Part 12 (2/2)

So Martinez told Little he would try to give him another inning. Little must have sensed the fatigue and the hesitation in Martinez, because he decided on a backup plan.

”I'll tell you what, Petey,” Little told him. ”Why don't you try to start the eighth. I might even send you out there just to warm up.”

Embree would be throwing in the bullpen. He would be summoned at any sign of distress, even if it occurred as Martinez threw his warmup pitches.

”Help is on the way,” Little told Martinez.

David Ortiz provided another kind of a.s.sistance when he popped a home run off David Wells in the top of the eighth inning, extending Martinez's lead to 5-2. Torre had used Heredia to face two lefthanded hitters and Jeff Nelson to face two righthanded hitters when he had called on Wells to neutralize Ortiz. It didn't work. Now Torre had used five pitchers, including Clemens, Mussina and Wells, who among them had won 709 games in the major leagues, and still found himself down three runs to Martinez with six outs left. Martinez marched out to the mound for the last of the eighth inning believing he would be removed as soon as the Yankees put anybody on base.

”At that point, I thought I was batter-by-batter,” he said.

As Martinez threw his warmup pitches, Embree threw in the bullpen, ready to go. Righthanded relievers Mike Timlin and Scott Williamson were available, too. The three relievers had dominated New York throughout the series, allowing only one run in 11[image]innings and just five hits in 36 at-bats. Little would later tell club officials that as well as they had pitched, he did not trust them to keep their nerves under control in such a pressurized spot. He trusted no one more than Martinez, even a fatigued Martinez. Indeed, Little trusted Martinez so much that even though Martinez himself thought his place in the game was a batter-by-batter proposition, Little intended for him to pitch the entire inning, even if runners reached base.

”It's the way we've always done it,” Little said. ”Ninety percent of the time when we send Pedro back out there he completes the inning. He gets out of his own jams. I can hardly remember the times I had to go get him. I'd rather have a tired Pedro Martinez out there than anybody else. He's my best.”

Until Game 5 of the AL Division Series against Oakland, Little had removed Martinez only seven times mid-inning in his 60 starts for the manager-four of those seven hooks came against the Yankees-and only once after the seventh inning. But in a subtle bit of foreshadowing, Martinez had been unable to get through the eighth inning of that clinching game in Oakland. Little pulled a weary Martinez after two hits in that inning, and then used four relievers to secure the final six outs to make possible the New YorkBoston steel-cage match.

Ten days later, Little faced the same predicament, only this time with a World Series berth on the line: a fatigued Martinez starting the eighth inning with a rested, reliable bullpen behind him. He would play this one differently than he had the game in Oakland, and it would cost him his job.

Martinez started that eighth inning well enough, getting Nick Johnson on a pop fly to shortstop. But Johnson had extended Martinez through another seven pitches in that at-bat. The last of those pitches was clocked at 93 miles per hour. The speed sounded impressive enough, but Martinez knew it was an inadequate gauge of how he was feeling.

”Even when I'm fatigued, I can still throw hard,” Martinez said. ”My arm speed may be there, but location is where I suffer and that's because my arm angle drops. I throw three-quarters, yes, but it's three-quarters steady. If I start to get tired, my arm drops a little more and that causes the ball to stay flat over the plate. My velocity doesn't change, but I can't spot the ball as well when I'm tired. That's what happened.”

Five outs away. The Red Sox were just five outs away from going to the World Series and from smas.h.i.+ng their inferior status to the hated Yankees. Of course, the Boston paradox at the time, typically referred to as the Curse of the Bambino, is that each out brings the club as close to infamy as it does fulfillment. Each step offers the horror of a trapdoor.

”As Game 7 was going on the drama kept building,” Burkett said. ”You have people on our team thinking, 'I don't want to be the one to make the mistake.' You know, the Bill Buckner thing. I'm sure it entered people's minds.”

