Living on the Black

by John Feinstein

  “I just can’t let you go tonight,” he told his catcher.

  “Willie, I can do it,” Lo Duca said. “I can catch tonight and then take a few days off.”

  Randolph shook his head. He didn’t want to risk a long-term injury, and he didn’t want someone playing on one leg. Lo Duca was crushed.

  Soon after, when Glavine walked into the clubhouse, he checked the lineup and saw that Castro was catching. Glavine didn’t know what to say. This wasn’t a “you’ll get ’em next time” moment because he didn’t want there to be a next time. He walked over to Lo Duca and saw that he was near tears. “They won’t let me play,” he told Glavine.

  Catching Glavine was a thrill for Lo Duca. Like most of the Mets, he looked up to Glavine and admired everything about him. The thought that he would be spectating while Glavine went for the milestone win was heartbreaking for him.

  The good news for Glavine was that having Castro catch didn’t change the game much for him. Unlike some pitchers, Glavine has never been choosy about catchers. Maddux, while he was in Atlanta, didn’t ever want to pitch to Javier Lopez, so the Braves always had their backup catcher assigned to Maddux. Glavine would pitch to a batting-practice cage if that was what he was asked to do.

  It can be argued that there’s never been a great player more low key about almost everything than Glavine. That was never more evident than in Milwaukee, as he sat at his locker and chatted with a gaggle of reporters as if he were about to throw his second bullpen session of spring training. When it was time to head out to the field, he stood up and said to the group, “I’m afraid you guys are going to have to carry on without me. I have some work to do.”

  If anything, everyone else in the clubhouse was tighter than Glavine. “If you’ve been around the guy, you just want to see it happen for him,” Peterson said. “I feel a little bit like I’m caddying for a great golfer. He’s doing the work, but maybe I’m helping just a little, and that’s a feeling I want to hold on to.”

  It was a sultry midwestern summer evening, the game-time temperature eighty-six degrees, though it felt much warmer because of the humidity and because Miller Park — which has a retractable roof — is virtually enclosed, even with the roof open, meaning there is almost no breeze going in or out.

  From the start, Glavine was sharp. There was no first-inning struggle at all. He retired the Brewers one-two-three, needing just twelve pitches to get two ground balls and a lazy fly ball to Shawn Green in right. He didn’t give up a hit during the first three innings, the only base runner coming when he walked second baseman Tony Graffanino with one out in the third.

  But the Mets weren’t having any more luck at the plate than the Brewers. Jeff Suppan, who had been a key part of the Cardinals’ rotation during their World Series run in 2006, was the Milwaukee starter. He had signed a big-money free-agent contract during the off-season but had done little to justify the expense. He came into the game with a record of 5–7 and an ERA of 5.21. But he picked this night to pitch the way he had a year earlier.

  The Mets threatened in the first when David Wright singled and stole second with two out, but Carlos Delgado grounded to short for the third out. That was it in the early innings, as Suppan kept throwing ground balls.

  What made the performance of the two pitchers even more remarkable was home-plate umpire Chad Fairchild’s strike zone. “About the size of a postage stamp” was the way Ned Yost described it. “There were times I wanted to scream at him about squeezing Jeff, but he was doing the same thing to Tommy, so I really couldn’t complain.”

  Glavine spent most of the night pitching from behind. He ended up walking five batters and threw more balls (forty-eight) than strikes (forty-seven). But the Brewers couldn’t hit him. “Every time we had a man on base, he would throw an eighty-five-mile-an-hour fastball, and we’d roll one to second base or shortstop,” Yost said. “If I hadn’t wanted to win the game so much, I’d have just sat back and watched in awe because it was vintage Tom Glavine. We just couldn’t touch him.”

  The Brewers finally dinged Glavine in the fourth when he walked shortstop J.J. Hardy leading off, and third baseman Ryan Braun doubled down the line in left. With the infield playing back, Glavine got Fielder to ground to newly acquired second baseman Luis Castillo. Hardy scored to make it 1–0, and Braun went to third. But Glavine got Bill Hall to pop to Delgado, and then, after a very careful walk to Kevin Mench, he induced catcher Damian Miller into a fly ball to Shawn Green in right field.

