In 1986, at the Saint Anthony Residence, a haven for folks two steps away from living on the street in Saint Paul, Minn., a series of events and personalities converged in an unlikely and perhaps unprecedented situation. As described in the opening pages of Pat Harris's novel A Season on the Drink, two softball teams met on Raymond Field: "The Saint Anthony Residence for chronic alcoholics and the drywall company were tied. It was the final game of the season." It was just rec-league ball, but the stakes felt much greater than the outcome of the game itself. There was dignity on the line.

Harris's debut is a remarkable novel whose subject is, on its surface, a softball team made up of chronic alcoholics. Immersion in its storytelling, however, reveals greater depths, focusing on a handful of characters from the team and the Saint Anthony Residence; most central is a man named Marty Peterson. Marty is nearing 50 years old, with a county record including "treatment six or so times, detox 30 or 40," when he goes to live at the Residence. Quiet, easygoing, cerebral, Marty has long found himself unfit for mainstream life.

He does have a personal history with baseball, however. A strong player in high school, he played a single year at the University of Minnesota, briefly brushing shoulders with greatness in the form of coach Dick Siebert and Herb Brooks. "Herb would eventually take off his Gopher baseball uniform for a checkered sport coat and one of the most iconic gold medals in history. Marty took off his uniform for a shirt he found at Goodwill." In an extraordinary year at Saint Anthony, he will have an important role to play in forming a team that will go undefeated for its single season.

Based on a true story that touched the author early in his public service career, A Season on the Drink delves into Marty's personal history through "Marty Interludes" and his original poetry. Harris features a few other characters in detail: Harry Opus, the day manager at Saint Anthony, is a recovering alcoholic and somewhat reluctant team member. Terry Thomas, longtime resident, is "a provocateur... humorous, conniving, and sad," but a born salesman and Marty's more gregarious counterpart as player/manager. Allison Boisvert, director of housing for Catholic Charities, aka "the Queen of Housing," along with community investors Mr. Long and Mr. Ryan and a "charitable mobster" known as "The Padre," provide financial and moral support; the Queen's partner, Jim, also a staffer at Saint Anthony, is a steady hand on a team with very few of them. But Marty is the heart, soul, and talent.

In telling the story of these and other lost alcoholics and those who serve them, Harris artfully profiles people, the city of Saint Paul, and alcoholism itself. He also touches on politics, economics, and social services. The existence of the Saint Anthony Residence relies on the skillful marketing by the Queen and other advocates to both ends of the political spectrum. Housing "chronic inebriates" at Saint Anthony costs taxpayers far less than treatment or detox; visible, homeless drunks are bad for business. It is also "a matter of dignity... [which] calls for the basics of life--food, shelter, and maybe something for the soul." "All were welcome at Saint Anthony"--the residence is a wet house: residents have no obligation to attend meetings or make any attempt to be sober. They may own alcohol but not possess it on the premises. Some leave for parts unknown; some leave in a body bag. There is a regular schedule to each month, from the first when residents collect a check for $47 and are, briefly, funded drinkers, through the mid-month descent into alchemy: profoundly toxic cocktails of cleaning products and rubbing alcohol for the truly committed. "The Saint Anthony Residence was a last stop--a formal determination of the end while living."

But then there was the spring of 1986. Led by Kirby Puckett and called by Bob Kurtz, the Minnesota Twins are on the Saint Anthony televisions; Marty, Terry, and Harry watch in the latter's office, and Marty recalls his youth. A baseball glove appears. Marty and Terry knock a ball around over at Raymond Field, and the Queen directs Harry to form a team--she wants to see the residents a little more occupied, beyond alchemical creativity. Terry's charisma and salesmanship, Harry's unenthusiastic aid, and most especially Marty's love for and knowledge of the game coalesce to form "America's first organized softball team of chronic inebriates." "The game of baseball was made to make the world feel better. Even in failure, it offered victory."

By the end of this narrative, fictionalized from Harris's own conversations with Marty Peterson, a team has formed and stumbled, won, and disbanded. The Saint Anthony Residence is still the bottom of a certain trajectory, but there are fine and shining moments. "Seeing the playing field from the vantage point of the batter's box is the greatest moment in sports, and Marty was right back in it." Victory parties are thrown with kegs of root beer.

