Northridge’s Camp Kernen Kicks Off a Quest to ‘Finish It Off’ : Baseball: Frustrated after just missing trip to College World Series last season, Matadors begin this season with 5 1/2-day ordeal named after coach.

Beyond the barbecue dinners, pranks, storytelling and cortex-rattling pillow fights, what occurred on and around the Cal State Northridge baseball field last month bore little resemblance to summer camp.

There were 5 1/2 days of fielding fundamentals, batting practice, conditioning exercises, psychological orientation and around-the-clock work detail.

And while there were a few shenanigans, what transpired was the antithesis of a baseball fantasy camp.

The participants, members of the Northridge baseball team, named the ordeal after their coach and drill sergeant, Bill Kernen, a former Orange Coast College and Cal State Fullerton assistant who helped guide Fullerton to two regional titles and a national championship.

Lest any player was under the wrong impression, Kernen tersely announced on opening night: “This is not a slumber party.”

Camp Kernen was the continuing education of a college baseball team being pushed to the brink.

Northridge views itself as heir-apparent to the NCAA crown because of a willingness to work harder than the competition.

Baseball boot camp made its debut at Northridge last season, before the Matadors’ first season as a Division I team. The end result was a 44-18-1 record and a No. 10 national ranking.

This season, 25 players made Matador Field their home from Jan. 12-17. Twenty sacked out on sleeping bags, mattresses and, in some cases, furniture cushions on the concrete floor of the 50-by-20-foot clubhouse. Two players slept in the concession stand, and three stretched out in the camper shells of trucks that were parked underneath the stadium’s bleachers at night.

Meanwhile, Kernen and assistants Stan Sanchez and P. C. Shaw lodged in comparative luxury on the floor of the school’s weight room, which has carpet and, more significantly, forced-air heating.

The players, whose confines featured three portable heaters of varying efficiency, called the coaches’ accommodations “The Hilton.”

Space was at a premium in the clubhouse and players were asked to bring only essentials. A 13-page, typewritten outline of the week’s plans included a list of 43 necessities--soap, toothbrush, fork, knife, spoon, can opener, eight hangers, black shoe polish and, of course, dip, chew, seeds, etc.--and a diagram showing precisely how the items were to be placed inside one’s locker.

Those who prepared too hastily suffered the consequences. David Prosenko, a senior outfielder, paid for his carelessness at dinner the first night.

“I can’t believe I brought all spoons,” he muttered while stabbing hopelessly at a piece of barbecue chicken.

Also included in the outline was a chart listing the proper location for daily inspection. Players were required to report to an assigned position in a formation at 8:20 each morning, appearing unshaven (razors were prohibited) in freshly shined black cleats, gray pants, a team sweat shirt over a team T-shirt, and a black cap with the red lettering “Finish It Off.”

“Finish It Off” is the team’s unofficial slogan for the season. The phrase derives from the frustration of last season when Northridge came within three outs of winning the West II Regional and advancing to the eight-team College World Series.

Kernen, who majored in psychology at the University of Redlands, routinely uses slogans and props to drive home a point. The “Finish It Off” caps are worn each day during practice, and the words are stenciled in paint on the doormat outside the clubhouse.

Reminders of the team’s aspirations are everywhere. Over one clubhouse exit, in white letters on red, it says “Rose Garden,” a reference to the White House invitation annually extended to the national champion. Over the other is the word “Omaha,” site of the College World Series.

In addition, Northridge players are required to carry 3 x 5 index cards that list their six primary team and individual goals for the season. Most often, the cards can be found tucked inside a player’s cap.

The goals are personal but contain common threads: They are written in present tense and at the top of each list is the proclamation, “We are the 1992 NCAA Division I baseball champions.”

Preseason ratings indicate that Northridge’s chances of meeting its goal are not very good. Neither Collegiate Baseball nor Baseball America lists the Matadors in its Top 10.

Northridge is ranked 11th by Collegiate Baseball, but the Matadors are not in Baseball America’s Top 25.

Even more surprising to Kernen is that only three Northridge players--pitcher Kenny Kendrena, second baseman Scott Richardson and outfielder Greg Shockey--are mentioned in Baseball America’s list of top players.

The perceived snub prompted Kernen, in a snarling first-night address, to conclude that he must be the “stupidest S.O.B. who ever lived.”

“I was the one who recruited you guys. I thought you were better than that!” he continued, gathering momentum. “Twenty-six catchers. No Mike Sims. Nooope. Not on here. But there are three guys from Ivy League schools. . . . So basically, Sims, what they’re saying here is that you would be, at best, the fourth-best catcher in the Ivy League this season.”

And so it went.

Not in the Top 25? “Maybe they put names on a board and tossed darts at it,” Kernen hissed.

“What I do know is that this is a better team than last year’s team. And I want you to know it, too. What everybody else thinks doesn’t mean (anything), until the end of the year.”

This season’s camp was considered vital because of new NCAA rules that prohibit fall games and limit supervised practice time to 20 hours per week.

