be a tongue-in-cheek throwaway line, especially from a man who admits he's done some hell-raising in his time, describes himself as "a kid for going on 39 years" and has been known to loosen up a room with a one-liner or two. But about this, he is completely serious.
Twenty-seven years ago, Minner -- a Cape Girardeau Central graduate who is now an art teacher and head baseball coach of both Charleston High School and the Charleston Fighting Squirrels of Senior Babe Ruth summer baseball -- appeared in the pages of the Southeast Missourian. When -- at the wise, old age of 11 years old -- he was asked by the newspaper what he wanted to do when he grew up, an adolescent Minner already had a crystal-clear vision of what he wanted for his future: to teach art and coach baseball.
Nearly three decades later, it's easy to see why Minner goes to work every day with a smile on his face.
The smile only got bigger this summer, as the Fighting Squirrels program he birthed in 2004 claimed its first Senior Babe Ruth World Series title earlier this month in Jamestown, New York. The trophy will go on the shelf with nine state championships and five regional titles -- four in the last five years -- but will remain unique and remarkable, just like the man who built the program.
It doesn't take long to understand Minner is different. First glance is enough, as Minner stands just 5-foot-2 -- 5-1 3/4 for those counting -- and is missing bones in both his legs (one of which is shorter than the other). His right arm extends only to his elbow and has just three fingers. This is what catches the attention of most: How did this guy carve out a career in baseball?
For those who take the time to talk to him, it becomes clear his personality casts an even larger shadow than any of his physical differences. Therein lies the key to his journey from a child with apparent physical limitations into a career as an athlete and then into another teaching the next generation of athletes.
Robin Minner has always been a baseball coach. He still is, as he guides the 12-year-olds for the Fighting Squirrels program his son built. Michael might still have found his way to baseball if his father hadn't coached the game, but then again, maybe not.
The sport of baseball was a part of Michael's life as soon as he could throw a ball. But the fact it was the framework for father-son time was what made it settle so deeply inside him as a child.
He was not a natural -- his physical challenges meant he had to really work and come up with different ways of approaching the game if he wanted to play.
"As I get older, I think that's probably what made it so special," Michael Minner says. "I didn't have the tools to play, and my dad and I made it work and made it where I could get on the field and compete against people. We just had to do things a little different."
At the time, Jim Abbott was busy carving out a 10-year Major League Baseball career despite being born without a right hand, and he provided Minner with a someone to mimic. Still, there were plenty of people who thought Minner was wasting his time, some suggesting perhaps soccer was a better avenue for his athletic interests (Minner did play soccer as well).
His parents, though, pushed him. Minner calls his mother "as hard-nosed as any man I've ever met" and uses the same adjective to describe his father. "Handicap" was not a concept that was accepted in the Minner household.
I remember going to the ballpark and seeing Michael and he's hitting second (in the order) and playing second base. ... He turned a double play and got a hit in his first at-bat. I thought, 'I'll never doubt that kid again.'"
"My dad told me at a young age, 'You can either live inside a box or live outside of it,'" Minner says.
Years later, there is no box confining Minner.
Jeff Graviett, who coaches baseball and softball at Notre Dame Regional High School, has a long history with Minner. The two coached legion baseball together, but even before that Graviett has long known of his counterpart's exploits -- Minner was close in age to Graviett's younger brother, so the two crossed paths when the former was as young as 8 or 9 years old.
Graviett's first thought was probably the same as many: this kid has no business playing baseball. His mind was quickly changed.
"I remember going to the ballpark and seeing Michael and he's hitting second (in the order) and playing second base," Graviett says. "... He turned a double play and got a hit in his first at-bat. I thought, 'I'll never doubt that kid again.'"
Not everyone was immediately convinced. Minner entered high school at Central with the goal to play for the Tigers. He was cut as a freshman.
"At that point it was probably the worst thing that had ever happened. My life had revolved around baseball," Minner says. "I felt like I'd worked pretty hard to that point and to be told you can't be a part of the one thing you loved is tough for any 14- or 15-year-old kid. I had a decision whether I was going to continue to try to get better. At that point, that's where a lot of kids pack up shop."
But Minner had two things in his favor -- parents who had taught him that setbacks were not stop signs, and a best friend, David Ham, who was also cut from the team. Together, they were able to share in the heartbreak, move past it and get back to work.
By the time Minner graduated from Central in 1998, he was headed to William Woods University in St. Louis to play collegiate baseball for the upstart NAIA program. In 1999 he was an All-Conference Honorable Mention selection. In 2001 he got a start against Southeast Missouri State. When he graduated in 2003, he had a degree in art education and a plan: go home to offer kids the same opportunities he had growing up.
It didn't work out exactly as he hoped -- he wanted to coach at his alma mater in Cape Girardeau -- but when opportunity came, he took it. He took a job teaching art at Charleston High School and discovered he liked the community. He had experience coaching in the Cape Girardeau legion program, and he knew there was room for baseball in Charleston to improve, starting with the development of players during the summer.
Thus, a program was born.
"I wanted to be something. You needed a name and an identity," Minner says.
Graviett remembers seeing early designs for the Fighting Squirrels logo. He was unimpressed.
"I remember when he showed me the Fighting Squirrels logo," Graviett says, "and I said 'That's dumb. That's not going to catch on.'"
