Sunday

Headed back in time.  Late April. 1970.  Athens, Ohio.

It was the top of the seventh of the third and final game of our weekend series with Ohio University.  We had split the the first two games, so both teams were playing every angle to get a win in this second game of the Saturday double-header.  Mike Schmidt had already gone deep twice for Ohio against our ace, Jimmy Hallahan.  But those were only solo shots, and we had scored twice ourselves in the fourth on a couple of hits after an error and a walk.  So we were sitting on a 2-2 tie score as we came to bat in the seventh (and last inning, as the norm was seven-inning games for double-headers in those days).

Mark Cooper was still throwing for Ohio.  He was a tall lefty with a good fastball and a nasty curve who had been selected in a middle round by Atlanta in the recent major league draft.  We had lost to him in a shutout the prior year in South Bend, and I had managed only a weak infield single against him in a total of six plate appearances counting last year's game and this one.  I wasn't sure if I'd make it up this inning as it was the top of the order for us, and I was hitting in the five hole.  I had taken a seat at the far end of the dugout next to my buddy Bill Schoen, hoping to avoid contact or conversation with Coach Kline (with whom I had a very distant relationship!)

Nick Scarpelli, our lead-off hitter, had just fouled off three heaters to extend his at-bat to a full count.  Cooper then showed a hint of weakness and tried to get Nick to bite on a low curve, but Nick laid off, and took the free pass to first.  Great at-bat.

Coach Kline gave the signal to have our second batter, Robby Voitier (from Cut Off, Louisiana!), lay down a sacrifice bunt.  It was the expected play, and Cooper didn't make it easy.  But his first two curves were out of the zone, and Robby was able to push a 2-0 fastball down the first base line, and they didn't even make a play on Nick going into second.

Our third place hitter was Phil Krill (of Erie, PA), who was one of the few players on our team with truly a major league skill.  He had a gun for an arm, and he came out so deep for my relay throws from left field, no one knew that I was playing with a dead, sore arm.  He was a decent hitter, with a big, upper-cut swing.  He went first-pitch hacking against Cooper, and he just got under the ball, sending a high pop-up that Schmidt gloved just a couple of steps on to the grass behind short.

So our fate rested on our clean-up hitter, athletic center fielder Bill Luck.  He had a quick bat, and was one of the fastest guys on the team.  As he dug in, I took my spot in the on-deck circle, taking some practice swings with the plastic-coated, iron donut to lighten the feel of my Vada Pinson Louisville slugger.  I was always trying to pick up a "tell" from the pitcher to get an edge.  So far, I hadn't seen anything on Cooper's delivery that gave me any secrets.

On a 1-2 count, Luck hit a hard grounder to the right side of second base.  It looked like a routine out, but the second baseman had the ball roll up his arm from an odd last bounce, and by the time he recovered, Bill had beat his throw.   Runners on the corners.  Two out.  PC due up.

The Ohio manager called for time and took a trip out to visit with his pitcher and catcher.  Coach Kline called me back to the dugout, and I had that sinking feeling that he would pinch hit for me.  I think that he was weighing his choice based on the Ohio manager's decision.  If they made a change to a right hander, he most likely would have had Rob Roemer, a left handed hitter, take my spot at bat.  (I may have been the team's leading hitter, but I also lead the team in strikeouts, and Coach Kline hated the strikeout.)

When they left Cooper in, Coach Kline said, "Make some contact in there, Moran."  (Don't ask why, he always called me Moran.)  Not exactly a confidence builder, but I had a decent feeling about Cooper.  I was due.

When Ohio had been in South Bend the year before, I had actually had a brief conversation with Cooper between innings once when I had ventured over from my right field position to the Ohio bullpen for an overthrow from the infield.  He had picked up the ball and tossed it to me with a remark to the effect of, "Can't you guys catch?" My response had alluded to their need to get loose for a likely pitching change the next inning.  He didn't seem that amused.