After getting Johnson, Martinez jumped ahead of Derek Jeter with two fastb.a.l.l.s for strikes. If Babe Ruth, and his 1918 trade from Boston to the Yankees, is the root of all things evil for the Red Sox franchise, Jeter is the talisman of the Yankees' modern dynasty. So many of the team's signature moments and improbable rallies featured Jeter: *He started the 12th inning rally, and scored the winning run, in Game 2 of the 1996 AL Division Series against Texas, the pivotal win that saved the Yankees from going down two games to none in the best-of-five series and was the springboard victory to their dynasty.*He hit the disputed home run (the Jeffrey Maier home run, courtesy of fan interference) to rescue the Yankees in Game 1 of the 1996 AL Champions.h.i.+p Series, just when they were five outs away from losing to Baltimore.*With the Yankees down 6-0 in the sixth inning of 1996World Series Game 4-the Braves seemed a lock to extend their series lead to three games to one-Jeter started the epic comeback with a single.*After the Yankees lost Game 3 of the 2000World Series to the Mets, Jeter restored equilibrium to the series by ripping the first pitch of Game 4 for a home run off Bobby Jones.*With the Yankees facing elimination in Oakland, he saved Game 3 of the 2001 AL Division Series by appearing from seemingly nowhere to fetch an errant relay throw and improvising a flip throw to the plate to cut down the would-be tying run.*He hit a walkoff home run in the tenth inning to win Game 4 of the 2001World Series against Arizona.

Jeter was still only 29 years old, but already owned several lifetimes worth of huge postseason moments. He had grown so comfortable in big spots, especially at Yankee Stadium, where the Yankees sometimes seemed to be paranormally good, and every break seemed to go their way, that he would tell first-year Yankee third baseman Aaron Boone, ”Don't worry. The ghosts will come out eventually.”

Against Martinez in Game 7, Jeter would provide yet another signature moment. Boston catcher Jason Varitek called for another fastball at 0-and-2, wanting this one so far out of the strike zone that he practically was standing when he gave a target for Martinez. Pedro did throw to the spot, very much up and very much away, but Jeter swatted at it anyway, lining it hard into right field. Trot Nixon, the Boston right fielder, took a poor path to the ball, running more shallow to his right than the hard-hit ball required. By the time Nixon corrected his mistake it was too late. The ball sailed over his head and bounced off the padded blue wall as Jeter dashed into second with a double.

The hit was largely forgotten amid the madness that was still to come, but it was one of those subtleties of execution that can drive baseball men mad. Yankees fans saw the clutch hitting of Jeter, while inside the Red Sox dugout they saw the possible second out of the eighth inning squandered by an outfielder's path to the baseball. In the immediate aftermath of the game, one of the Red Sox would grab a reporter and ask, ”Tell me, was Jeter's ball catchable?” Told that it was, crestfallen, he sighed, ”I thought so.”

Martinez, who figured he would be done as soon as a runner reached based, glanced toward his dugout, but no one came. Bernie Williams, a switch-hitter who hit 24 points worse against left-handed pitchers that year, was due to bat next with Hideki Matsui, a lefthanded hitter, behind him. Fox a.n.a.lyst Tim McCarver said on air at that time, ”You get the feeling [Embree] will be the pitcher for Matsui one way or the other.”

Once again Martinez brought the hitter to the brink of expiration with another two-strike count, this time 2-and-2 to Williams. And once again, Martinez could not finish the job. He threw a 95-mph fastball that caught too much of the plate. Williams pounded it for a hard single that sent Jeter das.h.i.+ng home to cut the deficit to 5-3.

As expected, with the lefthanded Embree ready to face the lefthanded Matsui, Little left the dugout and walked to the mound. But then something very much unexpected happened: Little walked back to the dugout without Martinez. Writers in the press box howled, ”What is he doing?” Said McCarver on the air, ”This is the most blatant situation for a second guess in this series, whether to bring Embree in to pitch to Matsui or not. If you're not going to bring him in against Matsui, when are you going to make that move?”