"If this were a movie, there'd be happy endings, but life stories are not that neat." With A Season on the Drink, Harris offers somber but loving reflections from this less-than-neat story, and there is no question of the tenderness at its center--"[Marty] just liked playing ball." --Julia Kastner

Pat Harris (photo: Michael Murrary)

Pat Harris is a lifelong Saint Paulite and passionate community champion. His commitment to public service began in 1989 as a VISTA volunteer at Catholic Charities, where he first learned about the Saint Anthony Residence and heard tales of a softball team that won it all. The experience sparked a lifetime of civic engagement and advocacy. Harris's debut novel, A Season on the Drink (Adventure Publications, September 9, 2025), chronicles the story of Marty Peterson and the Saint Anthony Residence fast-pitch softball team their single, undefeated season, and the flash of inspiration it provided. Harris and his partner, Laura, have four dynamic children, and one enthusiastic canine companion named Ranger.

Tell me about the line between verifiable fact and fiction in this novel based on true history.

It's nearly all true, although obviously you have to bring in some license in order to really show the story. When I was a VISTA volunteer, I spent time at the Saint Anthony Residence and learned some of the struggles that people were going through, but also the hope that existed in that building. It's kind of the end of the road if you're a person in the deep levels of alcoholism; that's where you can go to sort of live out life and continue to be an alcoholic. I spent a lot of time there learning about people, and I heard this story, of this one year where they started playing pickup softball games at this park near the building, and they were kinda good! In the middle of some very intense poverty and alcoholism, they were good softball players. It was anchored by a guy I eventually worked with, Marty Peterson, who played baseball at the University of Minnesota. He was a standout baseball player, but alcoholism turned the tide of his life. As soon as I heard it, I was like, someone's gotta tell this story. A lot of stars aligned to really change some people's lives. The Saint Anthony is a very intense place that a lot of people are unaware of, but this one year, something really cool happened.

I spent the better part of many years interviewing people and learning what happened. I compiled all the information, but I wasn't at the games, so I had to reconstruct them based on interviews and stories. All the members of the team, as far as we can tell, have passed. The staff people have passed. Some of the people in the book are still around.

When Marty got sober and got out of the Saint Anthony Residence, that's when I met him. I discovered this extraordinary person with a trove of original poetry, who saved a child from a burning building (which is in the book)--an absolutely 100% true story that was on the front page of the St. Paul Pioneer Press. My main character, who was a chronic alcoholic and played on this softball team, saved a child from a burning building! You can't make that up. It had to have been true; I could never have thought of it.

What research did you do?

A lot of it was that I was there. Not for the games--that season happened before I arrived--but the stories were told with great pride. I just spent time there and knew everybody. There were extensive interviews. Marty Peterson's son and I have become good friends. He tells some amazing stories about his dad, ones of struggle and ones of extraordinary times. A little baseball research here and there, to correlate to what was happening in baseball at the time. The Twins were on the verge of the World Series--they didn't have a phenomenal season in '86, but they won the World Series in '87.

Is this a book about baseball?

This is a book about hope. The game of softball, or baseball, carried some people on this pathway of hope and of perception. Sure, it's a sports book. But it's also a book about hope and recovery and alcoholism and poverty and all over the top of it, perception. You're a bank, or a construction company, or whatever, and you're playing people who are chronic alcoholics--they're wearing jeans, and they're smoking, and half of them are actively intoxicated, perhaps on Lysol or other chemicals, and they're beating you--badly, sometimes. And competitive juices flow on ball fields, and people get angry. But at the end of these games--hey, you know what, y'all might be at the Saint Anthony Residence, but you're all right.

This book has a little bit of everything. It's got sports, it's got some humor, a lot of sadness, and recovery... and it's got people that couldn't get out of those depths. A lot of the team passed onsite, or somewhere not far after exiting the facility.

It's not singularly a book about sports. It's about perception and hope, in a true story. This is really emotional for me because people matter. People matter. There are a lot of places that lesson can be taught, and one of them is the ballfield.

What about Marty captured your attention so hard?

I was in my 20s when I met him as a client in the job service program. Marty was one of these guys... this softspoken person that had struggled all his life with the disease of alcoholism. At his core, externally and internally, Marty was a brilliant and good human being. He struggled with this disease; it impacted his family, his job, his ability to be successful in baseball. And he was an extraordinary baseball player. He was kind and decent, and we'd sit in the Union Gospel Mission Thrift Store where he worked, and we'd talk about books and about life and where he was going. He was kind. And then I found out he was a poet! You read his poetry, or the letters his son allowed me to see, and it's extremely emotional. The gentleman was deep. And, oh yeah,  he saved a child from a burning building! --Julia Kastner