As I stepped into the batters box, I ask the ump for "Time" as I scratched a toe-hold along the now fully-removed rear chalk line of the batters box.  Cooper, like a lot of pitchers, liked to make that first delivery while the hitter was still getting set.  To make sure I wasn't hurried in my stance for that first delivery, I had made it a standard practice to ask Blue for "Time" before he gave the pitcher the wave to make his pitch.

When I cocked my bat off of my right shoulder, I heard Blue say "Play", and Cooper took his stretch, looking directly at first base, where the first baseman was playing off the bag, behind Bill Luck who had a modest lead.  There was no "steal" sign on (that I saw anyway), so I figured Luck wouldn't be taking any chances.  Cooper restarted his delivery and I saw the ball release with a slightly pronated delivery out of his hand, high above his head.  It was the Deuce.

Hitters always guess on what pitch might be coming next from the mound.  Good hitters can be ready for the heater, yet stay back well enough to hit the curve.  Pete Rose, Tony Gwinn, Rod Carew and Stan the Man, and a few others had the combination of hand-eye coordination and quick wrists to hit anything in the strike-zone.  The rest of us really needed to be good guessers or get lucky with pitchers making timely "mistakes" to make good contact at the plate.

I wasn't necessary guessing curve on that first pitch, but I wasn't ready to hit it either.  And once the ball got two thirds of the way home, I decided not to swing, and hoped that the ball would break inside and out of the zone.  I got lucky.  It was almost unhittable, but came down low and inside, and the catcher actually had it slide off his glove and bound a short distance toward third.  Bill Luck at first had seen the action and without a moment's hesitation, jumped toward second.  The catcher quickly grabbed the ball and fired a strike toward second base, only to see his second baseman rush forward to cut  the throw short, fearing Nick Scarpelli might try to score from third.  But Nick had stayed put, and we now had two runners in scoring position.

I stepped out of the box and looked at the third base coach.  Like what was he going to say, eh?  If he had flashed a "Take" sign, I would have ignored it.  But he just clapped a few times and yelled, "Stay back.  Stay back."  As I turned toward the box, I wondered if Ohio might now elect to change pitchers, or perhaps, walk me to load the bases and create force-outs at every base.  But there were no signs of either from the opposite dugout, most likely a sign that they'd rather pitch to me than compound their bad facts.

My instincts told me that Cooper would likely come back with a fastball to try to get even with the count.  But I wasn't yet in clear-guess mode, and as Cooper took his full wind-up, my mind was racing to decide on my swing.  I again saw the ball release from his hand, high above his left shoulder, but I didn't see any suggestion as to the type of pitch.  It must be a fastball.  It looked like it would be a strike and I released the endorphins to take a cut at it.

I had seen the ball well, I judged its location correctly.  I took a healthy cut.  And missed!  He had taken just enough off of his normal fastball to have me out in front of the pitch, and I struck nothing but air. Dang!!  The count is now even at 1-1.

"Nice pitch, Buddy," I say to myself.  Change-up.  Didn't know he had that one in his arsenal.  No way he'll let me see that one again.  I swing my left leg out of the box, and look again at third base.  He's still clapping.  I re-set in the box, and await the next pitch.  Its gotta be a heater.  Gotta be.

Cooper takes his full wind-up and lets it fly my way.  I start my "heater" swing, and I'm right on it.  It comes in just above my knees, on the outside half of the plate.  But I'm just a hair late, and my line-drive lands harmlessly in foul territory down the right field line.  1-2.  Pitcher's count.

I hate being behind in the count.  The pitcher can throw any of his pitches, and guessing becomes a fool's game.  But I always feel better facing a lefty, as that curve ball comes into you, which helps keep my weight on my back foot.  The biggest danger is watching a heater come down Main Street and being too frozen to act.

I choked up on my bat and separated my hands slightly in my grip to give me a slightly better chance to "protect the plate".  Shorter swing.  Stay back.

Cooper's next release is another curve that stays outside.  The count evens at 2-2.  In my mind, I think that he's playing with me.  Showing me the Deuce off the plate, setting me up for a Heater inside.  He takes a couple of steps off the mound and grabs the rosin bag.