Martinez had thrown 115 pitches. He was fatigued. He had taken the mound in the eighth inning thinking one runner might bring about his removal, and here two of them had reached base by hitting the ball hard and he was still still in the game. Once again Little had put much of the decision-making process in the hands of a proud pitcher who did not want to say no. in the game. Once again Little had put much of the decision-making process in the hands of a proud pitcher who did not want to say no.

”Can you pitch to Matsui?” Little had asked Martinez on the mound.

”Yeah, of course,” Martinez had replied. ”Let me try to get him.”

Little's question regarding Matsui left Martinez thinking this would be the last batter he would face.

”He didn't ask me about anybody else,” Martinez said. ”Just Matsui.”

For a third consecutive batter, Martinez obtained two strikes, this time with another 0-and-2 count after Matsui looked at a fastball and curveball. And for a third consecutive batter, Martinez could not execute a pitch to finish off the at-bat. Varitek called for a fastball up and in.

”We've probably thrown Matsui 80 pitches up and in,” Martinez said, ”and he's never hit that pitch.”

Again Martinez missed slightly with his location. The pitch wasn't far enough inside. Matsui blasted a line drive down the line that bounced into the stands for a ground rule double. Martinez had given up only two extra-base hits all year on 0-and-2 counts. Now he had done so twice in a span of three batters with the American League pennant only five outs away.

The Yankees had runners at second and third. Now Martinez thought for certain he was out of the game. Little had asked him only about Matsui, and Martinez had failed to retire him. He had thrown 118 pitches and no longer had the strength to finish off hitters. But Little didn't move from the dugout. The howls from the press box grew louder. The next batter was Posada. One more duel among the archenemies.

”I was actually shocked I stayed out there that long,” Martinez said of the eighth inning. ”But I'm paid to do that. I belong to Boston. If they want to blow my arm out, it's their responsibility. I'm not going to go to the manager and say, 'Take me out of the game.' I'm not going to blame Grady for leaving me out there.”

By now, Yankees closer Mariano Rivera was throwing in the bullpen. The crowd, with a shark's intuition for the vulnerability of its prey, was gleefully frenetic. Once again, Martinez forged a two-strike count. He missed with a cut fastball before throwing three straight curveb.a.l.l.s, getting a called strike on the first, missing with the second and getting a swinging strike with the third. Varitek called for a fastball at 2-and-2. And for the fourth consecutive time, the Yankees jumped on a two-strike fastball for a hit. Posada did not hit it well-the 95-mph pitch jammed him-but he did hit it fortuitously. His little pop fly plopped onto the gra.s.s in shallow center field.

Williams scored, with Matsui following him home with the tying run. None of the Red Sox, as if stunned by what was happening, bothered to cover second base, so Posada easily chugged into the bag for a double. A tremendous wall of sound rose up, the kind of roar that comes not just from the throat but also from the soul. Down three runs to Pedro Martinez and down to their final five outs, the Yankees had tied the game with four straight two-strike hits.

”That,” Posada said, ”was the loudest I have ever heard Yankee Stadium.”

Suddenly, Rivera ran off the bullpen mound. The Yankees' bullpen was a two-tiered arrangement. The throwing area is at field level, behind the left-center-field wall, and above that, up a short flight of stairs, is a sort of staging area, with a small dugout and bathroom. Without a word of explanation, Rivera climbed the steps, ran into the bathroom, closed the door behind him and, with the joyous music and noise shaking the concrete walls of the stadium, starting crying.

”I started crying because it was just too much,” Rivera said. ”I needed to be pitching, yes, but that's how awesome the moment was. I didn't want anyone to see me. I didn't want people to see me standing there with tears coming out of my eyes.”

