October 15, 1986 Houston

A little man with a stoma sat in a chair in the cavernous wooden-planked area between our Astrodome clubhouse and the dugout. My own bout with cancer still a recent memory, I always said hello as I passed and he always managed a tortured, yet warm response. He wore an Astro's hat with a matching multi-colored smock, and a stray cat often sat quietly next to him. I was never sure why he was there. I always supposed he was some kind of security. The Astrodome was built to accommodate football and baseball, yet catered to neither. The dugouts were always broken down for football and a walkway back and forth to the clubhouse was made of plywood. The walkway seemed an endless maze of turns and steps underneath the seats on the third base side. The serene clubhouse was dimly lit with track lights along the walls and over the lockers. The long, clogging walk along the plywood maze to the clubhouse was taken often during Game 6, even if it was only to get away from the deafening roar of the Astrodome din.

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Roger McDowell wasn't expected to pitch in 1984. Dr. Parkes had removed bone chips from his elbow in January. However, his elbow healed in time for him to join the Jackson Mets in August and help them to win the Texas League Championship. He had to be placed on the 40-Man roster in the off-season or he would be lost for sure in the winter draft. In 1985, he was ticketed to be in Tidewater's rotation.

The thin right-hander who kept coming into exhibition games in 1985 and getting neat 1-2-3 innings with lots of ground ball outs enamored Davey. He easily made the team and saved 17 games that year. He became a co-closer with Orosco in 1986 and saved 22 games.

Bobby Ojeda showed everyone the hotfoot routine. I guess it was something they did in Boston. Chewing gum, paper matches and a cigarette were the only supplies necessary. I think Bobby did a couple of small ones and that was it. McDowell was another story. He took construction and placement of these devices to a new extreme and became possessed. He and HoJo actually did a tongue-in-cheek TV spot on their design and proper application. Those goofy TV production guys would do anything. No one was safe from Roger's madness. He once crawled underneath the bench in Chicago and got me with one on each shoe. Bill Robinson was another frequent victim of Roger's pranks, as he delighted in them going off while Bill was in the field coaching first base. The TV guys became shameless accomplices as they captured many of Roger's capers, clearly indulging his pyromania.

Roger's love of off-field mischief did not reflect his on-field demeanor. In 1985, he had a collision with Steve Braun of the Cardinals while covering first and badly sprained his ankle. He quickly made light of it and went out and finished the inning without letting on that anything was wrong. At the end of the inning, he walked toward the tunnel and silently shook his head. Bill Robinson carried him up to the training room and he missed

almost two weeks.

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Before Game 1, some of our scouts came in to brief the team on the Astros. Darrel Johnson, a former major league manager, and Jack Zduriencik were among them. They gave an overview of much that was already known, but something interesting did come out of the meeting about the Astro's outfield. They felt that they had strong arms, but weren't accurate. Toward the end of the year, they were throwing wild and missing the cut-off man.

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We didn't get to our hotel until midnight and the early morning wake-up call in my pitch-black room startled me awake on the morning of October 15th. A day game was scheduled to accommodate TV. Boston and California were playing game 7 of their series, so they were afforded a later start. We had to take our luggage, but had to be prepared to come back in case we lost.

Jay Horwitz, Steve and I took a cab to the Astrodome. There wasn't time for breakfast, so we ate Pete Prieto's doughnuts in the clubhouse. The team started trickling in soon thereafter. No media were allowed in before post-season games, so the Mets solemnly started putting on their solid road gray uniforms and prepared without distraction for the legendary conflict that would soon follow.

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Keith Hernandez came up to me once in Montreal at the batting cage during BP and told me that he'd always found the color inside Olympic Stadium to be an odd, yellow hue. Only someone as detail oriented and observant as Hernandez would notice such a thing, but ever since that time I became aware of the different tints that existed in indoor stadiums. The Astrodome was a little grayer and a dull yellow than Olympic Stadium and it offered a strange backdrop against our road grays.

The Astros jumped on Bobby Ojeda for three runs in the first. Phil Garner, Glenn Davis, and Jose Cruz all drove in runs. Lanier ordered Ashby to squeeze with one out and Bass on third. The attempt failed and Bass was tagged out and a chance for a fourth

run was lost.

Meanwhile Bob Knepper was methodically mowing us down. Santana singled in the third, but was forced out at second when Ojeda tried to bunt him over. Teufel singled with one out in the eight, but Santana followed by grounding into a double play. He walked one batter-Mookie in the third. All together, Knepper allowed only three base runners in eight innings.

The security behind homeplate turned their heads when someone portraying a blind man in an umpire's uniform made their way to the screen to mock Fred Broklander who was behind the plate for the game.

After the first inning, Ojeda allowed only one more hit and one more walk, gamely keeping us in it. Mazzilli batted for him in the 6th and then was followed to the mound by Rick Aguilera. Often lost in revisiting this game are Aguilera's crucial three scoreless innings of one-hit ball. Ojeda and Aguilera held the Houston bats at bay for seven straight innings after the Astro first and kept the score at 3-0, setting the stage for the now

storied Met 9th.