  “I wasn’t happy to be behind,” Glavine said. “But I really figured we had to score sooner or later.”

  The Mets finally did score in the sixth. Jose Reyes, often the catalyst, led off with a double. Randolph, wanting to at least get the game tied, had Castillo sacrifice him to third. Wright singled to left to tie the game at 1–1, and Delgado moved him to third with another single. Sitting on the bench, Glavine sensed a chance to break the game open.

  “I was thinking this inning was going to decide what kind of night it was going to be,” he said. “If we could score four or five, I thought we’d be in good shape, because I felt good and we had a rested bullpen. But if we didn’t score a bunch, then it was going to be a struggle.”

  Glavine’s baseball instincts proved correct. With runners on first and third and one out, Moises Alou hit a fly ball deep enough to right field to score Wright. The Mets led 2–1. At that moment, Glavine was twelve outs from three hundred. Still, some cushion would be nice.

  Shawn Green tried to get it for him. The veteran right fielder, who had struggled most of the season with men on base, smashed a ball into the gap in left-center field. With two men out, Delgado was running all the way, and he was waved in by third-base coach Sandy Alomar Sr. The Brewers executed the relay throw perfectly: center fielder Hall to second baseman Graffanino to catcher Miller, who slapped the tag on Delgado as he slid across the plate.

  “Out!” was Fairchild’s correct call. The middle of the Mets’ lineup — Delgado, Alou, Green, and Castro (or Lo Duca) — is painfully slow of foot, and this was one of those moments when their lack of speed hurt them.

  Instead of having a chance to break the game open, the Mets had a 2–1 lead. In the bottom of the inning, starting to feel the heat both literally and figuratively, Glavine walked Braun — his fifth walk of the night. He then wild-pitched Fielder, allowing Braun — the tying run — to advance to second base. With Fielder at the plate, Peterson trotted to the mound.

  He put his arm on Glavine’s shoulder and said quietly, “You’re fine. Just take a breather here for a minute until Fairchild gets here.”

  Glavine understood. A minute later, Fairchild came to the mound to break up the conference. As soon as he sensed Fair-child over his shoulder, Peterson began talking. “Just keep throwing the same pitches you’ve been throwing,” he said. “This guy is a good balls-and-strikes umpire, he’s not going to keep missing these pitches all night.”

  Glavine smiled. He’d heard this routine before. As long as Peterson had his back to the umpire and his voice wasn’t raised, he probably wasn’t going to get tossed. As Peterson turned to leave, Fairchild was clearly giving him a look.

  “Chad, you gotta get a better look at these pitches,” Peterson said.

  “Rick, we aren’t going to discuss balls and strikes,” Fairchild answered.

  “I’m not talking about balls and strikes,” Peterson said. “I’m talking about vision.”

  Fairchild said nothing, which surprised Peterson. “I’ve been tossed for less,” he said. “If he had run me, it wouldn’t have shocked me. I was trying to make a point, and I was willing to take the risk of getting tossed right there to make it.”

  Given both a breather and a light moment, Glavine gathered himself and got Fielder to fly to Alou, and Mench to fly to Green to end the inning.

  Green, who had been the last batter of the sixth, took the ball he caught off of Mench’s bat straight into the clubhouse to put in his locker. He wanted it for Glavine to
sign if he won his three hundredth that night. Billy Wagner was getting ready to leave the clubhouse to head for the bullpen, wanting to be available as early as the eighth inning if needed. He saw Green come in with the ball and laughed.

  “Yeah, sure; no one on the team is thinking about three hundred,” he said.

  Glavine was due up third in the seventh. On another night, Randolph might have pinch-hit for him, but this night wasn’t like any other night. Even with Ramon Castro on second base, Randolph let Glavine hit, hoping to at least get him through the seventh inning and to then turn the last six outs over to Heilman and Wagner.

  Glavine reached on an error by Braun, with Castro holding at second. Another chance for the Mets. Reyes singled up the middle, but again the Mets’ lack of speed came into play when Alomar held Castro up at third. Still, the bases were loaded. That was it for Suppan. Yost, who was also managing the game as if it might decide a pennant, brought Carlos Villanueva in to pitch to Castillo.

