Chapter 17

I broke loose in the second game with the Devil Rays and picked up three hits and a ribbie. The team, however, was flat and we lost it, 8-3. There was a rumor going around that Shiggie Nomura was gay. I was surprised, because there hadn't been any kind of hint, up to that time, of anything of the sort.

I didn't give a damn whether he was gay or not, but baseball players are, generally, a pretty conservative bunch, and there was a kind of pall in the clubhouse that was hard to put your finger on, but, all the same, it was there.

One thing that didn't seem to be disrupted by the rumors was my hitting. I was relaxed at the plate and getting my hits without a lot of strain. Unfortunately, the club had stopped winning. We couldn't seem to pull together. When we scored runs, the pitchers lost their ability to hold a lead. When the pitching was solid, our hitters went south. All except me, anyway. I was hitting, but my singles weren't worth much with empty bases and anemic follow-up in the batting order.

We left Tampa on July 24. By the end of August, I had hit safely in 37 consecutive games! I was tied with Tommy Holmes, an old Boston Braves outfielder who'd done it during a career year for him, in 1945. There were only seven guys -- in the entire history of major league baseball -- who'd had consecutive game streaks longer than mine and Tommy's.

We were in Toronto for one more game when I hit the 37-game mark, and two days later, on September 2 in Boston, I tied Paul Molitor for seventh place, all-time, on the list.

The Boston fans weren't invested in the consecutive game record so much, but they were somewhat stirred up by the fact that I was still hitting .411 on the season, and threatening Ted Williams' 1941 mark.

Of course now, Ted Williams doesn't hold the record for highest average. Not even close! But over the many decades of organized baseball's existence, hitting over .400 seems to have gotten a lot harder than it once was.

The guys with the really gaudy over- .400 averages mostly dated back to the 1890s.

But Teddy Ballgame was the last guy who'd done it -- in 1941! My father hadn't been born yet, when Williams hit over .400!

So I didn't care about Willie Keeler or Cap Anson or some dude from 1887 named Tip O'Neill. Hell, the rules of the game weren't even the same, way back then, when they were running up those ridiculous averages.

But Ted Williams' and his .406? Oh, man! I wanted that one!

I wanted to hit .407!

We were starting to win again, as a team, around that time. The flurry of dissention that had begun when Shiggie had been "exposed" as a homosexual had died down. The team's leaders -- notably the Latino players who had, initially, been among the guys most shocked by the revelation -- had come through for Shiggie dramatically.

Individually, with one different player each day taking the lead in the locker room before the game, the club had made a show of greeting Shiggie warmly when he arrived. The designated player would shake his hand -- or, sometimes even embrace the tall Japanese lefthander. The ritual took place daily. It was often awkwardly performed, and the "acting" was sometimes atrocious.

None of that seemed to matter. It was working. The message was coming through clearly: We needed to pull together and get this thing done. What Shiggie Nomura did in his off hours -- and with whom -- seemed progressively less important.

Before August was over, almost every guy on the team had performed the pre-game "brotherhood ritual" with Shiggie. As a rookie, I was one of the last, but when Miguel Tejada and Melvin Mora came to me and told me it was my turn, I was pleased and proud to be called upon. Being the guy chosen to welcome Shiggie to the clubhouse had become a badge of honor.

We had started winning again just in time. We had some ground to make up on the Yankees, as usual, but maybe -- this year -- we could make it happen.

September 4, our last game in Boston, I didn't finally get my one hit until the 8^th inning. It was one of the few close shaves I had experienced, during the streak. That made 40 games, and the man I tied that day for sixth place, all-time, was none other than Tyrus Raymond Cobb.

Ty Cobb! Sonuvabitch!

The next night, we were back in Camden Yards against the Blue Jays when I tied another big-name from the past, George Sisler, for fifth place, all-time. The local press made a special fuss, because Sisler had played for the old St. Louis Browns when he'd hit in 41 consecutive games back in 1922.

Our club, the Baltimore Orioles, used to be the

St. Louis Browns. One of the Baltimore sportswriters said in his column that now I held the "club record."

The fans were getting pretty excited about the streak, and that, along with the club's revival, was bringing capacity crowds to our games, both at home and on the road. We still had home-and-away September series with the Yankees. The Red Sox, although falling out of contention for the Division championship, were going to be in town for three games. They were always tough.