History, they say, makes fools of us all.
"We let the kids at the time choose. It was pretty unanimous. That was hands down what they wanted to be," Minner says.
"We took the Fighting Squirrels and ran off into that summer and took pounding after pounding after pounding with a bunch of kids who had always taken the summer off and been at the lake."
The Charleston Fighting Squirrels threw their first pitch in the summer of 2004. The results were a far cry from the identity the Squirrels have since built for themselves.
The team played 33 games that first season and won just eight of them. Of the 25 defeats, many were not for the weak of heart. Charleston traveled to Paragould, Arkansas, to compete in an annual tournament and may have spent more time driving to and from the event than it did on the baseball field.
"We went down there and played three games and played three innings in every game (because of the mercy rule)," Minner says. "... People were just, 'Why would you come down and do that.' I said, 'We're building it. Don't worry, we'll be back next year and we'll be fine.'
"It tests you as a person. Is this something that you want to continue to do?"
Slowly but surely, the culture began to shift. Minner sold prospective players on the idea that lazy summer days at the lake will still be around at the age of 40, but baseball won't. More and more players began to buy in.
His natural ability to tap into the mind of a teenager didn't hurt either. Minner had a sense that branding could be a difference maker, and so he offered things that other programs weren't -- and still aren't. He put time into designing multiple looks for the team's uniforms each season -- something that also taps in to his artistic leanings -- and creating a logo that was unique. This season, the Squirrels had four different uniform designs; last year, seven. All of it became a recruitment tool.
"I'm just one of those guys, I think what it's like to be a 17- or 18-year-old kid and if you're signing up to do something and you know [one team] you're going to get the same jersey they've had for the last 17 years ... that's kind of blah," Minner says. "Coming to [another program], which might be the Fighting Squirrels, you're getting four different jerseys, three or four different hats, the coach is half crazy and you never know what he's going to say. It's kind of exciting."
At that time, things on the field weren't always as pretty as the uniforms, but Minner believed they were headed in the right direction. He remembers watching his still-trophyless team's season end on a walkoff home run by Blake Gaddis, a Notre Dame product playing for the Cape Senior Babe Ruth team at the time, and thinking, "Man, we're close."
Cape ended up going to the regional tournament that summer, but two years later Gaddis was in a Squirrels uniform and Charleston was winning its first-ever regional title. Gaddis, who says the jerseys and unique branding around the program played a big part in his decision to join, remembers that milestone victory well.
"To go to the World Series, we had to beat Kansas," Gaddis says. "We were undefeated going into the game and they had to beat us twice. We lost the first game. Big pressure game. Next time we come out to the field, here comes Minner walking up to the dugout with aviator sunglasses, a handlebar mustache and a mullet. That relaxed all the tension."
Since then, the program has only gotten bigger and better. In 2017, Charleston neared the mountain top when it pushed into a World Series semifinal, but even a sterling performance on the mound from former Bell City standout Austin Hicks wasn't enough in a heartbreaking 1-0 loss.
Year 14 turned out to be moment the program was waiting for. After no longer just being happy to enjoy the World Series experience, trip No. 5 saw the Fighting Squirrels push over the edge.
"Whenever you've put a program together for so long and you finally get to win it after all these years, you get to see the real reaction you've been waiting on," says Cole Nichols, a Bell City alumnus who has played for Charleston the past two summers. "You could tell by looking at his face and the way his eyes lit up that he'd been looking for it all the years."
There are two things everyone does when talking about Michael Minner: encapsulate the man using the word "passionate," and laugh when asked what their favorite Michael Minner story is. These are critical in understanding how Minner has pushed the Fighting Squirrels program forward and why so many players and team supporters have sunk their time, money and effort into lifting it.
His players love playing for him, knowing that they have a coach that will pull no punches and hold them accountable, but also make sure they know they matter as human beings.
"(He's) very passionate," says Gaddis, who as a 7- or 8-year old first met his future coach when he was a high schooler helping with baseball camps. "He'll ride you all year long. He'll go and carry on. He lets you know what he expects of you and there are no excuses after that. ... But at the same time, he's going to have your back. He pulls for you and stands up for you. He's invested in his players and invested in his program."
He is often described as hard-nosed -- the same word he uses to talk about his parents -- but is also a magnetic weaver of stories for anyone who will listen and an artistic creative who says most days he'd be happy to simply sit in a room with some music on and paint or draw.
He is, most among all things, surprising. And so his program's rise is anything but.
Minner talks about establishing a culture of "we" rather than "me;" about teaching the game the right way; about putting together teams of young men who are good people and play hard, and letting the pieces fall in place. And, he says, to reach the mountaintop you need a little magic.
Now that Charleston has reached the peak, he credits all the people who put in the elbow grease from early in the process.
"The reason all the good has come the last few years was because the people in the trenches the first few years bought in," Minner says. "Wins and losses are gonna happen. You've got to take some whippings to be able to build it."
Which is why, as his team piled onto the field in Jamestown and his father -- a day after his birthday -- lifted the World Series trophy, Michael Minner just sat to the side and watched it unfold. Almost like living in a dream.
"I was trying to take it all in," Minner says. "That's more than 14 years. That's my life in baseball."
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