Change-up: Mystery at the World Series

by John Feinstein

  “You’re here early, Bobby,” the parking attendant said as they pulled into the lot.

  They walked up the sidewalk that commemorated historic moments in Washington baseball history. Stevie couldn’t help but notice there weren’t too many of them.

  Once inside the ballpark, they rode the elevator to the sixth floor and found Tamara and Susan Carol waiting for them in what was the media dining area during the regular season.

  Stevie noticed that Susan Carol was drinking another cup of coffee. “How many is that for you today?” he asked, pointing at the cup.

  “Not enough,” she answered. “These late-night games are killing me.”

  “Speaking of which, I could use some,” Kelleher said, making his way to the small food-service area, where a large coffeepot sat in the corner. No one else was in the room except for a couple of Nationals employees who were getting set up for later.

  “So,” Kelleher said to Stevie, “tell the girls about your lunch.”

  Stevie did, and noticed Susan Carol wince when he got to the part about the slap. When he had finished, including Bobby’s conversation with Bill Acree about Joe Molloy, Tamara shook her head in disbelief.

  “There are just no truth tellers in this story, are there?” she said.

  “There’s only one thing we know for sure,” Susan Carol said. “This ain’t no kids’ movie.”

  Stevie laughed. It was the Susan Carol he knew.

  “So what do you think, Bobby? Another trip to Lynchburg?” Tamara said.

  “Yes,” Kelleher said. “But I don’t think Stevie should go alone.”

  “I agree,” Susan Carol said instantly. “I’ll go with him.”

  Stevie was amazed. In under twenty-four hours she had gone from storming out of the kitchen never to speak to him again to helping him chase the story. Susan Carol read the look on his face.

  “Look, we’re way past anything David told me in Boston,” she said. “There was no Joe Molloy in his story and no police report full of all sorts of contradictions and questions that weren’t answered. There was just this horrible tragedy in which all four of them were victims. I still think it’s sad and awful, but the story he told me is not the real story. And off the record only counts if your source is telling you the truth, isn’t that right?”

  “Absolutely right,” Tamara said.

  Susan Carol nodded. “In that case, I think two of us down there is better than one, especially if we have to go see that Hatley guy again.”

  “How well does your cabbie friend know Hatley?” Kelleher asked Stevie.

  “I’m not sure. A little bit, anyway,” he said.

  “I think you should ask if he can call Hatley and see if he’ll meet you someplace, so there’s no issue about trespassing or dogs.”

  “What should we do about Molloy?” Stevie said. “Should we have Miles call him too?”

  “Absolutely not,” Kelleher said. “If he knows you’re coming back, his antenna will go up that something’s wrong. You need to just show up on his doorstep.”

  “Are we worried that we’ll be followed or watched?” Susan Carol said. “After Stevie’s lunch with Morra, they’re bound to be worried that we’re going to keep going after the story.”

  “Glad you brought that up,” Kelleher said. “I think we need to throw some misdirection at them.”

  “How?” Susan Carol asked.

  “You still in touch with David?”

  “Yes,” she said. “He’s been texting me, I think trying to figure out what you and Stevie have been up to.”

  “Good. Send him a text saying something like, ‘Bobby and Stevie have decided not to pursue this until after the series is over-if then.’”

  “You think he’ll buy that?” Stevie asked.

  “Not sure,” Kelleher said. “But it’s worth a try.”

  “Let’s hope,” Stevie said.

  “Okay then,” Kelleher said, standing up. “Let’s do something different for a few hours: let’s concentrate on baseball.”

  Game four was playing out a lot like game two in Boston. The visiting team-in this case, the Red Sox-scored a run early, and then the game settled into a pitcher’s duel. The Red Sox and Jon Lester were still leading 1-0 heading to the bottom of the eighth. Terry Francona was spitting sunflower seeds faster and faster as the game went on. He brought in Hideki Okajima in relief after Lester had squirmed out of a men-on-second-and-third-with-one-out jam in the seventh to keep the lead and the shutout intact.

  The crowd was on its feet as Cristian Guzman came to the plate to lead off the eighth inning. The fans knew that the Nats needed to score now against Okajima, since their chances of getting to the usually unhittable Jonathan Papelbon in the ninth weren’t very good.

