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Call from the Bullpen by David Maull

The Bullpen | Phillies | Sports Front Page

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A Night's Journey Into Morning
From the September 3, 1998 TV Times

On Aug. 20, one of the most hallowed streaks in major league baseball nearly came to an end.

I'm not talking about Cal Ripken's consecutive games streak or the three-pronged assault on Roger Maris' single-season home run record. I'm referring to my personal streak of having never left a game before the final out had been recorded.

It's a steak that spans more than 20 years and has encompassed hundreds of baseball games in Baltimore and Philadelphia. In fact, during that streak I only arrived late to a game once. (I wasn't driving, beer was involved, it's a long story.)

It's a streak that also forced me to endure the late innings of numerous 13-1 blowout losses, mostly by the Orioles. It was at those times I seriously considered making like the Baltimore corporate types who hold the best seats in the house but routinely trudge to the exits in the sixth inning, whether or not the game is competitive.

But I always resisted.

However, a recent twinight doubleheader in Philadelphia presented the most serious test ever for my streak.

The clock was well past midnight. The Phillies and Diamondbacks were locked in a 9-9 tie in the second game. Phils' rightfielder Bob Abreu had just struck out, sending the game to the 11th inning. The desire to see the end of the game was becoming less attractive than the desire to get home before 4 a.m. and at least get a couple hours sleep before heading to work the next morning.

My father and I had a difficult decision to make - bail out and get home before sunrise or stick it out until the bitter end and just head directly to work the next morning with no sleep?

The clock was ticking. Which would it be?

The evening started on a high note when Phillies ace Curt Schilling dominated Arizona in the first game, tossing a complete-game four-hitter and striking out 14 in an 11-1 victory.

Schilling struck out at least one batter every inning and six in a row at one point. Scott Rolen ripped a three-run homer in the first inning and Abreu blasted one of his own in the sixth.

The game was over in a crisp two hours, 40 minutes and the crowd of 26,000-plus was treated to a Phillies alumni home run hitting contest between games. Mitch Williams, Tug McGraw, Darren Daulton and John Kruk took their best hacks and the crowd roared with delight when Williams drilled one off the facing of the upper deck in right field.

The good spirit carried over into the second game when the Phils jumped to an early 4-1 lead. Although the Diamondback rallied to tie the game 4-4, the Phils pushed a run across in the fourth and four more in the sixth. Rolen's three-run double helped the Phils to a 9-4 lead.

It was at this point that the evening began to take on that frightening too-good-to-be-true quality.

You see, Philadelphia has a history of with doubleheaders. It seems every time the Phils host a twinbill, either weather, extra innings or a combination of both conspire to stretch the proceeding into the wee hours of the morning.

Either this season, the Phils and Marlins played a doubleheader at Veterans Stadium in which both games went 12 innings. Then there is the mother of all disasters, the July 2, 1993 rain-delayed doubleheader against San Diego that ended at 4:40 a.m. Three times in the past 23 years the Phils have had doubleheaders end after 3 a.m.

But with the Phils carrying a five-run lead into the eighth inning, surely such misfortune would not be experienced on this night.

Then we got a painful reminder that nothing in baseball is a lock. Not even with a five-run lead against an expansion team that had played horribly all evening, that looked exhausted after arriving in Philly in the early morning hours following a home game the night before and that had given the Phillies at least five runs with shotty defensive play.

In the eighth, Arizona snapped out of its funk, much to the chagrin of those left in attendance. The Diamondbacks scored five runs on six singles (none of which were hard hit), two walks and a wild pitch. The score was tied 9-9.

It was then that I first felt the chill of a 55-degree night that had once been a beautiful and sunny 75-degree day. The hot dogs, peanuts, french fries and beer suddenly started taking their toll on my digestive system.

The last chance to avoid extra innings came when the Phils got two men on with two out in the ninth. Rolen, who was already 6 for 8 with nine RBIs in the doubleheader, was poised to be the hero - until he shattered his bat on an inside pitch and grounded to short.

Neither team scored in the 10th, the clock passed midnight. It was decision time.

The decision was this - we'd stay until 1 a.m. That would at least allow us to see the 11th inning.

The Phillies had struggling reliever Rickey Bottalico on the mound and the Diamondback put runners on first and second with two outs.

After having at least one batter strike out in every inning of the opener, Arizona continued that streak through the first nine innings of the nightcap. With a rally brewing, Devon White stepped to the plate, having struck out in each of his first four at-bats in the nightcap, earning the dubious Golden Sombrero award.

This time, however, he lifted a towering fly ball to right field that seemed to hang in the air forever before landing in the Phillies bullpen for a three-run homer. Diamondbacks 12, Phillies 9.

As an elated White circled the bases, Bottalico stood behind the mound, cursing himself. After Travis Lee flied to left, Bottalico stalked to the dugout, poised to turn his glove into a projectile. He was encouraged to do so by those sitting in the box seats.

The Phillies went down quietly in the bottom of the 11th. The game was over. My streak had survived a serious challenge with 15 minutes to spare.

As the remains of a once sizeable crowd trudged quietly to the parking lot, I was reminded again about how nothing in baseball is a sure thing.

Another thought as I crawled into bed shortly before 4 a.m.: I may be bleary-eyed tomorrow, but at least I wasn't one of the non-fans who was 20 miles down the interstate in the seventh inning.