My story on A.J. Ziter, Pittsfield's loyal team manager for the past 22 years, comes out tomorrow/today. It's one of the most enjoyable stories I've written since I've been at The Eagle. Everyone who has gone to school at PHS -- students, athletes, teachers, volunteers -- has a story about A.J. Some were emotional and touching. Others were hilarious and side-splitting. He's become a presence inside the homes of players and even attended a handful of weddings. Here are a couple of anecdotes that didn't make the cut:
-- No one can question his independence. At practice at Pittsfield, A.J. makes himself at home. During one afternoon I spent with him, he wandered all around the grounds. He chatted with teachers and mingled with volleyball players, taking a half-hour break from his regular duties. There's no question that Pittsfield High is where A.J. believes he belongs.
-- While A.J.'s gifts of gum are appreciated, they haven't always been the most sanitary. When he was a youngster, John Goodnow remembered A.J. removing packs of gum from a sweaty sock before offering them to players. "Of course, you still took it," Goodnow said. "What else were you going to do?" Goodnow also remembered that in 1991, his brand of choice was Wrigley's, while now A.J. hands out Trident. A.J.'s also upgraded his facilities. With a wardrobe comprised of nearly 50 percent Pittsfield apparel, the gum remains packed away in pockets.
-- How's this for loyalty? In 1990, Harte kicked a player out of one of his practices. The player sulked in the locker room, sitting in a bathroom stall and closing the door. A.J., in a display of solidarity, walked in and plopped down on the seat next door.
- Perhaps my favorite of the bunch -- and the one that sums up A.J.'s incredible combination of goofiness and affection -- occurred during Pittsfield High's final game of the 1991 season after the Generals blew a seven-point lead in the final two minutes. Matt Mickle took it harder than most. Still clad in his uniform, he disappeared into the shower, the water mixing with the tears on his face. His coach, Dave Harte, walked in, drenching his suit jacket, and placed an arm around Mickle's shoulder. Moments later, A.J. walked in. His sweatshirt sopping wet, he threw his arms around the pair from behind. He released the two from his embrace and patted Mickle on the back. Said A.J. "Don't feel bad, we'll get them next year."