  Guzman struck out. So did Ronnie Belliard. The crowd got very quiet, especially when Okajima threw two quick strikes to Ryan Zimmerman, who was just one for fourteen in the series as he came up to bat. Okajima threw an outside fastball, and Zimmerman, lunging for it, hit a ground ball right at Mike Lowell, Boston ’s sure-handed third baseman. Lowell took a step to his left, went down to get the ball, and then suddenly jerked his head back as the ball hit on the edge of the infield grass and took a wicked hop right into the side of his face.

  The ball rolled away while Okajima scrambled to pick it up and hold Zimmerman at first. Lowell lay on the ground as the Red Sox trainer and Francona rushed out to see if he was okay.

  “He’s bleeding from the mouth,” said George Solomon, who had binoculars with him. “He got nailed.”

  “Tony Kubek, 1960,” Mark Maske said.

  Stevie knew a fair bit about baseball, but he had no idea what Maske was talking about. Naturally, Susan Carol did.

  “Game seven in Pittsburgh,” she said. “Yankees had the lead in, I think, the eighth inning. Routine ground ball to Kubek at shortstop, and it took a bad hop and hit him right in the Adam’s apple. Opened the door for a Pirates rally, and they won the game on Mazeroski’s home run in the ninth.”

  Stevie was no longer amazed when Susan Carol knew things like this. His only surprise, really, was that she hadn’t been the one to bring it up.

  Lowell was being helped off the field, and the towel held to his mouth was turning red quickly. The Nationals fans gave him a round of applause as he disappeared into the dugout.

  Okajima was given a couple of warm-up tosses because of the delay before Aaron Boone stepped in. “Well, what-dya know,” Barry Svrluga said. “It’s Aaron Bleepin’ Boone at the plate in a key situation against the Red Sox.”

  “Can’t happen again,” Solomon said. “It’s too good a story.”

  Whether Okajima remembered 2003-or even knew about it-was hard to say. But he worked Boone carefully, falling behind two balls and no strikes on breaking pitches.

  “He would be wise,” Svrluga said, “to not give in and throw him a fastball. Aaron Boone can hit a fastball.”

  “I’ll bet he’s taking here,” Solomon said. “A walk puts Zimmerman in scoring position.”

  Okajima looked in to catcher Jason Varitek for a sign. Stevie glanced over to the on-deck circle to remind himself who would come up next if Boone walked. Adam Dunn, the Nationals’ best power hitter, stood there.

  Okajima came to his set position, checked Zimmerman at first, and threw. Boone wasn’t taking. His bat whipped through the strike zone, and Stevie heard the distinct crack of bat meeting ball. The ball jumped off the bat, climbing high into the night air, headed in the direction of the left-field bleachers. Everyone in the park-including Stevie and those around him in the auxiliary press box-stood, watching the ball as Jason Bay circled back in the direction of the left-field fence.

  He got there, paused for a split second, and then leaped. His glove went up over the wall, and he came down looking in the glove for the ball. Stevie thought he saw him smile weakly. His glove was empty. The ball had fallen just beyond his reach, just over the wall.

  Aaron Bleepin’ Boone had done it to the Red S
ox again!

  The ballpark exploded with sound as Boone followed Zimmerman around the bases. The entire Nationals dugout came out to greet him even though the game wasn’t over.

  “Nice call on Boone not doing it again,” Svrluga said to Solomon.

  “Hey, it was the old jinx technique,” Solomon said. “Say it won’t happen so it will.”

  Apparently, there was nothing that could jinx Aaron Bleepin’ Boone, especially against the Red Sox in October.

  Okajima struck out Dunn on three pitches, but the damage was done.

  Joel Hanrahan came on to pitch for the Nationals in the ninth. And even though he walked both Ortiz and Bay with two outs, he got J.D. Drew to ground out to-who else?-Aaron Bleepin’ Boone to end the game.

  The series was tied at two games each. Judging by the reactions of the Nats and the fans, you might have thought it was over.

  Stevie’s cell phone was ringing as he watched the celebration.

