OAKLAND, Calif. — It was the biggest moment of his baseball life, he was about to pitch the bottom of the ninth, lead his teammates to the promised land of the World Series, and there he was — sitting in the dugout, his head back, his eyes closed.
“What were you doing?” someone asked Orel Hershiser.
“I was singing hymns,” he said.
Oh.
OAKLAND, Calif. — It was the biggest moment of his baseball life, he was about to pitch the bottom of the ninth, lead his teammates to the promised land of the World Series, and there he was — sitting in the dugout, his head back, his eyes closed.
“What were you doing?” someone asked Orel Hershiser.
“I was singing hymns,” he said.
Oh.
OAKLAND, Calif. — He was doing everything he could do, everything he could think of. The Dodgers got someone on base, he struck somebody out. The Dodgers tried to rattle him, he struck somebody out. Bob Welch was mowing them down and waiting for support, mowing them down and waiting for support. His teammates, the suddenly punchless Oakland Athletics, were giving him nothing to sit on in this Game 3 of the World Series and all he could do was go back out and keep throwing.
OAKLAND, Calif. — The stadium was nearly empty now. The game was long since over. He sat in a small director’s chair behind home plate, watching the tiny TV monitor.
“This is the first time you’re seeing it?” a TV man asked.
“Yeah,” said Mark McGwire, his eyes locked on the screen. “Wow.”
He did not limp. He did not need a shave. Mark McGwire did not steal all of Kirk Gibson’s act from Game 1 of this World Series — just the important part: Bottom of the ninth. Game on the line. Home run.
Wow.
“Did you know it was gone the moment you hit it?”
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