Fantastic Confrontation
They have been going at it for over three hours on this warm June afternoon with no result. Fatigue is not a factor. Competitive resolve, lacking all hesitancy, is driving all actions past the mid-season form both are in. This is not about winning or losing, it’s beyond that. It’s personal. Supreme pride rules. Someone will be denied, and someone will be ascendant.
Willie Mays has faced Nolan Ryan four times thus far in this nothing-nothing game and has grounded out to the shortstop, walked, struckout and doubled. He has one of the three hits allowed by Ryan. Here in the bottom of the 10th inning, he comes to the plate with two out and nobody on. He would like to end it right here.
Nolan Ryan got loose early and has poured it on the entire game. Before Mays’ appearance here in the 10th, he has faced 40 batters. Two grounded into double plays, three got hits, nine placed the ball in play, ten walked, and eighteen struckout. When he was pitching, much of the action resembled a high-powered pitch-catch game. Few batters had a chance. Even now with over 150 pitches thrown, he has no thoughts of turning the ball over to someone else.
As Mays digs in the back of the batters box with his right foot, Ryan wipes his forehead with the sleeve of his left arm and takes the resin bag in his right hand to dry his fingers. He readies himself, steps to the rubber and gazes into the catcher for a sign, but what he is really looking at is Mays taking the bat back and forth. There is eye contact between the two; it is a mutual gesture of respect and not an attempt to intimidate. Three innings ago, the catcher stopped calling pitches and now Ryan is going either with a fastball or curve, which he tips off to the catcher by one or two nods to the number of fingers the catcher, puts down.
Whizzz goes the first pitch high and outside. It is clocked at 99 mph and sends off a mist of dust after it bangs into the catcher’s mitt. Ball one. Mays’ steps out of the batters box to let go of the blended state he must be in to have a chance to hit Ryan. Only through the ignition of intense, wound up focus and fluid, relaxed motion will his bat met the ball with direct force. With repeated practice, Mays has honed this instinctual condition to bring the bat forward into the hitting zone with lightening quickness and rocket like power.
Neither man is large. Both weigh 170 pounds, with Mays 2 inches less than six feet and Ryan two inches more. What separates each from the rest is their development of immense mental and physical skills. Mays has lead the league in batting average, triples, home runs, slugging percentage, runs scored and stolen bases. No other batter has produced these kinds of numbers. And that is just what he offers offensively. On defense, he is a golden-gloved centerfielder with range to catch balls most other outfielders only dream about, and his throwing arm is so strong that few runners challenge it. Ryan has learned to apply ever ounce of his body into throwing the ball. No one can throw it harder. He regularly goes over 100 mph and does so into the late innings. Ryan can tell very good major league hitters that he will throw a fastball right down the pipe and they still can’t hit it. If that is not bad enough, his curve ball is stupendous. It is delivered harder than many pitchers can throw a fastball and it breaks more than a slow high school curve. He imparts such a tight rotation on the ball and throws it so hard, that the air must deform the ball as it creates friction against the seams. It is a wonder anyone can lay a bat on either his fastball or curve. The only chance a good hitter, with great eyesight has is to guess the right pitches in the right location and Ryan does not deliver his best stuff. Ryan’s credentials include leading the league in ERA, complete games, innings pitched, walks, strikeouts, shutouts and no-hitters. His curse has been to pitch for weak hitting teams that offer little run support and this has made him over-ride his baseball instincts at times with too much concentration.
Mays is back in the batters box coiled for action as Ryan unwinds a curve. It starts out headed for Mays’ head and he flinches back away from the plate as the ball bends in towards the inside corner of the plate. Ryan and the catcher think it is a strike, but the umpire calls it a ball.
The count is 2 and 0 and Mays is thinking fastball, and so is Ryan. They both know a curve cannot be chanced. Mays hitches his pants and tugs at his jersey sleeves then tries to get loose with a windmill like bat motion. Ryan pulls the brim of his cap, sets his jaw, goes into the windup, and launches the projectile. The fastball comes in belt high, or it seems to, but takes off like a jet through the plate and goes above Mays’ bat into the catcher’s mitt with a bang. Strike one. The radar gun registers 100 mph.