  “I’m obviously doing Boone,” he heard Kelleher shout over the noise. “You go to the Sox clubhouse and see if Lowell is up to talking. Either way, ask anyone in there if they remember Tony Kubek. He was the guy-”

  “I know, 1960,” Stevie said. “Got it.”

  He followed Susan Carol and the other writers out, relieved-for this one night-that Kelleher wanted him to go to the losing clubhouse. He had no interest in seeing Norbert Doyle celebrating with tonight’s winners. Not yet, anyway.

  19: THE BAD COP

  AS IT TURNED OUT, Mike Lowell did speak to the press, although he did so while holding an ice pack to his face, which was already swelling and had turned several different colors. He had heard of Tony Kubek.

  “The good news is that this wasn’t game seven,” he said. “We still only have to win two more games, and the last two are in Boston. I’ll take those odds.”

  He insisted he would play the next night even if he had to have some stitches taken in his lip, which appeared likely.

  The only other person in the Boston locker room Stevie could find who had heard of Tony Kubek was Terry Francona. “My dad was playing in those days,” he said. “I watched a lot of games. I remember Tony working for NBC in the late sixties and early seventies. Whenever someone hit a bad-hop grounder, the other announcer would say, ‘Hey, Tony, does that remind you of the ’60 series?’”

  Standing in the middle of the clubhouse, Ortiz said he thought Jason Bay was going to catch Boone’s home run. He shook his head. “Dude always seems to get us.”

  Stevie had gotten about three steps outside the clubhouse door when he heard a voice calling his name. He looked up to see Morra Doyle. He might have turned and run, but she was smiling.

  She rushed up to him, threw her arms around him, and said, “David told me that you and Mr. Kelleher aren’t going to pursue the story. Thank you!” Before Stevie could say anything, she gave him a firm kiss on the lips, which, if nothing else, was a good deal more pleasant than getting slapped.

  “Don’t thank me,” he said. “Bobby has the final word on all this.”

  He liked the answer because he hadn’t really lied. Clearly, Susan Carol had carried off her part in the misdirection perfectly.

  “Doesn’t matter,” she said. “You’re doing the right thing. I’ll see you tomorrow night.”

  She turned and walked down the hall, leaving Stevie just a bit dizzy.

  “That was a touching scene,” a voice said behind him. He turned and saw Susan Carol, who had just come from the Nationals clubhouse and had apparently seen the kiss.

  “Well, I guess I have you to thank for it,” he said, giving her his best smile. “She’s thrilled that we’re backing off the story.”

  “Good,” Susan Carol said. “Let’s hope that means we won’t be bothered tomorrow in Lynchburg.”

  They walked down the hall in the direction of the elevators.

  “Pretty girl,” Susan Carol said while they waited.

  “Don’t even go there, Scarlett,” Stevie said. “My loyalty has never been at issue this week.”

  She moved closer to him so she could speak softly and said, “Neither was mine, really. I hope you know that.”

  He said nothing, and she slid her arm through his as they pushed onto the elevator to go back up to the press box and write. It had been, Stevie thought, quite a day.

  Stevie called Miles Hoy on the way to the train station the next morning and was relieved when he answered right away. He explained that he needed to talk to Joe Molloy again and that he was coming back to town with a friend.

  “Let me find out if he’s working or at home today,” Miles said. “I’ll pick you and your friend up at the train station.”

  “I’d rather he didn’t know we were coming,” Stevie said.

  “Gotcha,” Miles said. “I’ll handle it.”

  Stevie told him what time the train got in-12:40-and he said he’d call back if there was any sort of problem.

  As soon as they got on the train, Susan Carol started to work on a paper for school. Stevie grabbed the Sports section of the Post. Stevie always enjoyed comparing Tom Boswell’s columns in the Post with Kelleher’s. Boswell saw wonder and beauty in everything that took place on a baseball field; Kelleher was skeptical about the teenage choral group that sang the national anthem.

  The trip passed fairly quickly. Stevie finished off the two Sports sections and then quickly fell asleep-again-while trying to wrestle The Great Gatsby to the ground.

  Stevie noticed a chill in the air and an overcast sky when they got off the train. “Wonder what it will be like for the game tonight,” he said as they walked through the small station.

