Guys Read: The Sports Pages (2 page)

At the same moment that Lee Mazzilli of the Mets lined a single to right in the eighth inning, my wife, Nina, absentmindedly picked a grapefruit out of a bowl that was sitting on the coffee table. Why there was a grapefruit in a bowl on the coffee table is anybody's guess. But when Mazzilli came around and scored the tying run, we naturally dubbed it “the lucky grapefruit.” Furthermore, as a group, we determined that Nina should hold the grapefruit for the remainder of the game.

Not that any of us were superstitious, mind you. But it certainly couldn't
hurt
to hold a grapefruit while watching a ball game, right?

So Nina held on to the lucky grapefruit, and the score remained tied at 3–3 after nine innings. The Red Sox, you recall, were leading 3–2 in games, so one run in extra innings could win the World Series for them and end the Babe Ruth curse. With every pitch, you could almost feel the tension through the TV screen.

Leading off the top of the tenth for Boston was Dave Henderson. In the American League Championship Series, the Red Sox had been down to their last strike when Henderson slugged a home run. Well, guess what? Henderson did it again! He clubbed an 0–1 fastball from Rick Aguilera off the auxiliary scoreboard in left field, and suddenly it was Red Sox 4, Mets 3.

I was beginning to think the lucky grapefruit wasn't so lucky after all.

Aguilera struck out the next two Sox, but Wade Boggs doubled and Marty Barrett singled to add another run. Red Sox 5, Mets 3.

In Princeton, we sank back into the couch. In New York, some Mets fans headed for the exits to beat the traffic out of Shea Stadium. But in homes, restaurants, and bars all over Boston, it was jubilation. People were already dancing in the streets. The Red Sox were actually going to win the World Series! The Babe Ruth curse was finally over.

NBC began setting up TV cameras in the Red Sox clubhouse. Cases of champagne were wheeled in. The players' lockers were draped with plastic to protect them from the spraying champagne in the celebration that was about to take place. The World Series trophy was brought in.

Now I was
convinced
that the only luck in the grapefruit was bad. How does that song go? “If it weren't for bad luck, I'd have no luck at all.”

It was the bottom of the tenth inning now, and the Mets came up for their last, desperate licks. Calvin Schiraldi was on the mound for Boston. The first batter, Wally Backman, flied to left. One out. Keith Hernandez flied to center. Two outs.

Stupid grapefruit!

You get a limited number of outs in a baseball game. The Mets had just one left, and they were two runs behind with nobody on base. It would take a miracle at this point. The Red Sox players were standing in the dugout, ready to run out on to the field to start the celebration.

“Give me that !@#$% grapefruit!” I yelled at my wife.

Actually, I didn't say “!@#$%,” because it's not a word. But I did say a word that we can't print here and you should never say out loud. Unless, of course, you're in an extremely stressful situation. Like, if it's the bottom of the tenth and your team is down to its last out in the World Series, and it's all because your wife is holding a grapefruit.

Anyway, I ripped the grapefruit out of Nina's hands and sank into my gloom on the couch. It was all over. If Nina hadn't been holding the stupid grapefruit, I thought logically, the Mets would be winning.

Gary Carter, the Mets catcher, stepped up to the plate. With a 2–1 count, Carter dumped a dinky single into left field. The Mets were still alive, barely. Even if Carter, a slow runner, could score, the Mets would still be losing by one.

“Keep holding the grapefruit,” said my brother-in-law Alan. “Maybe it's only lucky when
you
hold it.”

It made sense. I was the only real Mets fan, after all.

Kevin Mitchell was called on to pinch hit. Just one problem: Mitchell was already in the clubhouse, naked, making plane reservations for his trip home after the game. He threw his uniform back on and hustled out to the batter's box. Three pitches later, he poked a single to left. Carter stopped at second.

I held the grapefruit tightly.

Schiraldi got two strikes on the next batter, third baseman Ray Knight. Now the Mets were down to their last
strike
. Their season could be over on the next pitch.

But it wasn't. Knight blooped a single to center! Gary Carter scored! Kevin Mitchell advanced to third. It was 5–4, the Mets one run away from tying the game again.

“Nobody touches the grapefruit except me,” I announced.

Three little singles in a row. The tying run ninety feet away. One of my favorite players, Mookie Wilson, at the plate for the Mets.

At this point, the Red Sox changed pitchers. In came Bob Stanley, also known as “Steamer.”

I've seen a lot of baseball games in my life. But what followed was the most exciting at bat I've ever seen and one of the most exciting in baseball history: ten pitches that would determine the season. The crowd at Shea Stadium was on its feet and screaming the whole time. In Princeton, we were all freaking out.

Here's how it went….

Pitch 1: High and outside, but Mookie Wilson was aggressive, took a cut, and missed. Strike 1.

Pitch 2: Ball one. 1–1 count.

Pitch 3: Ball two. Outside. 2–1 count.

Pitch 4: Foul ball. Strike two. 2–2 count.

The Mets were down to their last strike
again
. A few of the Red Sox had one foot in the dugout and the other up on the field, ready to charge. The security police prepared to take control of the field to prevent a riot.

Pitch 5: Mookie just barely fouled off a breaking ball to stay alive. 2–2 count.

Pitch 6: Mookie fouled off
another
breaking ball. Still 2–2.

Pitch 7: Stanley tried to throw an inside fastball that would tail away from the batter, toward the plate. Just one problem—it didn't tail. The ball stayed inside, heading for Mookie's rib cage. He jackknifed to avoid getting hit—and the ball glanced off the catcher's mitt and bounced away!

“Go! Go! Go!” everyone was screaming. Kevin Mitchell scored from third standing up.

Incredibly, the Mets had tied the game. Ray Knight moved up to second on the wild pitch.

