R ELIGION AND POLITICS are taboo.
Everything else is fair game during the weekly meetings of what has to be the biggest, most-organized group of men who gather for the expressed purpose of talking sports.
The New Hampshire Dunk-N-Diamonds, as they call themselves, meet every week. They’re all friends. And on Friday morning, 16 of them gathered at St. Anthony Field in Manchester to do what they do: talk.
COVID-19 worries — and lots of unanswerable questions — dominated the early part of the conversation.
“I want to go to a softball game this weekend as a spectator,” said Dan Greenleaf. “My biggest concern is that teams and coaches aren’t taking it (social distancing) seriously.”
“If they weren’t, would you tell them you’re not going to officiate?” asked Ted Menswar Jr.
Furthermore, said Menswar, “What if an official tests positive? Will the teams have to be quarantined?”
“They’re making all these rules,” said Greenleaf, “but nobody is enforcing them. What if coaches aren’t wearing a mask? We (officials) aren’t there to police. We have some coaches, you tell them they have to be in the dugout and they give you crap.”
Ray Valliere Sr., Fred Jasinski and Tom Monson were the group’s founding fathers in 2006, said Menswar, the unofficial spokesman. “They were baseball officials, primarily, and they were sitting around talking how it’s too bad we can’t get some of the guys together.” So they did get together, guys in their 60s, 70s and 80s and all former or current coaches and/or officials (from 11 sports), and before you knew it their ranks had grown to its current contingent of 31.
The first meetings were held at a Dunkin’ Donuts in Manchester. Years later — through the doughnut shop’s name consolidation — they moved to the Dunkin’ on Candia Road. Then the coronavirus pandemic kicked in and they turned to online Zoom meetings, refuting that saying about dogs and new tricks.
The nice weather has brought the bunch outside, which worked just fine on a sunny day with the group distanced under a big, shady oak tree.
“Every time we meet, we talk about what happens to be the big thing that’s going on in sports, and with sports on hold, there are a variety of other things we talk about,” said Menswar.
Indeed, the topics varied. Al Heidenreich briefed the group on pending funeral arrangements for Valliere, a longtime umpire, who passed away May 29. The men discussed ways to honor him with a field plaque, or something along those lines.
On they continued. Topics included pay for umpires, then the notion of playing spring high school sports in the fall — a notion dismissed fairly quickly.
But they’re not all talk and no action, those Diamonds. In previous meetings, the group composed a list of suggestions, to be delivered to appropriate league officials, on ways to improve the state of baseball in Manchester. (See op-ed page, B5).
On Father’s Day weekend, Menswar opened the floor to dad tributes. His colleagues obliged. Peter Perich talked about his father’s travails during World War II. “He was in the Navy and his ship sunk in the Mediterranean and was floating for awhile. It was months before word came that he was OK.”
Dave Anderson spoke of his father, who survived Pearl Harbor. “My dad never, ever talked about it — and I understand why,” he said.
Charlie Pierson Jr. remembered his dad, a WWII veteran, who went on to a career in firefighting and inspired his sons to follow his footsteps into the same profession. Pierson proudly displayed a framed photo of his father, his brother and himself all dressed in their fire gear.
Menswar remembered his dad, a U.S. Army veteran who fought at Normandy Beach. “He never said anything about it,” said Menswar. “When our family went to the beach, he kept his back to the ocean.”
Duane Welch provided a moment of levity, though, when he remembered his dad. “In ‘42, he got his draft notice,” said Welch. “He flunked his physical because he had fungus on the bottom of his feet. They said he was going to be a cripple within five years.
“Well, he drove for H.P. Hood for 25 years and then he drove for a laundry business for another 25 years,” said Welch. “I guess the doctors don’t always get it right — which is good.”
“That’s your war story?” asked Greenleaf.
“That’s my story,” said Welch.
Until next time.