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 Gibson got the better of Eckersley in classic World Series matchup By KIRK GIBSON I was reduced to sitting in the clubhouse, watching the World Series on television, no different from any average fan. All I could do was put ice packs on two tormentingly painful legs that were keeping me out of the biggest baseball game in the world. The mental agony was as bad as the physical.
I heard NBC's Vin Scully say, over and over, "Gibson will not be playing tonight. He's not even in the dugout." Something about the finality of his words agitated me. My mind began rumbling. I was beginning to feel energy from the game. I visualized one final at-bat. I knew that Oakland's right-handed relief ace, Dennis Eckersley, the dominant closer in baseball that year, would be on the mound in the ninth inning to finish the Dodgers off. Now I was visualizing winning the game. One shot. One at-bat. It was all I could give, my only chance to contribute. Jose Canseco had ripped an early grand slam and Oakland was still leading by a run, 4-3, as the eighth inning came to a close. We were running out of players, and Eckersley was coming in to finish us off. I began visualizing the crowd, thinking of their response when I walked out of the dugout. I thought, "When I hear 55,000 loyal Dodger fans going nuts, I won't hurt anymore." I peeled off the ice bags, and walked straight to my locker. I grabbed Mitch Poole, our clubhouse attendant, and told him to get the batting tee and set it up in the hitting net. "What?" "Set it up," I said. "Hurry!" I put on just enough of a uniform to be legal, then grabbed my batting glove and a bat, and headed over to the net. Mitch was there, placing baseballs on the tee as I took some cuts. I was hitting - and hurting. My legs were frozen from all the ice. "Go get Tommy (Lasorda)," I told Mitch, who still couldn't believe what he was seeing. "GO GET TOMMY!" I heard him run down the ramp to the dugout and, of course, Tommy was all stressed out, as Game One was being shut tight with Eckersley pitching. Lasorda saw Mitch and growled, "Goddammit, I've got a game going on here." "It's Gibby - he wants you." Tommy came waddling up the tunnel, and I will never forget the sight. He looked as if he had seen a ghost. I said, "Hit (Mike) Davis eighth. I'll hit for the pitcher." Lasorda turned around and headed hell-bent for the dugout. Then he yelled back, "You stay up there until I come and get you!" Tommy might have been excited, but he wasn't forgetting his strategy. If the Athletics didn't see me in the dugout, they would likely pitch more carefully to Davis, who had enough power to hit a home run to tie the game, than light-hitting Dave Anderson, who would be standing in the on-deck circle. Eckersley stuck to the script, getting Mike Scioscia on a pop-up, then striking out Jeff Hamilton. Lasorda went along with the plan, opting to pinch-hit the left-hand-hitting Davis for Alfredo Griffin. Davis worked the count to 2-1, then 3-1. I couldn't stand it any longer. I began creeping toward the dugout. Ball four. I had stepped into the dugout and was now climbing up the steps and onto the field. Dodger Stadium erupted. I shuffled to the on-deck circle, grabbed a rosin bag, threw it down, and walked straight for the plate. Just as I had anticipated. The pain became secondary to the deafening roar of the crowd. You could see in Eckersley's face that he was ready to set me down to end the game. I was locked on to my imagery. It was time. Eckersley's first pitch was a fastball that I fouled off to the left. I hadn't come close to getting around on it, and I limped as I swung. He came hard with another fastball and I fouled this one off as well. A better cut, but I was still just flicking the bat at his fastball. Now it was 0 and 2. I must have looked helpless, and the game was looking that way as well, but it wasn't what I was visualizing. I went into my emergency mode, protecting the plate, guarding against a strikeout. He threw another fastball that I was lucky to dribble down the first-base line. I dug in for another 0 and 2 pitch. Ball one, outside. Eckersley got set for his fifth pitch, the crowd hysterical from tension. Again, I was lucky to foul off another fastball. Eckersley came back with another fastball that was high and outside. The count went to 2 and 2. This at-bat was turning into a classic battle of the minds - Eckersley vs. Gibson. The mental pressure was what I liked. It made me better. Eckersley went the other way, this time with an inside breaking ball, which I took. Davis was running on the pitch and made it into second easily. The count was now 3 and 2. As Eckersley started his motion, I called time. I stepped out of the box as the words of our advance scout, Mel Didier, rang in my mind. "Paarrtner," he drawled, speaking to me before the Series began, "as sure as I'm standing here breathin', if Eckersley goes 3 and 2 on you, you're goin' to see a backdoor slider. I've seen him freeze George Brett with it. I've seen him freeze Wade Boggs. If you get him to 3 and 2, get ready to step into it, because it will be that backdoor slider." As I got back into the batter's box the crowd roared with anticipation. Eckersley got set, and here it came, just as promised - the backdoor slider. I stepped into it, and I'm not sure a human being alive has experienced the feeling that flooded my mind and body as the ball rocketed into the darkness. At the moment it jumped off my bat I knew it was gone. I watched it arc into the right-field seats, and heard the stadium explode into shrieks, understanding in an instant all that this home run meant, as the crowd shook Dodger Stadium and people in front of TV sets all across the country cheered in delight. I must have been quite a sight, limping around the bases. I was moving, but barely. What I couldn't make my legs do, I let my right arm accomplish. I pumped the arm hard, celebrating a triumph over every damned foe I had battled over the last 10 years. I discovered later that the at-bat lasted more than seven minutes. The home run turned the momentum to our side. We now knew we could win. It was my only at-bat in the series, but it helped lead us to a World Series Championship in five games.
To buy "Bottom of the Ninth," check your local bookstore or call Sleeping Bear Press, 1-800-487-2323. |
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