Nobody could believe what was happening. I gripped the lucky grapefruit as if it were a precious gemstone. Nobody was going to get it from me now. They would have to pry it out of my cold, dead hands.

The Red Sox sat back down in their dugout. The NBC crew grabbed their equipment and dragged it out of the Boston clubhouse like the place was burning down. The Red Sox could actually
lose
this game now. Somewhere, the ghost of Babe Ruth was chuckling. And Mookie Wilson was still at the plate.

Pitch 8: The count was full now. Mookie had gone to the dugout to get a new bat. He used it to foul off
another
pitch, back behind the plate. The count was still 3–2.

Pitch 9: Mookie fouled off yet
another
pitch, a bouncer down the third baseline. 3–2 count.

Pitch 10: The last pitch of the game, and one of the most famous in baseball history. Stanley delivered a fastball on the inside corner. Mookie swung and …

“Little roller up along first!” shouted Vin Scully on NBC TV.

“Ground ball to first!” shouted Jack Buck on CBS Radio.

“… and a ground ball, trickling; it's a fair ball!” shouted Bob Murphy on WHN.

Hold everything for a second. You gotta see this for yourself. Go on YouTube and search for Bill Buckner.

The first baseman was a veteran ball player named Bill Buckner. An excellent hitter, he had been in the big leagues for eighteen years. But he had bone spurs and damaged ligaments in both of his ankles. Earlier in the season, a holy woman had sent Buckner a magic elixir she claimed would heal his sore legs.

Usually, a defensive specialist was brought in to replace Buckner in late innings. But not this time.

He was guarding the first baseline and playing deep, behind the bag. The ball bounced crazily, with a lot of spin on it, just fair. Buckner only had to move a step or two to the left to get his body in front of it.

Mookie Wilson was a fast runner. It looked like it was going to be a close play at first. Buckner didn't have time to get down on his knees to block the ball, the way first basemen are taught, if he wanted to field it and beat Mookie to the bag. Instead, he stooped down for it, his legs apart.

No matter what sport you play, I'm sure you've heard your coach tell you to “keep your eye on the ball.” Well,
do
it. The ball bounced three times and then slipped under Buckner's glove and between his legs! He never touched it!

“It gets through Buckner!” yelled Vin Scully.

“An error by Buckner! The winning run scores!” shouted Jack Buck.

“The Mets will win the ball game!” yelled Bob Murphy.

“The Mets win! They win! Unbelievable!”

“Ahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!”
we all screamed in Princeton.

“It was the lucky grapefruit!” I shouted, holding the oblate spheroid aloft in jubilation. We all hugged one another as if we had won the game ourselves.

After all, in a way we had.

The Mets had evened the series at three games apiece. Two days later, they came from behind
again
to win Game 7, and the World Championship. The Curse of the Bambino lived on.

The Mets owed it all, of course, to the lucky grapefruit. Now, you can argue that me holding the grapefruit had absolutely nothing to do with Buckner missing that ball. You can argue that it was a total coincidence. But
you
don't know what would have happened if I hadn't grabbed the grapefruit, do you? We'll never know what would have happened.

Poor Bill Buckner got all the blame, of course. Jokes were on the street almost immediately, the best of which were …

Q. What do Bill Buckner and Michael Jackson have in common?

A. They both wear a glove on one hand for no apparent reason.

Q. Did you hear that Bill Buckner slipped and fell onto the Boston subway tracks?

A. Yeah, but he's okay—the train went between his legs.

More seriously, it got to the point where Buckner couldn't walk down the street in Massachusetts without people making fun of him. He actually received death threats from angry Red Sox fans. Buckner eventually moved about as far away as possible—to Idaho.

The year after his big error, the Red Sox released Bill Buckner. He went on to play for the California Angels, Kansas City Royals, and ended his career—amazingly enough—back with the Red Sox. He retired in 1990 with an excellent .289 lifetime batting average, 174 home runs, 2,715 hits, 1,208 RBIs, and 183 stolen bases. And he won the National League batting title in 1980. After his playing career, Buckner went on to become a hitting instructor and minor-league manager. But the only thing that most people remembered about him was that one ground ball.

And me? Well, after my brief career as a grapefruit holder, my wife and I got a cat. And you know what we named him?

No, it
wasn't
Buckner. Nice try, though.

We named the cat Mookie.

You're probably wondering what happened to the lucky grapefruit. Well, I thought about donating it to the Baseball Hall of Fame, but I've visited there many times and have never seen any citrus fruit on display. I thought about eating it, but I don't even
like
grapefruit.

After about a week, the grapefruit had become lopsided and rotten. So Nina and I held it solemnly and ceremoniously dumped it in a garbage can. It had served its purpose nobly.

This story has a happy ending, in a way. In 2004, the Red Sox were down three games to none in the American League Championship Series against the Yankees. They came back to win it, and then went on to win their first World Series in
eighty-six years
. People in Boston were so moved that parents picked up their sleeping babies and held them up in front of the TV screen so they could witness the once-in-a-lifetime event.

It got even better. Just to be sure the curse was dead, the Sox won the World Series again in 2007. And do you know who threw out the ceremonial first pitch at their home opener the next season?

Bill Buckner. The fans gave him a four-minute standing ovation.

(Then, of course, the Red Sox returned to form in 2011 when they blew a nine-game lead with twenty-four games to play.)

So what can we learn from all this?

Nothing! What, you thought there was going to be some kind of moral or lessons in this book? Forget about it. It's just sports. Sometimes you win, sometimes you lose. And sometimes you lose for eighty-six years in a row.

But even if curses and superstition have nothing to do with it, I still say I won the World Series. Nobody can tell me otherwise.

So if you find yourself holding a grapefruit and your losing team suddenly starts a rally, hold on to the !@#$% grapefruit!