I know he wants me on this next pitch.  I hit the one heater pretty good.  But maybe he thinks he has one saved up that would be even faster than the one I was late on and fouled away.  And he really hasn't delivered a big league curve to me yet.  I'm uncertain and nervous.

We're both ready.  In his wind-up, his right leg raised medium-high.  The ball is released.  Its spinning down like a curve ball.  I see it.  Its definitely gonna be a strike.  Inside corner.  I need to swing.  I stay back and on the ball, taking a short but efficient cut.  Bang!! Contact.  But foul again.  This time, a grounder  down the third base line.  The count remains even at 2-2.

The benches are now both up on the top steps, the players all making a lotta noise.  I'm still confused.  I've fouled off two good pitches, one a heater and one a curve.  The only time he fooled me was on that change early in the count.  He won't throw that again, will he?  The ump comes around and sweeps off the plate.  "Nice at-bat, Kid" he says under his breath as he returns to his spot behind the catcher.

Cooper toes the rubber, taking a brief, perfunctory peek at Scarpelli over at third.  I gotta protect against that high-end heater.  I gotta start early or I'll never connect.  Here it comes.  But, WAIT!!! WAIT!!!  Its off the plate!!  Don't swing!  And I save it.  Not even a half-swing to challenge.  Lucky.  Wow.  I take a breath, stepping out of the box.  Really nervous now.  Full count 3-2.

But he doesn't have to throw a strike.  First base is open.  If I walk, the game continues.  But they would likely make a pitching change, and Cooper would have to watch the rest of the game from the bench.  His only shot is to get me out.  So I know he wants to make a good pitch that will look like a strike, but be hard to keep in play.  I'm guessing curve ball, on the outside black.  I'm giving up on the heater.

More fidgeting by Cooper at the back of the mound.  I'm ready.  Here it comes.  Yes!!! Curve ball.  But coming inside, under my hands.  I'm in trouble!  I step away, bailing out of the box, swinging out of control.  Ugly.  Ugly.  Ugly.  But my prayers are answered and I some how, barely "tick" the ball as it passes, and it rolls back to the feet of the catcher.

"Holy Crap'" yells that catcher. "What kind of Mickey Mouse swing was that?  Did ya hurt yourself?  Sheesh, you lucky SOB!"  The count remains full at 3-2.

Wow!  I was lucky there.  In need of a break, I walk over to the on-deck circle and grab the pine-tar rag to add stick-um to my bat handle.  Joe Keenen, kneeling next to the circle gives me a couple of words of encouragement, something like, "Forget that last one, PC.  Take a good rip at this one."  Good advice, and I returned to the box for another pay-off pitch.

I think Cooper was nervous at this point as well.  It wasn't hot outside, but his shirt was soaked clear through.  Maybe a little tired?  I'm back to guessing again and I think Heater all the way.  He wants out of the inning.  I've looked bad on his off-speed stuff.  He has to be thinking that I need to protect against the "junk".

We're both ready again, and he lets fly with the high gas.  I can tell.  He had the look.  No more foolin' around.  Here it is, Irish pretty boy.  Try to catch up with this one, Sucka!

But I was ready.  I dropped my bat into that throwing motion through the strike zone (later made popular by batting coaches Charlie Lau and Walt Hriniak).  Daddy had always encouraged me to hit line drives up the middle.  I refined that thought to one of line drives right back at the pitcher.  This kept my eye on the ball, and gave me power to the centerfield-rightfield gap.  And the pitch from Cooper almost exploded off my bat and headed for that alley!!

What a great feeling!  Two runs in and the Good Guys ahead by two.  Me sitting on second.  Chatting up a future Hall of Famer about bars near the Athens campus.  Life is good!

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EPILOGUE:

It wasn't easy, but we ended up winning the game.  But we needed both of those runs.  Schmidt led off the bottom of the seventh with his third home run of the game.  A shot off the second story of the field house across the street behind the left field fence.  When it left his bat, I didn't even move.  But our reliever came in and got two quick outs, and then survived when, after loading the bases, Luck bailed us out with a diving catch in right center of a potential game winning hit.

After all these years, the memories of that day are still there in the archives.  What a great day!

Thanks for reading.

BCOT