Category: Diamonds 💎♦️🔹️💎♦️

Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend : There’s no place like home at West Virginia Tech University Baseball !

During the nearly two decades of working closely with Lawrence Nesselrodt and WVU-T baseball, we have played a “home ” game in more than a few places. Heck, we even packed up and moved the campus itself from Montgomery to its current location in Beckley.

The scoreboard shown above is from the original ballpark in East Bank, West Virginia. While the diamond was located at a middle school, it came with an artificial turf infield !

Inside the city of Beckley, we play the bulk of our games at the beautiful Linda K Epling Stadium but have also used the facilities at Wilson High School along the way.

Another next level park is Go – Mart up in Charleston, just blocks away from the Golden Dome of the State Capital building. The Charleston Charlies of the International League back in the day and the modern-day Charleston Dirty Birds are the main tenants.

If you are a fan of the Appalachian League, we have hosted numerous games in both Princeton and Bluefield over the years. Both of those parks have a great deal of history in them, and it was an honor to hold a microphone in them.

We even went down to Kingsport to squeeze in a three game set one spring, bringing the App total to three.

Shawnee Sports Complex up in Dunbar, WV, and the impressive diggs over at Marshall University with the second one hosting the only triple header in my 50+ years.

Salem International University is part of a solid trivia question because it hosted a game for us, and the very next day, the same two teams packed up and moved three hours down the road for the balance of the home series.

The level of commitment to the line, the show must go on, is very serious to Ness and protecting the integrity of the game sometimes requires you to switch up the venue. Especially when you’re playing baseball in the mountains of West Virginia starting in the middle of February.

Dodgertown in Florida is another preferred location where we have hosted a ballgame or two.

Just like the mailman, who works in the rain, sleet, snow, Golden Bears baseball will go the extra mile or two or …..

Editing Note 📝 :

John / Emma – this is the final piece from my end

Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend : Inspiring… Living Before the End : On a quiet morning in an Airbnb in Lancaster, Pennsylvania, I sat on the deck with a cup of coffee, scrolling through Facebook. That’s when I came across a piece by Kelsey Abernathy McLean, a Pennsylvania writer who explores transformation, survival, and the extraordinary moments hidden inside ordinary life.Something about her words stayed with me. As I looked out over the stillness of that morning, I thought: Maybe I should tell my story too.I had never thought much about life after death. I had heard the ideas—through religion, through stories, through near-death experiences—but they always felt distant. Abstract.That changed in the summer of 2006.It began as an ordinary day. We were a week into summer break, and like every year since 1992, I was helping run a boys’ basketball camp. That day, the scheduled speaker didn’t show, and I was asked to step in.I told the story of Gene Banks—a freshman at Duke who had been threatened before a big game. Despite the fear, he chose to play anyway and went on to have one of the best games of his career.Afterward, he said, “If it was going to be my last one, it was going to be great.”I left the group with a simple message: Live each day like it’s the last one you get.I had no idea how literal that message was about to become.Later that afternoon, I was home alone, vacuuming the pool in the heat. A bee struggled in the water near the edge. I reached down, lifted it out, and set it on the concrete.It stung my pinky.I barely reacted; I just kept working. But a few minutes later, I felt a tingling in my lips, then numbness. My face began to swell. Inside the pool house, I looked in the mirror. My eyes drooped, my lips and tongue were swelling, and my face looked distorted—unfamiliar.Something is very wrong.I called my wife and told her I would drive myself to the hospital. She told me not to move and called an ambulance. By the time she and the kids pulled into the driveway, it had gotten worse. I tried to act calm, but the moment they saw my face, their expressions shifted to terror.That’s when it hit me: This might be serious.My breathing tightened. Each inhale was shorter than the last. My throat was thick, closing. And then—unexpectedly—the fear eased.Nothing had improved physically. My body was still reacting, but internally, something shifted. The urgency softened. The panic loosened its grip, and in its place came a stillness I hadn’t chosen. Time felt different.I lowered myself to the ground, staring up at the sky, fighting for air—but no longer fighting the moment. I was still aware of everything around me, but I no longer felt fully inside it.And then I knew: I was dying.I asked to speak to my kids, just long enough to tell them I loved them, that I would always love them and be proud of them. I told them to take care of their mom and each other. Then I asked for them to be taken away. I couldn’t let them watch.My body continued to struggle, but I wasn’t afraid the way I had been. The fear didn’t disappear entirely, but it no longer controlled me. In its place was something steady—a calm that felt given.There was no voice. No figure. And yet, I knew I wasn’t alone.The world began to narrow. Darkness closed in from the edges, like an old television signing off. Everything went black, and then—light.It started faint, then expanded—like clouds parting to reveal the sun. But this light was different: brilliant, yet soft; impossible to look away from. It didn’t blind me; it held me and drew me in. As it did, every trace of fear disappeared.Then came a sound, faint and distant, pulling me back. The light remained, but something else pressed in—a steady pull in the opposite direction.Then came weight. My chest tightened, my throat burned, and the stillness gave way to something dense and physical: air—hard, uneven, insufficient. Voices broke through.“Stay with us.”“Breathe.”“You’re okay.”I tried to inhale. It caught halfway, then another—shallow, but real. I was back, not all at once, but in fragments of pressure, hands, heat, and noise. Beneath it all was a single realization: I’m still here.Then, the moment fractured again.The paramedics didn’t just work; they fought.The ambulance was a blur of harsh fluorescent light, cold steel, and loud, rhythmic panic. The siren wailed above us—a piercing, mechanical scream cutting through the streets, reflecting off the metal walls in disorienting echoes. Inside, everything moved in hyper-drive.The sharp smell of rubbing alcohol and sterile plastic hit first. Radio chatter crackled violently over the speakers—rapid-fire jargon, heart rates, blood pressure numbers, dispatch yelling instructions back and forth. Equipment beeped incessantly, a frantic, high-pitched telemetry track measuring a body that was shutting down.”Breathe!””We’re losing his pressure! Push another round!”Faces hovered over me—eyes wide above blue masks, slick with sweat. They were shouting over the engine roar and the siren, their hands moving with terrifying, practiced speed. Syringes torn from plastic wrappers. Tubes snapped into place. Hands slammed onto my chest in hard, rhythmic compressions, trying to force life back into a heart that was letting go.And yet, suddenly, I was sitting on a bench inside the ambulance, watching.Below me, my body lay on the stretcher. Looking down from that bench, none of the hysteria reached me.I saw the bright red and blue lights flashing against the side windows, painting the paramedics’ faces in alternating shades of alarm. I heard the tires squealing as the rig whipped around corners, throwing equipment against the cabinet doors. I felt the violence of the moment. But I didn’t feel the fear.To them, it was a battle against time—a chaotic, desperate attempt to pull a man back from the edge. But from where I sat, watching the blue lights strobe across the ceiling, the noise faded into a quiet background hum. The frantic hands, the shouting, the piercing sirens—it all belonged to a world I was gently slipping out of. I watched them push my body into the hospital, watched the controlled chaos, and watched them fight for me.And I felt peace. Not because I believed I would return, but because I believed I wouldn’t. There was no resistance, no struggle—only acceptance.And then, like a dream ending, it was gone.I woke up in the hospital. Alive. Breathing. Still here.People ask what I think it was. A physical response? A neurological event? Something spiritual?The truth is, I don’t know. But I know this: I felt myself let go of life, and I was at peace. I felt something meet me there, and I was not alone. Somehow, I came back carrying that with me.I used to believe life was something you hold onto, something you fight to keep. Now I see it differently. Because in the moment I thought I lost it, I didn’t feel fear. I felt at peace. And whatever was waiting for me in that light didn’t feel like the end.It felt like home.And maybe that’s what I was meant to understand all along: not just how to face the end, but how to live before it.Like Gene Banks said: If this one were your last—make it a great one.

