Chapter 22

It's too bad, in a way, that the season had to wind down with us in Toronto and the Yankees entertaining the Tampa Bay Devil Rays.

But it wasn't like we couldn't get up for the Blue Jays after our last two weeks of wall-to-wall contenders from our own Division.

The dumbest thing you could do was to ease off the throttle against the weak clubs, after expending everything you had against the strong. If the Orioles had learned anything during their past decade of wandering in the wilderness, it was that the little guys could fuck you up, too, if you didn't pay attention.

Toronto had a pretty good ball club, even if they were in fourth place in our Division. They had our respect, and we knew that nothing would please them more than to send us back to Baltimore crying over lost opportunities.

Meanwhile, the Yankees had a significant advantage. They were playing their last four at home -- and against a weaker opponent. Tampa Bay's record against the Bombers wasn't very impressive.

Still, we knew the Devil Rays would be loose -- and eager to end their season on an upbeat note by screwing the Bad Guys when it would hurt them the most. Tampa Bay's club -- and its fans, had a love-hate relationship with the Yankees. The Yankees actually held their spring training in Tampa! Steinbrenner had offices there. Sometimes it felt like the Devil Rays were just another Yankee farm. It could get pretty humiliating.

ESPN was covering all four of our games with Toronto. The unspoken proviso was that maybe they'd cover all four games. But only if, as the series progressed, the question of who was going to win the American League East was still up for grabs.

They covered all four.

We lost the first game to Toronto. Borowski still wasn't right, even with the extra day's rest, and we were pushovers.

The Yankees beat up on Tampa Bay in New York.

We won the next two games, and Tampa Bay managed to pull out one of theirs, so it was all square, again, on the last day of the regular season.

The Yanks were finishing up that afternoon. Our game in Toronto was at night. Shiggie would pitch out of turn again, whether or not the Yankees won, because otherwise we were in danger of being forced into a one-game playoff.

Any such playoff game would be held in New York.

Well, bless their pea-pickin' hearts, Tampa Bay beat the Yankees again, 7-6 in 14 innings. We were already on the field during pre-game prep in Toronto, getting periodic reports of the Yankee game from the clubhouse boy.

Now all we had to do was win one more.

Shiggie wasn't spectacular. His arm was probably weary, and his fastball, usually in the mid-90s, was almost as much of a floater that day as mine was, on my good days.

But our offense was on the job, and we stumbled through the first six innings with both teams scoring almost at will. The game was already three hours old and Toronto was leading, 9-7 when Paul finally took the ball out of Shiggie's hand with two out in the sixth.

Our relievers were also a little worn from overuse, so I wasn't too shocked when Paul called on me, the "long" reliever, to come in to finish the sixth.

I turned out to be as porous as Shiggie had been, and when I left with two out in the 8th in favor of Freddie Gonzalez, we were still down, 11-10.

We would have to do the job in our last at bat, or face the Yankees again in a winner-take-all playoff game.

Freddie held the Blue Jays down in their eighth, and our guys got serious about getting some runs in their last regular season half-inning of the year.

Rich Scranton pinch-hit for Matos with nobody on. Paul Warren was probably hoping for a long ball, but Scranton ended up on first base with an infield single. He went out for a pinch-runner -- Paul Warren's favorite utility guy, David Newhan. Newhan promptly stole second. Roberts drew a walk, still with nobody out.

Mora hit the ball hard, but straight at the Blue Jay's shortstop, and he was doubled up, with Newhan moving to third.

Now it was all up to Miguel Tejada.

I couldn't think of anybody I'd rather have up there at that moment. Miggie was as good as ballplayers get, and he wasn't afraid of the Devil.