In 1979 I was working in the office of Ulrich Franzen & Associates, and I attempted to get our firm involved into an existing softball league in New York City called The Architects & Contractors League. I was turned away, being told that expansion was impossible due to a lack of permits.

In 1980, with Rick Franzen's support, I obtained a permit for a small asphalt field at the 79th Street Boat Basin, which gave us the opportunity to start our own all-architect softball league. It was comprised of just six offices, and I became, by default, the Commish. Over the next eight years, SLAM would grow to over 20 offices and become a marketing tool for the firms (Gene Kohn later told me that KPF started every marketing presentation with a slide of its softball team) as well as a social outlet for young architects – and especially a way to get out of the office early. I wanted to call it SLAM, and Rick suggested it be an acronym for "Softball League Apres Moderne" which he assumed was the French translation for "post-modern". Everyone was amused, but the name stuck. Post-Modernism was à la vogue at the time. Our office won the championship in the first two seasons – naturellment!

Over the next 2-3 years, I made it my business that the Parks & Recreation staff would get to know me on a first name basis. So from the Boat Basin days, we slowly accumulated permits for prime locations in prime time slots, including two at The Great Lawn, Riverside Drive at 104th and 107th Streets, another asphalt field at Gansvoort Street – and Heckscher Field which was the plum location. I.M. Pei brought that permit with them in joining the league. I kept all those handwritten permits in a lock box. Occasionally other teams and leagues would show up and try to forcefully take our fields, but we always prevailed in the Diamond Wars.

It was a big responsibility to make the softball league work. And yeah, I was pretty autocratic about it. I maintained the permits, created the season schedules, hired and scheduled the umpires (our first two umpires were named Cash Green and Willie Perkins), wrote the rules (including "at least two members of either sex" and "a maximum of one ringer", both of which were frequently broken), settled protests and disputes, and most importantly, planned parties and events. I had a lot of help from the other managers, including Ronnette Riley who I asked to be the treasurer and collect the dues – a vital role. Overall, it was a great group. At the beginning of every season, I'd get phone calls from architects like Richard Meier, Peter Eisenman and others practically begging me for their offices to be admitted into the league. I played hard to get, but of course, eventually everybody was in. What a thrill for a young architect to have as much influence as Ada Louise Huxtable on these famous architects – for 15 minutes.

I bought a loving cup of polished pewter and had it engraved with "S.L.A.M." and all to make it the official Championship Trophy. I presented it to the winning team with much fanfare at a big blowout party at the end of each season. The trophy always managed to be prominently displayed in each winning firm's office. The other teams would all receive a trophy-like construction painted gold, which were metaphoric of their office's design work. There were prizes for the best team T-shirt designs. These parties were held all over Manhattan, including the Boat House and Wollman Rink in Central Park as well as some pretty fancy pants restaurants. When Peter Eisenman won his first championship, he proceeded to give a long speech about how great architecture is derived from the grid of a baseball diamond. We didn't have iPhones then, but that would've been a pretty good Instagram moment. I'd like to see that championship trophy again if it still exists.

On several occasions I asked a celebrity to come to Central Park to throw out the season's opening pitch – such as Tom Wolfe in the season opener between the offices of Richard Meier and Johnson Burgee. Having just published "From Bauhaus to Our House", Wolfe gave a long dissertation about modernism from the mound before throwing the pitch. Despite the pitch going over the catcher's head, his southern diction had been sublime, and his signature white suit dazzled through the stretch. Afterward, he autographed softballs, and I think that shot ran in the Times.

My best memory was hitting a grand slam off Charlie Gwathmey at 104th street. The balled sailed over the NYCRR wall. We won the game. He was so steamed. Anybody who knew Charlie knows how tough and competitive he was, and I was tempted to include the feat on my resume. I know everyone has their own memorable moments, too.

After leaving Franzen's office, my partner David Acheson and I took the franchise – and its ringers – with us to our own new firm. Over time, SLAM began to run itself. My involvement increasingly grew into mediating disputes between offices which was a no-win situation. I hated that part, but always sought parity between the small offices and the bigger guns. Former MLB Commissioner Fay Vincent, who became one of our clients, enjoyed my other partner Mick Doyle's stories about the hassles of trying to run our league. After 8 or 9 years, my own firm of ATD was taking all of my time, so I stepped down as Commissioner and set up a system in which the winning manager would assume the Commissioner's responsibilities for the next season.

There's probably been much hard work and sacrifice by many to keep SLAM going. Like somebody once said, baseball is just about the only place in life where a sacrifice is really appreciated.

Cheers to you Slammers!

Tom Thornton