Little Leaguers in the front row, from left: Luke Hawkins, Mark Hawkins, Brecc Evans, Garrett Fornander, Jason Fornander, Julian Gonzales, Michael Netzel, Jace Evans and Ruben Soria.
Middle row: Nick Chavez, Robert Kirk, Nico Gonzales and Odin Goodrich.
Former Little Leaguers in top row: Chip Netzel, Alan Corlin,
Gary Silbiger, Steve Rose, Carol Gross and Scott Malsin.
Order? Order? What’s That?
Sacrosanctity, suffering from a severely reddened face, slunk wordlessly back to its seat while Mr. Netzel gleefully took charge of the evening. Hardly anyone has been known to possess the hubris to challenge the sacred order of tightly guarded life inside Council Chambers, much less walk up to it and playfully tweak its very solemn nose.
Which is what Mr. Netzel pretty much did.
A Matter of Timing
He did it during a break in the action, and it played out perfectly, wreathed in serious fun that presented the Culver City National League as the place for boys and girls 5 to 14 to be.
What is important to know about Mr. Netzel is that his prematurely gray crewcut makes him look older than he is while he acutely wishes he were younger than he is.
History of Little League
Mr. Netzel has been involved in the Culver City National Little League for all of his life and most of the league’s life. At the outset of its 52nd season, though, the 400-player league still has an age edge on their favorite public relations champion, although he is closing in.
Stepping to the microphone — ultimately accompanied by a dozen Little Leaguers — Mr. Netzel announced it was Baseball Night at City Hall, and the kids cheered.
Trying to Make Matches
While Mr. Netzel vamped, a gentleman a decade or two beyond the Little League age limit hoisted a goodies bag. In the tradition of Santa Claus, he began making the rounds of surprised City Council members and City Manager Jerry Fulwood. After the vendor handed each dignitary a baseball cap and crackerjacks, fashionistas in the audience judged that some received caps too small and others received heads too large.
Behind Mr. Netzel’s back, though not without his consent, Little Leaguers tossed boxes of cracker jacks to those who were hungry and to others who were just greedy.
A Uniformed Presence
Tall and resplendent in his black and orange Giants uniform, Mr. Netzel presented a commanding figure.
The mystery of the appearance of Mr. Netzel and the happy Little Leaguers cleared up fast.
The biggest of the Little Leaguers explained that the league season opens a week from Saturday. The mayor always throws out the first pitch, and other City Hall heroes fill out the day’s dignitary roster.
Recovering
He was sort of crushed, Mr. Netzel told the live audience and the television audience, when he learned City Council members would be away on retreat on Opening Day.
What to do?
Bring Opening Day to the City Council.
Batter up? No Chance
On the sunken red carpeted expanse in front of the dais, Mr. Netzel asked Mayor Gary Silbiger to get a 12-day jump on throwing out the first pitch by doing it in Council Chambers.
First, however, nothing would do but for the watchers and the players to dive into the correct mood. Mr. Netzel suggested they break into “Take Me Out to the Ballgame,” which, artistically, turned into an unspectacular memory.
A Question of Style
Mayor Silbiger stepped up to throw out the first pitch. He wanted to know whether he should pitch overhanded or underhanded. Since only one person was standing between him and a giant wall, Mr. Netzel suggested overhand. Off to the side, Councilman Steve Rose got off a zinger. Said he felt safe standing to Mr. Silbiger’s right because the community’s best-known political liberal never goes in that direction.
Slo-Pitch Baseball?
While the pitch traveled in the general direction of Mr. Netzel’s catcher, there appeared to be time for two or three more choruses of “Take Me Out to the Ball Game” before the ball would land.