Will he go with the curve? That is a question Mays is trying to answer as he waits for the next pitch. He decides it will be a fastball and when the curve comes in towards the strike zone, he starts to swing, only to hold up when he senses the ball going out of the strike zone. Even more impressive than swinging, is his ability to put the brakes on a swing before it costs him a strike. This ability was demonstrated once when he broke his bat in two on a check swing without making any contact. Ryan and the catcher appeal to the first base umpire in vain for a swing call. Ball three.
No question a fastball is coming and Mays has already decided to have a good hack at it if it is anywhere near the plate. Ryan knows he has to throw a strike because a walk now means a double, given Mays’ baserunning talents. He also knows that pinpoint control is not his game and power is what he relies on. The fastball is delivered on the inside part of the plate. Nobody busts Willie Mays inside- except Nolan Ryan. Mays gets around on the pitch and just misses full contact. A faint whiff of burnt wood is in Mays’ nostrils just after fouling the pitch back into the screen. Strike two.
Mays figures it will be nothing but fastballs now. He also knows he will have to protect the plate and above all not take a called third strike. Ryan knows he has to throw strikes but cannot groove one for it will cost him the game. They both take extra time getting set for the next stage of this confrontation. Just after releasing the fastball, Ryan fears it is ball four. It is high, but Mays determined to control the outcome, swings at it and fouls it back. Mays knows it was a ball and that thought does not bother him. He feels good that he timed the pitch. 101 mph says the radar gun.
Ryan decides to gamble. Over the protests of his catcher, he calls for a payoff pitch curve. Immediately after coming out of his hand the mean pitch starts biting the air hard producing heat against the seams of the ball. Mays is badly fooled and starts to bail out as the pitch heads towards him. Somehow as his body pulls out, his hands and shoulders stay in. The ball breaks away from him and down towards the outside corner and he reacts with a flick of his wrists making contact. A soft popup is sent tens rows back in the seats behind the first base dugout. That was close.
Mays regroups by going back to the on-deck circle for some pinetar. Ryan takes a breather behind the mound wiping his brow and fingering the resin bag. Surely he can’t throw that again, thinks Mays, while at the same time Ryan toys with the idea of repeating the pitch before settling on a fastball. As Mays walks back to the batter’s box, Ryan studies him for motivation.
Taking deep breathes, Mays steps in for the next pitch and Ryan gathers himself for the delivery. As they did before every pitch, eye contact is made. Except this time it is longer. They take this moment to tell the other that this is it, it’s either you or me and what comes next will be all I have. An elemental clarity relaxes both men into breeding confidence. A sense of joy comes rushing in as the hand of God reaches down to warmly embrace them with a feeling of being magnificently alive. All their being is in this moment. There are no other players, or teams, or umpires or fans or sunshine. Ryan starts by taking his left foot and both arms back from the rubber. Mays shakes his bat in a tight line above his right shoulder while shifting his weight between his two legs. As Ryan brings his arms above his head and left leg off the ground into a tucked position above his waist, Mays quickens his bat shaking and weight shifting while intently peering at the gathering force. Ryan continues with his windup by bringing his body downward and driving his left leg forward towards Mays with a massive push off the rubber with his lower back and right leg. Synapses in Mays’ body begin firing in preparation to deal with what Ryan will launch his way. As Ryan releases the ball, he expels the air in his lungs in a loud grunt. Mays does not hear it for all his senses are on the ball. He has a fraction of a second to decide to swing and get his bat where he senses the ball will be. This pitch is blazing into the strike zone and Mays pulls the trigger on a super spring like reaction. His arms, shoulders and hands pull the bat towards the plate as the weight shifts off of his back foot. Both the ball and the bat are now over the plate at the bright moment of determination. Who prevails this time? A “crack!” of the bat meeting the ball or a “pop!” of the ball imbedding into the catchers mitt? Who has the magic? The only answer is that neither will comprehend.