At that moment, Little was walking to the mound. At last, he signaled for Embree to replace Martinez. In Boston, where more people were watching than saw the Patriots win the Super Bowl eight months earlier, those that did not weep cursed. There had been 1,053 postseason games played in the history of baseball. In only 13 of them did a team lose after leading by three or more runs with no more than five outs to go. And only twice did a team blow a lead that big and that late without using the bullpen. Those two historic postseason meltdowns occurred just three nights apart: first when Cubs manager Dusty Baker lost Game 6 of the NLCS with Mark Prior on the mound against Florida, and then when Little lost ALCS Game 7 with Martinez unable to stop the Yankees. Two losses, three days apart, with matching DNA. Two out of 1,053. A one-tenth of one percent match.

”That eighth inning rally was what we were all about,” Torre said. ”Never giving up and just finding a way. What we were able to do against Pedro was what we always tried to do: just making Pedro pitch and work until you can get to a point in the game where he is vulnerable. Whether he is in the game or not, and you can question the decision either way, what makes that inning possible is all the at-bats before then that made him vulnerable.”

Embree, of course, and then Timlin proceeded to navigate the rest of the inning without another run scoring. With Martinez out of the game, Torre lifted the now-useless Wilson to have Ruben Sierra pinch-hit against Timlin. The Red Sox intentionally walked Sierra, upon which Torre put his erstwhile starting third baseman into the game to pinch run: Aaron Boone.

Torre then turned to Rivera to preserve the tie. Rivera did so in the ninth, the tenth and the eleventh innings. It was his longest outing in seven years. Torre had only Gabe White and Jose Contreras, the Game 6 losing pitcher, as his next options behind Rivera.

”Every inning we thought that was it for him,” Burkett said, ”and every inning we were like, 'Oh, s.h.i.+t, he's still pitching.' ”

The Boston bullpen didn't blink, either. The Yankees were 0-for-8 against Embree, Timlin and knuckleball pitcher Tim Wake-field, who had entered the game in the tenth inning. Boone, with his two hits in sixteen at-bats in the series, was the first batter of the eleventh for the Yankees.

”Boone,” Torre said, ”was just a mess. He was a good kid. He just couldn't keep his feet on the ground. He was just too excited. He just kept swinging at fastb.a.l.l.s all the time. It didn't matter who was throwing it or where it was.”

Boone did not have to worry about chasing fastb.a.l.l.s against Wakefield. He was going to see knuckleb.a.l.l.s. Torre called over Boone as Boone grabbed his bat from the dugout rack.

”Listen,” Torre said. ”Just when you go up there, try to hit a single up the middle or right field. It doesn't mean you won't hit a home run to left.”

Boone nodded and walked to the plate. It was sixteen minutes past midnight on what was now Friday morning. The series and the rivalry hardly could have been more tied. The game was tied at five runs each. The series was tied at three wins each. Each team had scored exactly 29 runs. If you took it back further, back to when the Red Sox were sold and Henry, Werner, Lucchino and Epstein began to run a smarter, more efficient ballclub that wasn't afraid to poke a stick in the Yankees' eye, New York and Boston had played each other 44 times. The difference between the two of them over 44 skirmishes was only two wins and five runs, each slight edge held by the Yankees.

Wakefield threw his first pitch to Boone, a knuckleball, slightly inside and up. Boone swung and connected with it, so solidly that he knew in an instant it would be a home run. The baseball flew, as Torre had imagined, toward the left-field seats.

Inside the Yankees clubhouse, Clemens, who for seven innings had contemplated the possible end to his career, heard the sound of history, like a freight train rumbling through a concrete tunnel. Clemens was sitting in a small side room off the main clubhouse, across a narrow hallway from Torre's office, when he recognized that sound. The sound came above him-the Yankees' clubhouse was tucked under the first-base stands-and he knew it was the sound of thousands of those blue plastic seat bottoms snapping upright almost simultaneously as the fans jump to their feet. The baseball was still in the air as Clemens dashed out of the room toward the clubhouse door and the narrow ramp leading to the dugout.

There was bedlam, and there was relief-relief at having somehow held back this strengthening force that the Red Sox had become.

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