  Although Castillo is a renowned bunter, Randolph didn’t want to risk a squeeze with Castro the runner at third. Under different circumstances, he might have pinch-run for Castro, but with his other catcher hurt, he couldn’t take him out of the game. So, Castillo swung away and hit a fly to left — too shallow for Castro to try to score. Wright, undoubtedly trying too hard, grounded into a force to end the inning.

  Glavine went to the mound in the seventh knowing he was being watched closely by Randolph and Peterson. He had thrown ninety-two pitches, so there was no doubt this would be his final inning. It didn’t last long. Damian Miller led off with a ringing single to center. It was only the Brewers’ second hit, but it was enough for Randolph, who came to get his pitcher.

  Glavine wasn’t surprised to see someone coming to get him, but he was a little surprised to see Randolph. The manager had undergone rotator cuff surgery during the All-Star break and had been in considerable pain. He had been wearing a sling in the dugout to make sure the shoulder didn’t get banged around accidentally and, by his own admission, had struggled to sleep. To make life easier, he had been sending Peterson out, not just to talk to pitchers but to make the pitching changes.

  Now, he popped out of the dugout. “If someone was taking Tommy Glavine out going for his three hundredth, it was going to be me,” he said. “I did it out of respect for him.”

  Glavine appreciated that. He was momentarily surprised to see Randolph, but when he thought about it he knew it made sense. What did surprise him was what happened when he handed Randolph the ball and started for the dugout. With the exception of Team Glavine and a handful of others — Stan Kasten had flown in for the game — everyone in the sellout crowd of 41,790 had rooted ardently for the Brewers all night. Now, as soon as Glavine left the mound, the entire stadium was on its feet, cheering.

  “It took me by surprise,” Glavine said. “I hadn’t really thought about it much, but I guess I thought I might get a little more response than usual from a road crowd, but nothing like that. I’d never gotten a standing ovation on the road before. I wasn’t sure what I should do.”

  As he crossed the foul line, Glavine decided one response was the right one: he took off his cap and waved it to the crowd. “When you’re cheered, you should acknowledge the cheers,” he said. “It really was a nice feeling getting a response like that from a road crowd.”

  Heilman, by his own admission as nervous as a cat, took the ball in Glavine’s stead. He quickly calmed his own nerves by getting Graffanino to ground to Delgado, who turned a nifty three-six-three double play. Bases empty. Seven outs away. Craig Counsell pinch-hit and pushed a bunt single, but Heilman got Corey Hart to ground to shortstop to end the inning.

  Six outs.

  Glavine went to the clubhouse to go through his postouting routine. He headed for the training room and began icing while the Mets failed to score in the eighth. He was sitting on a training table when the Brewers came up in the bottom of the inning.

  J.J. Hardy, the young shortstop, led off with a bloop between Reyes and Alou. Reyes knew it was trouble right away and turned his back to the plate and ran full speed after the ball. For an instant, Glavine thought he had caught it.

  “I saw him lunge for the ball and it disappeared,” he said. “I thought he had it, and I went, ‘Wow, what a play!’ Then I saw Hosey reaching for the ball, and I realized he hadn’t gotten it.”

  The ball had just eluded Reyes’s glove. Hardy stopped at first. Then Heilman got Braun to fly to left.

  Five outs to go. “At that point, I was counting outs,” Glavine said. “I really thought if we could get it to Billy, there was no way we wouldn’t win the game.”

  Wagner was in the bullpen, ready to warm up and come into the game in the eighth. He wasn’t up, though, because Randolph had Pedro Feliciano and Guillermo Mota up. Feliciano was a lefty, and Randolph wanted him to pitch to Prince Fielder.

  Feliciano had been one of the team’s most reliable relievers against both lefties and righties, ranking just below Wagner and Heilman in the bullpen pecking order. Now, though, he plunked Fielder with his fourth pitch, putting men on first and second. Randolph came right back out and waved Mota in, which didn’t thrill Glavine or anyone from Team Glavine or Team Mets.