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A full contingent of media traveled to Houston to take in the final games of the series. Mike Lupica was then a columnist for the New York Daily News. He regularly circulates the story that late in the game he passed broadcaster, Tim McCarver, in the press box and McCarver’s only words were, "Dykstra hasn't hit yet."

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The Astrodome crowd rose in anticipation of the final act and a certain curtain call for Knepper. Mike Scott loomed in the Astro dugout an unmistakable, seemingly unbeatable titan as Lenny Dykstra was called upon to pinch-hit for Aguilera to lead off the ninth.

Dykstra said later that he went up with the thought that if he didn't reach base we would lose. The count quickly got to 0-2, but Knepper finally started making mistakes and the Mets took advantage of every opportunity.

Lenny saw a pitch thrown near the same spot that Smith had thrown to him in the ninth four days before, and smoked a drive to right center that got over Hatcher's head. Dykstra’s lead-off triple became one of the most important lead-off at-bats in play-off history. Mookie singled to right to score Lenny and it was 3-1. Many fail to remember Wilson’s hit as a not only is the second hit in any rally important, but also in this case it brought the tying run to the plate. Kevin Mitchell hit a slow hopper to third. He was out but it allowed Wilson to get to second. It was now Hernandez' turn.

Hernadez couldn't sit down during this or any game and wore out the planks between the dugout and clubhouse. He made himself a jittery wreck, smoking cigarettes and drinking coffee, but these were the times at bat that he lived and played for-the ones

that history forever held on to. Keith represented the tying run and delivered, trading places with Mookie on a screaming double to center. Hernandez had his place in history, yet another key piece of the great rally. It was 3-2.

Lanier brought in Smith. Two of the next three hitters were right-handed, with Darryl, up second being the only left-handed batter. Knight was up third. Smith immediately had control problems and walked Carter to put runners at 1st and 2nd. Darryl crushed Smith's first pitch way up in the seats, but foul. Obviously rattled, Smith walked Darryl to load the bases, bringing the tying run 90 feet away. Smith hoped he could get Knight to

hit into a game-ending double play.

The tenseness of the moment accelerated when Brocklander called a close pitch a ball, prompting Dickie Thon to come in from short and get on Brocklander. Knight screamed at Thon to go back to his position. A pitch later, Knight tied the game with a

sacrifice fly, scoring Hernandez. The fourth run that the Astros failed to get on the first inning squeeze attempt proved costly. Our dugout, once a picture of quiet focus erupted with confidence and fire. The shocking comeback now complete, it was now Roger

McDowell's turn to hold serve.

Roger retired Davis, Bass and Cruz in order in the ninth. Game 6 moved to extra innings. It would be the third game of the series that would be decided in someone's final at-bat. Thus far, the Mets had won two in that fashion. Dykstra stayed in the game and

played centerfield. Backman was walked intentionally as a pinch-hitter for Teufel in the ninth and also a stayed in the game. A rookie shortstop, Kevin Elster, replaced Santana on a double-switch with McDowell.

Smith stayed in the game one more inning for the Astros, and then was removed for pinch-hitter Terry Puhl in the 10th. Larry Anderson came in for the Astros in the 11th and dueled with McDowell for three innings, rendering us hitless.

Roger was meticulous by nature, always having one of the neatest lockers, and like many, silently superstitious. His neatly folded jacket with a clean towel stayed on the bench in the same spot. After each inning, he came in and slightly picked up

the jacket and towel, only to abruptly put them back down in the same spot. He put his glove and hat down beside it and walked down to get something to drink. The ritual stayed the same. McDowell's outing reached two innings, then three, and then four, throwing sinker after sinker with resolve. Roger allowed only one hit-a Kevin Bass single in his fourth inning of work.

Stottlemyre and McDowell had a few quiet words after each inning with it always ending with Roger's slow nod. Nevertheless, as the length of McDowell's brilliant outing grew, so did the implication. By burning McDowell here, Davey sent the message that he was going for the win. Roger's outing reached five innings, and it might have gone on if it had not been for the run we pushed across in the 14th.

Aurelio Lopez was now pitching for Houston, Anderson being lifted for pinch-hitter, Jim Pankovits. We had been fortunate that Lanier had been forced to pinch-hit for his pitchers two times in extra innings with two-out and nobody on. His best relievers gone,

he was forced to use pitchers who had not been used yet in the series.

Carter lead-off the 14th with a single to right, and moved to second when Darryl walked. Knight tried to move the runners along with a bunt, but Gary was forced out at third on the play. Backman lined a single over second, scoring Strawberry and on the play Kevin Bass threw high to the plate and allowed the runners to move up. Unfortunately, we couldn't do anymore. Johnson, finally batting for McDowell, popped up. And after Lenny was intentionally walked, Mookie struck out.

But we had our lead, and it would be up to Jesse Orosco to get the final three outs. The score was 4-3.

Jesse struck out Bill Doran. We were two outs away from the World Series as Billy Hatcher came to the plate. Hatcher hit a ball that was deep to left down the line and we held our breath. It went foul. Relief. The count went to 3-2 and Hatcher hit a ball the same way with every head in our dugout following it's flight, only to see it fatally cushion into the foul screen. The Astrodome erupted and the game was tied 4-4.