Because the camp took place during semester break, the restrictions weren’t in effect. “We are able to cover everything in our system of things in one week,” Kernen said. “Our team defense items, all of our hitting plans, everything.”

But even before camp opened, players had been expected to train hard, alternating between the weight room and the track.

Running requirements in the fall ranged from three miles in less than 21 minutes to six miles in 48.

“You couldn’t get more unrelated to baseball,” Kernen said. “But the purpose was to pull them together and see who really signed up and who didn’t, who can go through something and who can’t.”

Slowly, relationships started to form, a process that was expected to climax during camp. “We figure if they don’t kill each other, they should become a tight unit,” Kernen said.

After inspection, breakfast and field chores, the players got around to the business of baseball about 9:45 each morning. Practice started with 15 minutes of stretching exercises.

Next came defensive drills, with outfielders, infielders, catchers and pitchers often splitting into groups.

Some drills were more excruciating than others. The team’s three catchers suffered through one exercise in which a pitching machine was set to deliver fastballs in the dirt. Their job was to smother each ball as it was fired in rapid succession.

“Yeah, that’s just a whole lot of fun,” said Kyle Washington, a starting outfielder and backup catcher as he adjusted his protective equipment after one such session. “That’s why they call this the armor of stupidity.”

After defensive drills, the team got 45 minutes for lunch before returning to the field and splitting into hitting groups.

The pitchers, meanwhile, either threw in the bullpen, hit fungoes, shagged balls, fed the pitching machines or worked on bunt defenses and pickoffs.

Whenever possible, drills were made to be competitive. During batting practice, “teams” often competed against each other.

“This isn’t a thing for ordinary people,” said first baseman Chris Olsen, a junior from El Dorado High. “I know a lot of guys, players, who love to play but wouldn’t last more than a couple of days in this program.”

As dusk filtered into dark, players gathered up their equipment and set about clearing the field and dugouts. Their work, however, was not finished. Sometimes there was running, sometimes weight training. Always, there was more to do. The pace really didn’t slow until lights-out at 11.

The players had about an hour and a half to shower at the school gym, make a quick phone call (quarters for the pay phone also were among the 43 essentials) and dash back to the clubhouse in time for dinner.

Then it was time for meetings and a review of the day.

On two evenings, players digested dinner while watching videotape highlights of the 1984 Olympic Games.

The events were varied, Kernen explained, but many of the themes were similar.

“Watch how they react when they win,” Kernen instructed, “and listen to how many of them refer to this being the day or moment they’ve been working for.”

Whatever the evening’s topic, the sessions ended the same way: with a drawing for nine hour-long shifts of guard duty during the night.

From 11 p.m. until 8 a.m., players took turns patrolling the baseball grounds, making sure that all were safe.

Each night, the selection of a blank piece of paper drew high-fives, whistles and cheers, while a numbered slip brought whining, looks of despair and, invariably, a large dose of good-natured teasing.

Those who were afforded a continuous night’s sleep seemed to take joy in another’s misfortune. And just in case anyone had ideas about cheating, the coaches devised a preventive scheme.

The first player on guard duty was given a card. On the front is a word and on the back are instructions for finding the next card. At the end of the hour, the player signs the “word” side and gives it to the next player on duty, who follows the directions to a second card. He then posts the first card--word side up--on a bulletin board and the chain begins.

When the scheme works as planned, the team awakens to a nine-word slogan posted on the bulletin board, a different player’s signature on each card.

When it doesn’t . . .

Relief pitcher Kurt Lowry followed a midnight directive to a 5 a.m. card and paid for his misunderstanding as the target of many a barb. Even Kernen joined in when, because of an athletic staff meeting, he was two hours late getting to the field one morning.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said on his arrival. “Lowry gave me directions and I got lost.”

By the end of the week, though, Kernen himself had played pin cushion to a few needles.

Sanchez, the team’s top assistant, is a boyhood buddy of Kernen and guardian of what he good-naturedly claims is “potentially damaging” information about the head coach.

Although Sanchez for the most part maintained silence, he did mention that Kernen’s nickname while attending San Gorgonio High was “Psycho,” resulting in chuckles and knowing nods among the players.

The week’s most poignant moments came on the final night, when Kernen opened the floor to the players, asking each to talk about whatever might be on his mind.

Most of the words centered on the team’s quest for a national championship. None were more emotionally charged than those of Solar, who broke down several times while trying to express the bitterness of last season’s final loss.

“The feeling Solar has is the feeling we’ve all had,” Sims interjected at one point. “We’re going to make that feeling disappear.”

Richardson, one of the final speakers, spoke matter-of-factly on a less emotional but more controversial subject. He admitted that he had tried to encourage several of the newcomers to quit during fall conditioning.

“In the beginning, I didn’t want you here,” Richardson told his teammates. “I wanted our old team back to finish what we started when I first came here. . . .

“But now I see how far you’ve come, starting with the running, and I see how much you’ve learned and adapted to the way we do things around here. You’re with us now, and we’re all after the same thing.”