  A year earlier, Mota had been a key midseason pickup and had pitched extremely well down the stretch. Unfortunately, it turned out he’d had some extra help — from steroids. He had tested positive during the off-season and, unlike most players who test positive, had admitted his guilt. Perhaps that was why the Mets had given him a two-year contract, even though he had to sit out the first fifty games of the season under baseball’s drug-testing rules.

  When he had come back, Mota wasn’t anywhere near the pitcher he had been a year earlier. He almost never pitched out of trouble and often pitched into it. His ERA was 5.29 and even that was deceiving because it didn’t take into account inherited runners allowed to score.

  Now, Mota inherited two runners. Bill Hall, who had popped out in the fourth against Glavine with runners on second and third, did considerably better against Mota. He slammed a 1–1 pitch down the line for a clean double. Both runners probably would have scored, but the ball hopped over the fence for a ground rule double, meaning only Hardy could score. Fielder stopped at third. The game was tied 2–2.

  In the training room, Glavine’s heart sank. Regardless of the final outcome of the game, he would not get his three hundredth win. On TV, fans could see a close-up of Chris Glavine, tears of frustration in her eyes. Later, she saw that Andruw Jones, an old friend from the Braves, had sent her a text message at that moment: “Chris, don’t you know there’s no crying in baseball?” Knowing that he wasn’t going to be able to congratulate Glavine on number three hundred at the end of the game, Stan Kasten stood to leave. He was going to walk over to the Glavines to offer a word of consolation, but when he saw the looks on their faces, he decided to take a pass.

  It took five innings and another ninety minutes before Geoff Jenkins finally ended the game with a two-run home run for the Brewers in the thirteenth inning. Surrounded by reporters, Glavine was his usual calm self. He was pleased he had pitched well, disappointed not to get the win, unhappy the team hadn’t won the game. But there would be other chances; he knew that. He was disappointed but okay.

  The crowd thinned. It was almost midnight. Glavine looked very tired. “The worst part of this,” he said, forcing a smile, “is now I’ve got to figure out how to get thirty people to Chicago on Sunday night.”

  He would also have to dig up thirty tickets and pay for them.

  “Goddamn IRS,” he said, shaking his head as he walked to the door.

  24

  The Number Gets Named

  MIKE MUSSINA BROKE his no-radio rule that night on his way home from the ballpark. He had just breezed to his easiest win of the season, the Yankees scoring eleven runs for him in the first four innings on their way to a 16–3 rout of the Chicago White Sox. Mussina had faltered briefly, giving up three
runs in the second inning, but had cruised after that, coming out after six innings, not because he was tired, but because there was no reason not to give the back end of the bullpen some work with such a big lead.

  It was Mussina’s second straight win since the meltdown against Tampa Bay and the revamping of his stretch motion in the bullpen two days later. The Yankees had gone to Kansas City after taking three of four from the Rays, and Mussina had started the third game of four against the Royals. He had pitched extremely well, leaving in the sixth inning with a 2–1 lead, a margin the Yankees stretched to 7–1 before game’s end.

  “Whether I was better because I thought the changes we made were good or because they actually were good, I’m not sure,” he said. “The bottom line was that I was better. I didn’t feel every time I put someone on base that the next guy was going to hit a line drive. There’s no doubt the difference was as much mental as it was physical.”

  Or to quote one of Yogi Berra’s famous lines: “Ninety percent of this game is mental, and the other half is physical.”

  The Royals lineup hadn’t reminded anyone of the Red Sox or of the Angels — or for that matter the Devil Rays — but it didn’t matter. Mussina started strong and stayed strong until the sixth when he gave up a two-out double to Ross Gload and an RBI single to Reggie Sanders — who may play with all thirty major league teams before he retires — to cut the Yankee margin to 2–1.

  Joe Torre didn’t hesitate to take Mussina out after the back-to-back hits. To begin with, he had already thrown ninety-five pitches on a hot night. Beyond that, Torre wanted to do everything he could to give him a chance to get a win, and he didn’t want to leave him in one batter too long and regret it. Mussina would have liked to have gotten through the sixth, but with left-handed hitter Alex Gordon coming up he could understand why Torre wanted to get lefty specialist Ron Villone into the game.