  “Supposed to be cold and maybe rainy,” Susan Carol said. “Great football weather.”

  “Well, when you play the World Series the last week in October, that’s bound to happen.”

  Miles Hoy was waiting with his cab as promised. Stevie introduced him to Susan Carol.

  “Wow, a budding Erin James,” he said, shaking hands with Susan Carol.

  “What’s that mean?” Susan Carol said as they slid into the backseat of the cab.

  “She’s very tall,” Stevie said. “I guess I didn’t get a chance to tell you that.”

  “How tall?”

  “She said six three.”

  Susan Carol winced. “Ooh God, I hope I’m not that tall. Five eleven is plenty for me.”

  “Me too,” Stevie said, and saw the Smile-which made him smile.

  Hoy jumped behind the wheel. “So, here’s the deal,” he said. “Our timing should be perfect. Joe’s on call today, but he’s not at the station. He and his family go to church in the morning and then out to brunch. But they should be home by now.”

  “You didn’t tell him we were coming, did you?” Stevie asked.

  “Absolutely not,” Hoy said. “One of the guys who works for me driving one of my other cabs lives down the street from Joe. He gave me the info.”

  “Miles, you should have been a reporter,” Susan Carol said in her best Scarlett O’Hara voice.

  Stevie saw Miles smile in the rearview mirror.

  It started to rain en route to the Molloy house. “I hope this isn’t a harbinger,” Susan Carol said.

  “I think you and I working together again is a harbinger of good things,” Stevie said.

  “Why, Stevie, you do say the sweetest thangs.”

  “Stop it, Scarlett,” he said, a wide grin on his face.

  They pulled up to a brick two-story house at the far end of a quiet cul-de-sac.

  “Do we have a plan here?” Stevie asked as they pulled up.

  “Do we ever have a plan?” Susan Carol answered.

  She had a point.

  “I’ll be right here,” Miles Hoy said.

  They jumped out and hustled up to the front porch to get out of the rain.

  “Ready?” Susan Carol said.

  Stevie nodded. She rang the doorbell. They waited. Several seconds went by. Stevie heard a dog bark. Oh please, he
thought, not another dog. Finally the door was opened by an attractive woman of about forty wearing what was no doubt her Sunday go-to-church dress.

  “Hi,” she said. “May I help you?”

  “Mrs. Molloy?” Stevie said, just to be sure.

  “Yes?” she said.

  Susan Carol, as usual, took over from there. “Mrs. Molloy, my name is Susan Carol Anderson, and this is Steve Thomas. We’re reporters covering-”

  “Kidsports!” Mrs. Molloy said. “I recognize you both! Hey, come in. The kids will be thrilled to meet you!”

  Stevie had been uncertain what kind of reception they might get at the Molloys’, but a hero’s welcome was not on the list he had made in his head.

  “Well, we really don’t want to bother you…,” Susan Carol said.

  “No, no, please come in, it’s starting to rain hard out there.”

  She ushered them into the front hallway. “Joe, Joey, Denise, come out here, we’ve got surprise visitors,” she called toward the back of the house.

  Joe Molloy, still wearing a white shirt and tie, and two neatly dressed kids, maybe eleven and nine, Stevie guessed, appeared in the hall.

  “Steve?” Joe Molloy said. “Is that you? What brings you back here?”

  Before Stevie could attempt an answer, his wife was introducing her two kids. “This is Joey, he’s a seventh grader,” she said. “And Denise is in fifth. They both used to love your show.”

  Stevie and Susan Carol thanked them for watching and shook hands with both of them. “Hey, kids, why don’t you go find some paper and pens so you can get autographs,” Joe Molloy said. That seemed a bit much to Stevie, but the kids both scrambled off to find paper and pens.

  “So what brings the two of you back to Lynchburg on a rainy Sunday afternoon?” Molloy asked.

  “We’re really sorry to just show up like this, Chief, but we need some more help on the story you talked to Steve about on Friday,” Susan Carol said. She had been in full Scarlett mode since Mrs. Molloy opened the door.

  Molloy shrugged. “Sure. I’m not sure what else I could tell you, but I’ll try.”