Chapter 18

We didn't exactly blast them, but we did beat the Mariners in Game Four, 5-3 behind a nice seven-inning performance by Sam Bailey. And Shiggie shut them out in Game Five, 2-zip. Our big bats weren't doing much bombing, but we were going home for Game Six with a 3 games to 2 lead and two shots at beating them in our own park for the Pennant.

I was not personally pleased with myself. I'd had a single and a walk to show for three games in Seattle. One=for=twelve, and no ribbies! It was only a mini-slump, but it was a terrible time for me to crap out. Nobody else had exactly busted down the fences out there, either.

The National League had started their series a day earlier than we had, and the Mets wrapped it up quickly, beating the Cards soundly in only five games. We were mildly disappointed that we wouldn't get another shot at St. Louis in the World Series, but we were more interested in making certain we got past Seattle and earned a shot at somebody.

If we could do that, the New York Mets would definitely do, as worthy Series rivals.

We got back from Seattle with the sun coming up over BWI Airport as we landed. It was a Friday and we had no game until Saturday night. I had phoned Alice, and her plan was to go on to work, but to come home early -- perhaps around 1 p.m. I was to go to her house, get some sleep, and wait for her return, so that we could begin what would be a long weekend for her and a tension-filled Game Six at Camden Yards, the next night, for me.

She was still at home, preparing to leave for work, when I got there. We shared a passionate kiss, but I didn't attempt to drag her back into the bedroom. She was late for work, and I was exhausted.

Later, Baby.

When I woke up, it was 3 p.m. and Alice had long-since gotten back from her abbreviated day at the hospital. But she had let me sleep on. It had been a restful eight hours, and I felt great. I only needed two things at that moment: a bed-partner and a toothbrush -- preferably not in that order.

Alice, recent virgin, but, decidedly, virgin no more, was gratifyingly happy to join me in bed. She had been making up for lost time at a remarkable pace. I yearned for the off-season, when I could, perhaps, devote more adequate energies to her newfound favorite pastime.

It definitely wasn't baseball!

But I didn't yearn for the off-season enough to let Seattle get into the World Series.

Saturday night, tickets for Game Six were being scalped for ridiculous prices. The younger players got the Usual Lecture about strict league and club rules against profiteering on player comp tickets. The veteran players -- or their wives -- had the dubious pleasure of fending off calls from friends and family, begging for the magic bit of cardboard that would get them into The Yard.

Alice was there. Most all the players' wives and kids were there. Game Six was big. We prayed we didn't have to come back, next day, for a Game Seven.

Rob Murray, our reliable veteran right-hander, was generally regarded as only our Number Four starter. But he was good, and it didn't worry us, that much, that our two twenty-game winners were all used up, for the moment. Murray was gutsy and smart. His fast ball wasn't what it once had been, but it wasn't a floater, either. He had a slider that fooled a lot of people.

We could win with Rob.

Well, he stumbled some early, and after four innings, we were down, 5-2 and Paul Warren looked like, any minute, he would jerk Rob Murray. But, with Outlaw's injury, the bullpen was a little thin.

Alex Osborn, our only other left-handed reliever, had been excellent for us all year, but he seldom was called upon this early. Ramirez could come in, but he was our Game Seven starter, and using him today would put the pitching staff in disarray for tomorrow.

Paul stuck with Rob Murray, and he struggled through the fifth inning, but he gave up a homer with nobody out in the sixth and we were now down 6-2.

So Paul came and got Murray, and brought in Alex.

Osborn was back this year following a lengthy recovery period after Tommy John surgery. He had barely been expected, at his age, to return to the active roster at all. The Orioles hadn't even protected him by placing him on the 40-man roster. But Alex had earned his way back and had performed, in only his second full season in the majors, with real distinction as a short reliever.

Osborn, however, wasn't a hard thrower, and he wasn't accustomed to going more than two innings. Ideally, today he'd give us three -- taking us to our closer, Freddie Gonzalez, for the ninth.

That is, if there was anything left, by that time, for Freddie to close.

Alex got us out of the sixth without any further damage, and Tough Shit Williams hit a two-run homer in our half, making it 6-4. That 6-4 score was much prettier than 6-2, and you could tell that the home fans had perked up some.

In the seventh, Alex Osborn got unlucky and gave up two dying-quail singles in a row to extremely fortunate Mariner batsmen. With nobody out and men on first and third, our chances of holding down the Seattle offense were slim and none. Statistically, they were almost a lock to score at least one more run in the inning.

They didn't, though. Alex Osborn struck out their cleanup guy with nothing but junk. (Alex probably hadn't thrown a ball 85 mph in the last five years.) The Mariner's number five hitter grounded into a double play, and it was still 6-4, Seattle.

Newhan and Josh Brennan both got on for me in our seventh, and despite my mini-slump, I doubled them both home and we tied the score. The Mariners shut us down after that and we went into the eighth with Alex Osborn still out there, going for three innings for, perhaps, the first time this year. Hell, since Alex had done only spot-relief before his severe injury, it was probably his first-ever three-inning stint in the majors!