Stallard: Perfection, with a little help
Published 5:16 am Friday, March 20, 2026
The best third baseman in the history of baseball died this past week.
If you’re a baseball fan, your mind probably went immediately to Major League Baseball legends Ron Santo of the Chicago Cubs, Adrian Beltre of the Texas Rangers, Brooks Robinson of the Baltimore Orioles, George Brett of the Kansas City Royals, Mike Schmidt of the Philadelphia Phillies or possibly the Atlanta Braves’ Chipper Jones or Eddie Mathews.
They were all great, and I wouldn’t kick them off my infield, but for my money the best third baseman to ever guard the hot corner was an 11-year-old who played for Nuclear Fuel Services (NFS) in Erwin, Tennessee, in 1978.
His name was David Engle, and he died this past Wednesday. David would have been 60 – my age – had he made it until June, but in my mind he’ll always be 11 and making impossible plays at third base during a perfect 15-0 season for NFS as part of the Erwin Little League.
Full disclosure here.
One of those remarkable plays helped me achieve perfection during that 1978 season, so it’s possible my opinion on the all-time greats to play third base is a little biased.
Erwin was a small town in 1978, and it isn’t much bigger now. The Erwin Little League consisted of six total teams sponsored by various businesses or organizations – NFS, White’s Supermarket, Clinchfield Railroad and the VFW, Elks Club and Kiwanis Club.
Players ranged from ages 9 through 12, and by the time I was 12 – thanks to a couple of brothers who let me pitch to them anytime I wanted and a steady diet of gravy and biscuits (the performance-enhancing drug of those times) – I could flat throw a baseball.
My repertoire featured three pitches: fast ball, changeup and screw up. My coach – Junior Metcalf – named that last pitch after I walked seven batters once against Clinchfield. I also struck out 12 batters and hit three home runs in that game, so Junior only made me run five laps at our next practice.
I tossed a few no-hitters when I was 11 and 12, but the elusive perfect game – 18 up and 18 down – always seemed to elude me.
That all changed late in my final year with NFS, thanks to David.
The opponent that night was VFW, and I had everything working on the mound. Through five innings, I had struck out 13, and VFW only managed to hit a couple of weak fly balls on the infield.
I struck out the first two batters in the sixth but left a pitch over the middle of the plate to the next batter, and he ripped it.
Coaches will tell you that when a pitcher is steadily mowing down hitters, the defense has a tendency to “fall asleep,” or lose focus. That didn’t happen with NFS, because we were all scared Junior Metcalf would make us run to North Carolina and back if we made an error.
That means David was ready at third base when the VFW player smashed a line drive in his direction. The ball was hit so hard, it knocked David’s glove off, but, thankfully, the ball didn’t roll too far away, and David was able to recover.
His throw beat the runner by half a step, and I had my perfect game.
The celebration was a wild one. It wasn’t a game that was broadcast by the local radio station – WEMB – so we didn’t get free milkshakes at Goober’s Drive-In, but some of us did gather over at the Bantam Chef across the street after the game and drank enough cherry Sprite to float a battleship.
David and I didn’t become best friends like would have happened in some sappy Hallmark movie, but we did hang out a little during our high school days. I’m not sure if I ever thanked him for saving my perfect game, and it’s too late now.
But here’s hoping his sons, DJ and Josh, brothers Curtis and Joe, sister Regina and grandchildren Isaiah, Ryan, Skyler, Aaliyah, Castiel and Tori somehow see this and realize perfection is rare, but it can happen.
Especially if you surround yourself with good people.
— Jack Stallard is sports editor of the News-Journal. Email: jack.stallard@news-journal.com; follow on X @lnjsports.