Although I am not much of a sports fan, I do feel a connection to baseball. In my childhood, I played Little League—badly. But, that is a subject for another time.
Later in life, when traveling internationally in the early 1990’s, I wanted a baseball cap to shade my eyes. My first choice was a New York Mets cap since we had one in the house from our days of living in New York. But, when I bumped into other Americans overseas, they would ask how the Mets were doing, and I didn’t know. Trying to educate myself, I stumbled upon an interesting phenomenon. Whenever I checked the standings, the Chicago Cubs were second to last in their division. Other teams would rotate in-and-out of the bottom, the top spots were in perpetual flux, but the Cubbies had become the most consistent team in baseball and owned that next to last slot. So, I bought a bright blue cap with a scarlet “C” on it, and always knew where “my” team was. Only not so many people asked anymore, because they also knew where the Cubs were. –A few years later, the Cubs recruited some stars and now they’re all over the charts like everybody else. It’s sad in a way.
But, this is World Series season, the Cubs are out and the Phillies are in it once more. That brings back my most vivid memory of baseball, a moment of high drama that is rarely equaled.
It was October 21, 1980, Game Six between the Philadelphia Phillies and the Kansas City Royals. When the series began, I didn’t care much who won because I had never followed the fortunes of either team. But, the Phillies were ahead, three games to two. If they won Game 6, they would have their first series win ever. That was something to root for.
The game was close, and finally came to the bottom of the ninth inning. Kansas City was batting, Philadelphia was ahead by one run. If the Phillies could get through the inning without giving up a run, they would win. Tensions were high. Two batters went down. One out to go. Then, a batter got a base hit. As I recall, he made it to second base. He would be the tying run and could push the game into extra innings. The next batter, outfielder and Golden Glove winner Willie Wilson, could be the winning run, but he had already struck out 11 times in this series. Would this be his lucky night? While 65,000 fans in the stadium sat on the edges of their seats, the Phillies pitcher threw two strikes and three balls. The game, and possibly the series, hinged on one last pitch.
The time was nearly 11:30 and the night sky beyond the lights was black enough to indicate that nothing else in the world mattered at this moment. That’s when manager Dallas Green sent in relief pitcher Tug McGraw. Former mainstay of the “Miracle Mets,” McGraw came out to the mound, stretched and warmed up while the rest of us squirmed in our seats with suspense. He watched the catcher for a signal, wound up and fired the ball into Philadelphia history. Wilson swung—and missed. Strike out. Game over. Series over. McGraw stood on the mound, put his hand in his shirt and flapped it to show how his heart was pounding. The Phillies had their first championship. The Philadelphia crowd went crazy. -–And, I went to bed emotionally spent over a team and a game I had never before cared about.
Willie Wilson went on to lead the league in batting in 1982 with a .332 average—and later played for the Chicago Cubs.
On January 5, 2004, Frank Edwin "Tug" McGraw, Jr. died of a brain tumor at the age of 59. He had coined the phrase that became the motto of the Mets: “Ya gotta believe.”