Jesse quickly got it together and got Denny Walling and Glen Davis. He also got the Astros in order in the 15th. In doing so, he went through the heart of the Houston order once, retiring five hitters in a row. Working in a longer outing than normal, he needed to conserve pitches.

This Texas Death Match was now in it's fourth hour. It was indeed certain death for each now exhausted team-the Astros with three loses; the Mets with Mike Scott and a used up bullpen.

Darryl started the 16th inauspiciously enough with a high pop in right center field. Three Astros converged on it, but it incredibly landed and bounded high in the air with a hustling Strawberry ending up on second. We were in business with the lead-off hitter in scoring position.

Davey doesn't play things by the book all the time and frequently advocates driving the run in from second and not trying to get him over. Davey's thinking is that he would rather have three cracks at scoring the runner than two.

Knight was on deck, and after Darryl's double he looked back at Davey in the dugout and asked, "Move him over?"

Davey said, "Drive him in."

Third base coach, Buddy Harrelson, knew well the scouting report on the Houston outfielders inaccurate throws and had already seen Bass throw wild in the fourteenth. So, Buddy did not hesitate sending Darryl home on Knight's single that was hit straight to Bass in right. His throw was up the line so much that Ray was able to reach second. Knight now had the two most crucial RBIs in the game-the tying one in the ninth and the go-ahead one here in the 16th.

Jim Calhoun, another pitcher who hadn't yet pitched in the series, replaced Lopez, threw two wild pitches to score Knight. Backman walked between wild pitches was now on second. Orosco got to bat and put down a great bunt to Denny Walling at third and

successfully sacrificed Wally over. Lenny singled to drive in Wally, but Mookie grounded into an inning-ending double play. We now led 7-4, but you somehow knew that the Astros would not go

quietly.

Orosco struck out Craig Reynolds to start the sixteenth. Two outs to go. Lanier saved his best pinch-hitter, veteran Davey Lopes, for this spot. Orosco rarely worked passed two innings and showed signs of tiring. Lopes walked and the Astros last gasp was

underway. Bill Doran singled to center, bringing the tying run to the plate. Billy Hatcher singled, scoring Lopes. The winning run now came to the plate.

Keith Hernandez was at the time considered the league's best at first base. He earned the reputation with consistent play that was augmented by preparation and his knowledge of the game. In 1985, he once single-handedly snuffed an attempted squeeze by the Cubs when he sneaked in, scooped up the ball and got the runner at the plate after picking off Jimmy Frey's sign in the dugout. Tim McCarver once said that if someone ever writes Hernandez' book, It should be called, "In the Game".

Hernandez was in this game, and was positioned back and in perfect position for the groundball that Denny Walling hit to him that he calmly threw to Elster at second, forcing Doran. It was the second out, but more importantly Keith's textbook execution kept the tying run at first and it made a difference as Davis hit a looping single to center that Dykstra played safe and kept in front of him. He had been playing deep as the situation

dictated that he position himself to keep the hitter off second. But Doran came in, the second run. The winning run was on base for Kevin Bass.

I paced anxiously and like everyone else couldn't get comfortable in the dugout. I finally settled on a spot down near home plate and crouched in between two people and laid me chin on the middle of three galvanized pipe rails to witness the Bass time at-bat.

Jesse was now exhausted and throwing nearly all fastballs. Hernandez came in after Davis' hit and screamed at both Orosco and Carter that if he saw another fastball, he was going to kick both of their asses.

The dugouts were changed later and the pipe railings were removed. The evidence is gone, but I think that my teeth marks might permanently have been left on the center rail near the entrance to the field closest to the plate. Bass was only 30 feet away from me and I watched his time at bat as pressure mounted with every pitch. Silent anxiety radiated from each body that was cramped together in the dugout. The count went to 3-2.

Jesse checked the runners and came set and the runners started when he kicked his right leg back. Bass seemed to swing a little late at Jesse's breaking ball and missed it. I saw Gary immediately come out of his crouch with his glove up showing he had the ball and a jolting breath of tremendous relief came out of me. My own arms rose up and my head banged into the top rail. I suddenly realized that I didn't know what to do next, but found myself joining the throng of gray-clad people rushing out to the field. I'd never run out to a field before in any celebration and I clearly didn't know how to act. So I just hopped up and down and ridiculously circled the pile of people who'd gathered around

Jesse on the mound.

When my bounding ring reached the first base side, I looked over the pile and saw Denny Walling slowly take his helmet off and move toward his own dugout. I briefly felt the ashamed interloper. Perhaps no one really belonged on this field right now save the

intrepid warriors who had just graced the blue green Astrodome carpet for 16 of baseball's greatest innings.

I was suddenly startled by the silence. The once thundering Astrodome was now quiet, except for the sound of gentle polite clapping. I saw faces smiling at us from the stands when I went back to the dugout and grabbed our box. And as I started the long

walk to the already celebrating clubhouse, I noticed that the little man with the stoma and the cat were gone.