  Why do you write ✍️ a story or a book ? It’s a great question, and my answer will differ from most because I have never attempted to sell any of my books along the way.

I see my role in life for the remainder of the time here as being a distributor of Hope ! I am not nor ever have been trying to sell someone, but trying hard to work off a debt to God. For reasons beyond my own understanding, I have found myself repeatedly in the right place at the right time and combined with my willingness to accept help, I type out the words to what I like to call book 6 of 7.

The people involved with these stories are all about doing for others, the Greater Good if you will. As Chris Dodson states very elegantly in his take, the folks we are highlighting are not seekers of glory, but people are just doing things that are in their wheelhouse.

Not everyone has the same comfort zone, not by a long shot. But one doesn’t need thousands of people who want to chase the same dream because you can move mountains with a select few.

Lawrence ” Big Picture ” Nesselrodt likes to live live by the thought of ” Leave it Better than you found it “. For me, it’s always been Duke, UVA, and wherever I stay, meaning that you should look for every way possible to give back to your community !

At this point, I turn my efforts over to three very trusted individuals who will proceed to create Book Six – Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend !

John, Nancy, and Emma – you are now on the clock ⏰️

Thank you to everyone who helped me get as many of the facts straight as possible because it needed to be told. People need to believe that they can make a difference in the Big Picture !

Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend : Sometimes you need to be at the end to truly find the beginning !

There was still one missing link to the story about ball games and the town of Shenandoah, and thankfully, it was Chris Dodson that allowed the story to have an origin point !

We have always known the family names, Comer, Viafora, Dodson, Knight, Cardin, Gordon, and Hendrick to list a few. The burning question has been what enabled the ball to get rolling in the manner that it still rolls today ?

‘ Da Boat, Boss, ‘ Da Boat !

Chris Dodson is the son of Archie Dodson, who, along with Roy Cardin, got together back in the 1970s to form the Shenandoah Rec League. The organization is celebrating a half-century of history, and that effort led to so much of the modern-day success in and around Page County, Virginia.

Dodson is currently working on a book about the story as well, and with his ability to multi-task, I’m sure that it will be a terrific read !

Parents come and go in programs, whether you are talking about youth or high school. The difference between the ” Magic  on the Mountain” is that so many members of the group stayed well past the playing careers of their children.

