Chapter 19

With only twelve games left in the season and the Yankees and Orioles in a flat-footed tie for first, Paul Warren had me batting third in the order, the better to advance base runners in the game's opening inning.

Unfortunately, we didn't have any base runners when I came up with two out in the first.

The first pitch came in very high and very tight -- right where my nose would have been if I hadn't had such an open stance. As it was, it whistled by my right ear without much space to spare.

The next pitch was lower, but even tighter. It plunked me, hard, just above the left elbow. The home plate umpire gestured me to first base and walked out to warn the pitcher that the next close one, to any hitter, would be his last pitch of the day.

The Yankee pitcher's control miraculously improved after that, and our cleanup hitter, Miguel Tejada, was retired on a fly ball to center.

I got up again in the fourth inning and, again, was hit by a pitch. The umpire, true to his word, promptly tossed the Yankee starter out of the game, causing a major uproar, but getting me nothing except first base. Once again, I died there.

Under the rules applicable to baseball records, if I got walked, or hit by a pitch, every time up in a game, then my streak would stay officially alive. But if I had even one legitimate at-bat in the game, where I failed to get a hit, then the streak would be over.

At this point in the game, I was likely to get only two additional times at the plate, so the streak was very much at risk.

Some of the Yankee fans would have been satisfied to see me get plunked every time up, but a lot of them were screaming at the Yankee defense to get serious and give me my shot. Sure, they wanted me to fail to break DiMaggio's record, but they wanted me to fail, fair and square.

In the sixth inning, the Yankee long reliever threw one inside to me again, and, despite its being a little too high, I got the bat on it and popped out to first.

Now it was official. I'd made an out, and unless I got a late-inning hit, the streak would end. We were also losing the game, 3-0, at that point.

It looked a little rocky, but things went badly haywire for the Yankees in the eighth. I grounded out to third to open the inning, but the Oriole bats got hot behind me and, with the help of three walks given up by Yankee relievers, we had taken the lead before I came up again (in the same inning), for another try.

There were two out now, and the bases were loaded. We were already up, 5-3, and there was no place to put me if I was walked, or hit again by a pitched ball. The Yankee pitcher just about had to give in to me, at least a little, and when he threw me a pretty good slider, low and outside, I reached for it, singled over first, and brought in two more runs.

We won, 6-4, and I had tied Joltin' Joe's amazing mark of 56 consecutive games with at least one hit!

It was a very big story in the next morning's papers. Big in New York. Even bigger in Baltimore. I was invited back on the "Today" show again, but this time, I politely declined. I was too jittery.

There was still a measure of dissatisfaction on the part of some fans -- and not just New York Yankee fans -- that a "goddamned DH" had tied Joe's record. In a way, I felt kind of guilty about it myself. God knows I would have liked to have been a better defensive player. I would have liked to take the field every day at second base, and become Miguel Tejada's regular double-play partner.

And my respect for Joe DiMaggio was immense. I honestly believe that, if the pennant race hadn't been so heated, I might have considered tanking the streak and leaving it as a tie at 56 straight. It would have been a tie that might last forever. It isn't often that somebody threatens that record, believe me. I had given the matter quite a lot of thought in recent days.

But I had never once deliberately failed to get a hit in any game, at any time, and with us a single game up in the Division standings, it sure didn't seem to be a very good time to start!

I would go for the record in the final game of the series in New York.

There was a rumor that the Commissioner of Baseball had personally called the Yankee management and cautioned them against any further brush-back pitches in the final game.

Maybe the rumor about the Commissioner's phone call was just that -- a rumor. Or maybe what happened was a genuine accident. After all, throwing a baseball at over 90 miles per hour isn't an exact science.

At any rate, I had failed to get a hit in the first inning of the final game of the Yankee series, despite the fact that they pitched to me.

When I came up again with one out in the third, I had a three ball - one strike count when I took a fastball, flush on my right cheekbone.