You're listening to WALT.

Oh, Brown.

Homemade radio.

You can tell a lot about a person from their car.

The legend of Coach Emerson sprung to life in the locker room at T.C. Williams High School

a few days before varsity baseball triates in the spring of 1998.

He had pitched in single A for the Milwaukee Brewers.

He could hit 94 with his fastball.

He had told the athletic director that he would only take the coaching job at our school

if they didn't make him quit chewing tobacco.

I made the team.

And on a cold February afternoon, I showed up at the gym for our first practice of the season.

I had a brand new glove that I was hoping would impress Coach Emerson.

But we didn't do any throwing or batting practice that day.

Instead, he loaded us onto a bus and drove us out to the edge of town.

T.C. Williams High School couldn't afford to build its own baseball diamond.

So we leased an old field near some overgrown railroad tracks.

The PA system didn't work.

The outfield was riddled with weeds and broken crack vials.

When we got off the bus that first day, Coach Emerson passed out lawnmowers, paint brushes, and rakes,

and divided us into groups. We spent the whole first week of the preseason, painting over graffiti on the dugout walls,

combing fresh dirt into the infield base paths, and fixing dents in the bleachers.

...