Chapter 19

We traveled to Seattle to play a one game playoff, the day after the season ended. Our final two regular season games were throw away games, because we had already clinched the final wild card. Martin Janacone called up two pitchers from Triple A to pitch those games, and left them in to get pasted. Our bench players filled the field for both games, while Martin rested everybody else. That saved two arms for the important games coming up.

When he set the playoff roster, we were back to some semblance of the club that did so well during August and September.

Seattle had more time to get ready, which that resulted in them going a little flat. We caught them when they had been coasting towards the finish line for too long. Shelby Michaels put their bats to sleep so completely that you'd think Rip Van Winkle was on their roster. We toasted them eight to two. That set us up to play the Tigers, in a best of seven.

Wayne spent considerable time with me as we got ready to go against Detroit. He talked to me at length about the difference in how things would go once the playoff season got under way. "The press will suddenly find you absolutely irresistible. Your age, height, weight, and what you like on your cereal will fascinate them. It will get a universe worse if we go to the American League Championship series.

"Look for people to try to set you up to say stupid things, just to give them something to write about.

"Don't give in. Stick to your usual replies, but be friendlier. They'll decide that's all you've got and turn to others who will say stupid things.

"You have a unique opportunity no sixteen year old has ever gotten before. You will pitch in the American League playoffs. Don't lose your poise and become a sideshow. Martin will ship you out, and forget you ever lived, and it could become a huge liability that distracts the team."

His lecture complete, we spent considerable time working through the Detroit lineup. When batting practice started, I was in my usual spot, studying the hitters. At one point Martin sat down beside me and said, "What is it you see that gives you so much confidence, Brian? I watch these guys for years, and yet you find little advantages that you exploit to keep them off balance, off the bases, and off the scoreboard.

"I'd sure like to know what you're looking at..." He meant it. We'd been down this road a time or tow, and it was almost impossible to put into words my gut reaction to things I saw in their hitting.

"Mr. Janacone, I'd like to spend the early innings on the end of the bench, where I can see the plate better, before going down to the pen, unless you think you're going to be calling me early. The one thing I know, for certain, is that these guys behave differently in the middle of the game, than during batting practice.

"If you don't mind, I think it'd help."

Janacone gave me his flat stare. "You know it's Ok to call me Martin, right? You are so polite I keep waiting for you to flip out and start to act like a normal teenager.

"Yeah, kid. Sit down on my end. We'll move up a couple of notches and give you room to watch. You head down to the pen at the end of the fourth. If I need you, it won't be any earlier than that."

I smiled at him and said, "Thanks. I think I'll continue to use your formal name, Mr. Janacone. My mother was a wonderful woman, and if she heard me call you by your first name, she'd have my head. We were taught to behave, and respect our elders. It's a hard habit to break, and one most grown up people appreciate."

He hit my arm, laughed, and walked away.

The first game of the Detroit series was on a Friday night. The stands were packed beyond belief. A guy in the radio show said the club sold four-thousand standing room only tickets, and that scalpers were getting five-hundred bucks for a box seat.

Mr. Bell, Millie, Rebecca, Colleen, and Winnie were all in the stands. Jack was guarding the babies at the hotel, and he had all hands on deck taking care of my family. The visiting team, family section was moved closer to the broadcast booth for the playoffs. I could easily see my loved ones, as they enjoyed the crisp Michigan air, and Detroit hot dogs. The eating kind, as well as the playing kind.

We went in order in the top of the first. Their first three were over anxious, swinging at everything round, white, and airborne.

Three up, three down.

It went that way for five innings. By the time Slawes stated to tire, I was warm. We were behind by two, with bases loaded and one out. Detroit had their big bats coming up when Martin signaled for me.

I could feel the tension in the air. The stadium was juiced.

The Detroit fans gave me a polite bit of applause as I walked in, and warmed up. Tyrone gave me a quick summary, after Martin walked back to the dugout. "In the words of a great man ... Put these little mothers back on the bench. I got your back. Throw it like you know you can, and let's see how fast they start to lose their swagger.

