Over the Line, Off the Wall

Jack Neely’s first impression of the World Over-The-Line Championships was typical any sports fan who likes the beer commercials as much as the games themselves.

“The first time I saw this event, it was too good to be true,” Neely said. “The athleticism and the debauchery. It’s mammoth and incredible.”

Players and spectators come from all over the United States to attend this over-the-line (or OTL) event.

But, possibly unlike any other “world championship,” this serious OTL competition is overshadowed by a massive celebration of flesh and drink, something that could be televised only on pay-per-view.

The event is promoted by the Old Mission Beach Athletic Club (OMBAC), which could either be considered a clique of crude men or a good-humored, civic-minded service club of 425.

OMBAC chooses to stage this four-day spectacle, which concludes Saturday and Sunday, on Fiesta Island--the only undeveloped land around Mission Bay.

Which is fitting. This is one sporting event that should be rated R.

Fiesta Island is flat and desolate, 28 acres of dirty sand and shell fragments, and most unsavory when heat mixes with the afternoon wind.

Still, nobody seems to mind.

For most of the estimated 60,000 people who annually venture onto the island, this is San Diego’s hidden treasure.

Or is it hidden pleasure?

While men and women battle with World Series intensity, the 48 courts are ringed by music, tented beach parties and a parade of humanity that resembles a sand-staged Mardi Gras.

Men and women clad in wild, mostly bawdy costume. Drinks are poured, drinks are spilled, and off-color, one-liner and practical jokes are generously offered by OMBAC members.

Neely, a real estate executive from Oxnard, found the whole scene irresistible. He quickly learned to play OTL.

“Something like this is happening under the watchful eye of the San Diego Police Department,” Neely said.

The cops are disarmed by the crowd, in which two types are most common: women in string bikinis and the shameless men with cameras and video recorders who chase them.

“It’s unlike any sporting event you’ll ever witness,” said Neely, 37, who has competed in the men’s century division (three players whose combined ages reach 100) the past six years.

The object of OTL is to hit a softball safely “over the line,” which is approximately 55 feet from home plate and bound by foul lines that frame a rectangular court.

Teams consist of three players, the batting team pitching to itself. Games last five innings. Men must play barehanded while women are allowed to use softball mitts.

The name of Neely’s team can’t be published because it honors OMBAC tradition. The club encourages sexual or off-color references. Many team names have the redeeming quality of being creative.

And some are printable, such as “Who Died And Made You Elvis?” “Firemen In Heat” and “The Beerhunters.”

Spectators at this free event take delight in the names, soak up the scenery and party, yet OTL is not a bad athletic show either.

It is a game that demands both power and finesse, skill and strategy, and has an element of danger.

Dislocated or broken fingers are common risks to catching hard-hit softballs, just as separated shoulders and leg injuries result from ill-fated maneuvers in sand.

Neely, who plays five or six tournaments a year, has suffered seven broken fingers. His teammates, Mike Novak of Ventura and George Bogakos of Santa Monica, each had major knee injuries after playing in the OMBAC tournament.

There are no bleachers on Fiesta Island and viewing of games will be difficult at best until Sunday’s championships, when thousands can plant their beach chairs just beyond the boundary of one court.

But the consequence of poor viewing is minimal, because OTL has never been considered a spectator sport.

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Many of OMBAC’s founding members, now in their 60s and 70s, discovered OTL as kids on the beaches of San Diego.

And it was popular. Ted Williams, the baseball Hall of Famer, played OTL as a San Diego youth.

Only eight teams competed in the inaugural tournament, which was merely a club party on July 4, 1954. This year’s 43rd annual world championship has drawn more than 1,100 teams and 4,000 players from 22 states.

More than 300 teams came from the Los Angeles area, but OMBAC officials counted fewer than 20 from the Valley.

Why so few from the Valley? Lack of promotion, said Russ Johnson, who started L.A.-based Southern California Over-The-Line 18 years ago and organizes 50 tournaments a year. Most of Johnson’s one-day events take place on South Bay beaches and parks. None are in the Valley, but only because he lacks the manpower to expand.

“Hey, I’m booked solid,” said Johnson, who lives in Bellflower. “But there’s a lot of talent up there. We just need somebody to work it.”

Said Neely: “I wish there was someone like Russ Johnson promoting the game in Ventura. But I’m not sure any community will ever embrace it the way San Diego has.”

OTL was not intended for the masses when OMBAC staged its first tournament.

“We did it for our own fun and amusement,” said Sterling Suhre, 78, a charter member. “It’s supposed to be a play day for the OMBACs.”

The club garners substantial revenue from entry fees and merchandise sales, and the profits support other philanthropic projects, like Wheelchair OTL and Junior OTL, and scholarships for top student-athletes who, in most cases, play OTL.

“We never tried to push it in any way,” Suhre said. “It got going by word of mouth. Some people get awful hooked on it.”

Neely is one of those players. His team won six of seven games last weekend and returns Saturday to make a run at a championship.

“When you first start out playing, it’s more of an opportunity to be out in the sun and drink beer all day,” he said. “After a while, you pick up the subtleties of the game, and you stop drinking beer and start drinking Gatorade.”

Players more serious than Neely believe OMBAC probably has stunted OTL’s growth.

OMBAC doused a national network’s interest in televising the world championships several years ago by refusing to change its format. The network wanted to OMBAC to clean up the image.

OTL also was reviewed--and rejected--as an Olympic demonstration sport for the ’96 Games, and some players are angry that beach volleyball became a medal sport.

“It’s a weird situation,” said Keith Mullen of San Diego, a member of Club Sportswear, which captured the 1994 open title. “The top players are world-class athletes.

“But the wildness of the OMBAC tournament concerns the prospective major sponsors. As great as it is, it’s a stumbling block.”