No Bats was devised over lunch at Miami’s Doral Country Club seven months before we stepped on the field at Dodgertown. The goal was to create a long weekend for guys to have a fun, supportive environment that celebrated baseball and brotherhood. I wanted cross-pollination—not cliques—and from all walks of society. Good guys. No hotshots, no problems. To do that, I devised four rules:

1. No wives.
2. No kids.
3. No drugs.
4. No arguing.

The venue was perfect, the weather was not, and the championship was a shocking upset in the mudpuddles of legends. Boston mailman Brian Deegan scored the first run in club history face-first, after stumbling the last few steps home. Chrissie the bartender became a legend. Smilin’ Jay Davis left the uniforms at his house and his wife Susie, nine months pregnant, loaded them up, drove a hundred miles, dropped them off, then turned around and left. One of the guys sleepwalked naked and got locked out of his room. When asked about it later, Annapolis gym teacher Jon Braun said, "It was like (Viet)nam. If you weren’t there, you’d never understand."

What made the weekend work was the guys. A brotherhood was born. Even those who had short careers made a huge impact. They helped create a legacy to protect and build upon.