"All right?

"Good. Now let's have some of that Missouri Tiger mojo." I had never heard that one before, so I let it go and warmed up. It didn't take long, and their cleanup hitter got all the way into my best fastball and ripped it nine and half miles high, and ten miles foul. I bet there are birds still wondering where that thing came from.

The batter smirked, and I knew I had him, right then. He just knew I was going to take it up another notch and sneak it past, so I threw one so slow it seemed to back up before it crossed the plate, which was a full second after Miguel swung. He looked so bad I could hear the stadium go quiet.

Two strikes on the hitter, and then one more for a chance to get healthy in the top of the sixth beckoned. The next pitch was right in his hole. He never got the bat near it, and I could hear the air part as his bat ripped through the strike zone.

One out - one to go.

I backed off the mound to let my heart rate normalize. In order to get past their DH, I had to put the ball in a spot about five inches square. His old shoulder injury must have left some adhesions that caused him to twig the bat, just a hair, when he tried to hit a fastball, up at the pecs on the inside corner.

If I could do it three times in a row, he had no chance. It was virtually impossible to hit that exact spot three times, so I needed a secondary plan. I'd been working on that for days, and my first offering nearly took his head off.

The entire Detroit bench jumped up and started out of the dugout when Victor went down. I hadn't hit him, so all was Ok for the moment. That little faux pas, got him moved just a tiny hair further off the plate, and gave me a bigger patch to hit.

My next pitch was classic. The change up completely fooled Victor, but he still got wood on it and our right fielder made a sprinting catch, at the foul line, to put them down.

Two up. Two down. That's my job, and I did it, one more time.

I was greeted by a barrage of boos as I left the mound after getting them in order, and Martin indicated that I was done for the night. I ran inside and showered, and put on a clean uniform without any of the under gear, so I could change and leave quickly after the game.

Janacone saved my spot on the end of the bench and I studied every swing like it was the difference between winning and losing.

We lost.

Detroit one - Royals nothing.

Game two was all Royals and we won easily. I sat in the dugout until the top of the sixth, then warmed up but didn't pitch.

All tied at one apiece.

I rode with my family back to Kansas City in our new jet. We decided to buy a G-4 that was available in a distress sale. It was exotic. I loved it. The babies loved their play area. We loved the roomy cabin, and tiny bedroom. Two heads helped a lot, too.

When I arrived at the stadium for game three, Wayne was waiting ... impatiently.

"We have a HUGE problem. Adam Carlson can't go tonight. His elbow is acting up and Martin won't chance it.

"How do you feel about starting?"

How do I feel about starting a Playoff Game? The FIRST Playoff Game at Royals Stadium as they return to the playoffs for the first time since nineteen-eighty five?

Hmmmm ... How do you say, 'WHAT ARE YOU THINKING???!!!!???'

Wayne gave me a calm look. "If we didn't already know you could give us five innings without a hitch, Martin wouldn't be asking. So go out there and pitch as hard as you can for as long as you can, and TELL US when you feel your edge going away. We'll go to the pen and keep it close the rest of the way, and hope our bats are awake."

He was watching me for a reaction and I gave him one. "Ok." I said it as if it was the simplest thing in the world, and Wayne's head snapped up in surprise.

"What do you mean, Ok? Do you mean OK-no problem, or do you mean, Ok - I understand the question?"

"Ok. I'll give you six, or seven innings. When I think I'm slowing down, I'll tell you. But, I have no idea what a starting pitcher's routine is supposed to be before a game. Help me here..."

Wayne spent the entire time before the game schooling me on the proper way to prepare to start. When I was introduced as the starter, during pregame introductions, I was in the bullpen warming up, and simply tipped my cap. I did stop to watch Mr. Bell's face when the public address announcer named me as the starting pitcher.

It was priceless.

The first inning went ... interestingly.

Their leadoff hitter decided to bunt on the first pitch and popped it up. I charged and snatched it just before it hit the ground.