ORONO — He was out of the game. Tom Vanidestine had three hits that day, more than 20 years ago, but John Winkin was taking him out for a pinch hitter.

Vanidestine was furious. He stormed back to the University of Maine dugout and bounced his batting helmet off the ground. "This game sucks,” yelled Vanidestine, looking at his head coach.

Winkin stared straight ahead. "Sometimes it does. Now go take a seat."

Nearly 40 men who once played baseball for Winkin helped fill a formal campus dining room Saturday night at the University of Maine. It was John Winkin Day, as proclaimed by Gov. John Baldacci, who stood in line to shake Winkin’s hand.

Friends. Fans. Fellow coaches. Family. They took turns grasping the left hand he raised to greet each of them. The stroke that robbed him of movement on his right side some 18 months ago has done nothing to dim the light in his eyes or fog his memory.

In his excitement, he struggled to speak clearly. But when he was given the microphone near the end of the night, everyone understood the feelings of a man and baseball coach, the likes of which we may never see again.

"There’s nothing that means more than these men and the admiration they’ve shown me tonight," said Winkin.

"I tell you I have been overwhelmed. I thank all of you who came here to honor my boys, to honor me."

His boys stood behind him. Some wiped tears from their eyes. Some felt throats tighten.

The stroke that felled Winkin while he was on one of his power walks in the winter of 2007 might have killed another man. Instead, Winkin is approaching his 90th birthday.

"Nobody thinks I'm going to live," said Winkin, so passionately he seemed to rise from his wheelchair. "I'm going to live, goddamn it!"

He paused.

"Please excuse my language. It is tough to fight this. Very tough."

It was a remarkable night. The 1,000 coaching victories and the six trips to the College World Series with teams made up of players from Maine were acknowledged.

Billy Swift, the former pitcher for Seattle, San Francisco and other major-league teams, gave thanks for Winkin watching him play American Legion baseball and giving him a chance to pitch at Maine.

"When we crossed that line to play a game, no one cared where we were from. I was a scrawny 140-pound kid from a poor family in South Portland. But when we played, it was game on. Coach Winkin made us believe in ourselves."

"I was just a kid from Winterport," said Mike Bordick, the shortstop who broke into the major leagues with Tony LaRussa's Oakland A's. Later, Bordick became known as the player who moved the great Cal Ripken from shortstop to third base in the Baltimore Orioles' lineup.

"I got a handwritten recruiting letter from Coach. I couldn't believe it. Little did I know everybody got a handwritten letter. He taught us humility, discipline, commitment. I love him."

That love may have been the greatest gift given to Winkin. The proclamation read by the governor was important and brought the room to its feet, applauding. The gibes and the praise hit home. The portrait of Winkin with Swift and Bordick and Kevin Buckley, Jeff Plympton, Joe Johnson, Mark Sweeney, Bert Roberge and Larry Thomas – all Winkin players who made the major leagues – will be treasured.

The affection given Winkin was more valuable because it was so many years in the making.

Vanidestine lost his mother and his father by his 14th birthday. He tried to find a father figure in Winkin but couldn't. None of the ballplayers could.

"In four years I don't think we conversed 10 sentences that wasn't about baseball," said Vanidestine after the last group photos were taken. "Years later he told me he couldn't get close, he had to separate himself. If he had to make the decision to take me out, he had to do it without any feelings for me. It took me years...