Ralph Viafora continued coaching alongside Alan Knight well past the graduation of the youngest of their three daughters. Viafora and his family sit atop any list of people that left their mark on PCHS.

Megan Gordon worked harder to promote the efforts long after the second of her Division One daughters left for James Madison University and Penn State University. Even today, Mrs Gordon is still accepting new challenges for the youth of today.

Dennis Zimmerman, also known as Preacher, is still very active with the program, years after the graduation of his kiddo. Arthur Campbell slowed down from his break neck schedule to spearhead our efforts with the OneofUs.Care Pavillion next to the diamond.

Brian Hendrick has been a fixture for decades, and while he still goes by ” Big Daddy,” it’s now because of the size of his heart. Again, still a part of the show long after his little one graduated.

Wayne Comer played for the Detroit Tigers in the World Series versus Bob Gibson and the St Louis Cardinals and then came home to coach baseball.

Dodson moved his talents about 10 miles up US-33, where he made a name for himself by winning seven State titles at Spotswood High School. The exact same number that his former teacher, Knight, has won at PCHS.

The history of the Gordon family is like the one of the Cardins in that it is now third generation. Dodson talks about how cool it was to finish up a season undefeated while playing for Coach Gordon back in the day. He thought it was a big deal but then noticed that it was not uncommon for that to take place back in the day.

Roy Cardin had a vision back in the 1970s, and from there, it just became a family thing !

The downside to living a life that leads to residing in 18 different states is that you are never going to be from somewhere. But I knew that I might only have one shot at having my parents’ name hanging somewhere for the forceeable future, the back fence at Page County High School Softball complex seemed like the right spot !

The timing of the phone call from Dodson was storybook in that I was standing at the very end of the road after riding the ferry. I don’t know Chris Dodson if not for Travis Knight, and I don’t know Travis if he’s not riding past the high school at the exact time we snapped a wire and needed a repair.

God is about timing, and while I have only experienced the back half of the 50 years of magic, I feel blessed to be a passenger on the train. A train that started by one man with a vision, a few top-shelf friends, and as they say, the rest is history !

Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend : An afternoon with Britton Adams of York, South Carolina is just the latest link in the chain of baseball lifers !

Hartsville, South Carolina, is just down the road from the Fort Mill area and is famous for the nearby Darlington Nascar track and for being the home to Coker University.

The story in regards to baseball for Adams is a similar one to most of the student athletes who have played for Lawrence Nesselrodt at West Virginia Tech University over the past 20 years. You fall in love with the game at an early age, play it well enough to be given the opportunity to further your education because of it. Finally, the day comes when you reach the end of the journey in regards to playing the game, and you dabble in the coaching end of the pool.

The two hour conversation with Adams took place down in Surf Side Beach, South Carolina, and brought back fond memories of the term, Love for the Game. When you play at a small college, whether it be at a Coker, WVU-T, or any of hundreds of others that fall into a similar category, you are chasing a different type of dream.

One of the players that Britton grew up with in the Rock Hill / Fort Mill area, just south of Charlotte, was Jordan Thurmond. Thurmond could be a poster child for a baseball player at Tech as he graduated back in 2025.

Aerospace engineering is one of many degrees that are available at Tech as the bulk of players who attend are doing so in hopes of landing a career outside of a ball diamond. The true definition of a college student athlete !

Adams remained at Coker for another season of baseball, this time on the coaching side of the lines. The jury is still out on a future with baseball in it.

You see the well-known commercials about the very small percentage of college athletes who will eventually turn professional in their sports. Just know that most are taking full advantage of the educational avenue that is being presented to them !

Baseball and softball are games that you love to play as a child. If you are really fortunate, you can continue to play them throughout your high school days. Then, a small percentage will still have enough talent and desire to make their way onto a college roster, and from there, it becomes about your commitment to excellence and yourself.

Jordan Thurmond is making the most out of his opportunities, and Britton Adams is doing the same !

Diamonds 💎 are a Girls Best Friend : A fitting end to the story has fellow Seattle baseball fans partying like it was 1969 !

  Being a Seattle baseball fan has been a tough go over the decades as the current franchise is one of just a handful in professional sports that has never competed for a Championship, let alone won a trophy. Last season was a close call when they were once again within one game of making it to the World Series before Toronto held them at bay.

Milwaukee was looking for a team to replace their Braves after they packed up and moved to Atlanta after the 1965 season and they found a bargain when the Seattle Pilots became available for the equivalent of pizza money a few years later in 1969.

The Pilots became the Brewers, and just like the Mariners, the team was a fun watch but enjoyed limited success. Finally, in 1982 the Brew Crew made it to the Fall Classic but ran into Whitey Herzog and the St. Louis Cardinals.

It was a little ironic that we lived in St Louis back then as my Dad retired from the Navy and went to work for McDonnell – Douglas in STL. That company would later be swallowed by Boeing, the Seattle based company that led to the team being named the Pilots.

In typical Seattle, baseball fashion, the Brewers would need 50+ years to finally drink champagne in the locker room. But for tonight and the purpose of closing out this book on a lifetime of softball and baseball stories, we will reflect back to the great year of 1969 and celebrate a Seattle World Series title !