Chapter 20

The Blue Jays went home happy and we were off to Tampa Bay next for three. Unlike previous years, when the Devil Rays had stayed with us at around .500 or better during even their leanest times, this season we'd been muscling them around every bit as much as the Yankees always did.

At least that had been the case, April to July. That was then. But we were a different club then. Who knew what "now" would be like?

The flight to Tampa-St. Pete was quiet, almost somber. Rich Scranton still hadn't rejoined the club, so I was still on suspension, although I made the trip.

Maybe I was there just to be Shiggie's Official Friend.

Shiggie's real friend, throughout this terrible time, had been Amy. Her English lessons had been dropped temporarily, in favor of long conversations in Japanese, during which Amy did her best to comfort Shiggie and to work to maintain his competitive spirit.

If the Orioles had known how much good Amy was doing, they'd have given her a substantial raise. If we ever came out of this tailspin, I was ready to suggest we vote her a share of any post-season winnings the players received.

Amy was herself depressed, as our whole household was, about the results of Shiggie's public humiliation. But she put aside her own feelings and became Shiggie's full-time booster. Well, maybe not full-time. She remained there for me, as well.

As resentful and querulous as she was about the negative reactions of some of the players, she gave me full credit for staying foursquare behind Shiggie.

I'd have done it anyway, but getting those admiring looks from Amy -- just for acting like a decent human being -- sure made it easier to show a little backbone on my housemate's behalf.

That night, before the first Devil Rays game, Melvin Mora, our Venezuelan third baseman, loudly welcomed Shiggie when he and I came into the team locker room to dress out. I'm not sure Mora had ever exchanged so much as a nod with Shiggie before that night. Maybe Mora had spoken two-dozen words -- to me -- all season. But here he was, making a production out of greeting Shiggie in the clubhouse.

Melvin wasn't that good an actor. It all seemed a little artificial and pre-planned. But, still. Hey, this was one of the club's best players! And another Latino, too! I saw Freddie Gonzalez off to one side, beaming his approval.

Mora's gesture didn't go unnoticed.

We played badly, but eventually squeaked by the Devil Rays, 4-3 in eleven innings.

Before game two, the Orioles' all-star shortstop and every-year team MVP, Miguel Tejada, repeated Mora's big glad-hand welcome the moment Shiggie came through the locker room door. If anything, Tejada was an even worse actor than Mora had been, but, hey! This was Miguel fuckin' Tejada, man!

The asshole minority among the players -- the guys who had been harassing Shiggie, on and off, during the past six weeks -- quieted down considerably after that. No more little kissing noises. No weenie-wagging in Shiggie's direction that night.

Poor ol' Devil Rays took another one on the chin. Shiggie pitched for the complete-game win.

So we left Tampa Bay the next night after pounding them for our third straight. Another of the Latino players had handled what had now become the pre-game welcoming ritual for Shiggie.

Still, sweeping the Devil Rays wasn't exactly a "man-bites-dog" news event. The poor bastards were having a terrible season, even by their standards, and we had dominated them all year.

But, hey, the games counted in the standings, just as much as the ones against You-Know-Who.

Every Latino player, even a couple who'd been born and raised in the U.S. and probably couldn't even speak Spanish, took his turn solemnly sitting in locker rooms all over the Eastern U.S., waiting for Shiggie's arrival so they could welcome him like a long-lost prodigal son.

The acting got better. Or maybe after awhile it stopped being just acting.

And we were winning again. Oh, we didn't win them all, but we were winning at a respectable .625 clip. The Red Sox weren't quite keeping up the pace, and we'd carved the Yankee lead down to two games.

Rich Scranton, he of the swollen testicles, had long-since returned to the club, medically cleared to play. I half-expected that he'd drop by and use his bare fist to pound me into one of the big floor drains in the locker room shower, but Scranton paid no attention to me whatsoever.

Maybe Paul Warren and Rich had enjoyed a little heart-to-heart talk.

And on the eighth day following the Melvin Mora "Welcome Home Shiggie" demonstration in Tampa Bay, Rich Scranton became the first non-Latino player to perform the little pre-game ceremony. Shiggie didn't get the bear hug from Scranton that he'd received from most of the Latino ballplayers, but when Scranton stuck out his enormous hand, Shiggie shook it.