John Feinstein - Change-up - Mystery at the World Series

“Come on,” Kelleher said, pulling Stevie out of his reverie. “Let’s get downstairs.”

“Yeah,” Mearns said. “The sooner we get down there, the sooner we can stand around and talk to each other there rather than here.”

Stevie knew from his experience at the playoffs what Mearns meant. Other than a short press conference with each team’s manager and the next day’s starting pitcher, there was just about no access to players pregame. During the regular season the media could go into the clubhouses almost any time and talk to players. Stevie had done that in Philadelphia during the summer on several occasions. But the postseason was different: the players were given a lot more privacy in October. So most of the pregame time on the field was spent talking to other writers. Still, for Stevie, that was fun too.

After all, he was really glad to be here. And he did plan on giving 110 percent and stepping up his game. This was the World Series-his first World Series. He was ready.

THEY STAYED ON THE FIELD until they were required to leave, an hour before the game was to begin. Stevie spent most of the time taking in what was going on around him: when the gates opened to the public, people came streaming into the stands, most in red or in red and white, many wearing uniform tops with players’ names on the back. Stevie was surprised to see a number of Ramirez shirts, since Manny Ramirez, the oft-troubled Red Sox slugger, had been exiled to Los Angeles. Some Red Sox fans apparently remained loyal to him.

Stevie watched with amusement while fans lined up next to the dugouts, pleading with players to stop on their way off the field to sign autographs. During the regular season Stevie would occasionally see players stop to sign. But not in October. They were all business now.

“Did you see who’s singing the national anthem?” Susan Carol said, wandering over near the Red Sox dugout while a number of fans pleaded with Jason Bay to “sign one, just one!”

“Kate Smith?” Stevie asked, referring to the late singer who had become a legend in Philadelphia as a good-luck charm for the hockey team in the 1970s.

“No,” Susan Carol said. “It’s the twenty-first century, Stevie. Try Beyoncé.”

That did impress Stevie. Beyoncé was quite beautiful and she could sing. He remembered watching her sing “At Last” during the inaugural ball earlier in the year.

The pregame introductions were every bit as impressive. The crowd even gave the Nationals a nice round of applause when the PA announcer said this was the first World Series in the forty-year history of the franchise and the first for Washington since 1933.

Every player from both teams was introduced, and the cheers seemed to grow louder for each Red Sox, with the loudest cheers saved for David Ortiz-“Big Papi” to Red Sox Nation-the postseason hero of their past world championships. By the time Beyoncé was introduced, the entire building was shaking with noise, and even sitting way down the right-field line in the auxiliary press box, Stevie couldn’t help but tingle.

The ceremonial first pitches were thrown out by Bob Ryan and Peter Gammons, which certainly got the attention of everyone in the press box. Ryan and Gammons were both Boston legends, having worked for the Boston Globe since the 1960s.

“I guess the Red Sox have been in the series so much lately they finally had to recognize someone in the media,” Kelleher had said when he heard that his two friends were being honored.

“Can’t think of two better guys,” Mearns said. “It’s a nice gesture.”

There was very little nice about the game itself-except for the roaring fans of Fenway. The Red Sox scored five runs off Nationals starting pitcher John Lannan in the first inning, and Josh Beckett, the Red Sox ace, was unhittable as usual in postseason, not allowing the Nats a single base runner until the fifth. The Red Sox added three more runs in the sixth, then another in the eighth, and won 9-0 in a completely one-sided game.

The game took under three hours-warp speed, Stevie knew, for a postseason baseball game. But there were no mound conferences, no pauses to bring pitchers in from the bullpen, and not a lot of pitches taken in the late innings with the outcome no longer in doubt. Stevie noticed the stands starting to empty in the ninth. Even a fast game ended close to midnight in the World Series.

“Well, here we go again,” Richard Justice said as they all made their way down to the clubhouses. “We haven’t had a decent World Series now since ’02.”

“It’s just one game,” Susan Carol said. “Beckett can’t pitch every night.”

“Dice-K tomorrow,” Kelleher said, referring to Daisuke Matsuzaka, the Red Sox number two pitcher. “Anyone care to wager on a sweep?”

“You’re just saying that because the Red Sox swept in ’04 and ’07,” Mearns said.

“Well, yeah,” Kelleher said.

The Nationals clubhouse was a lot quieter than it had been after game seven of the NLCS. Stevie was now accustomed to how crowded postseason clubhouses were, but the visitors clubhouse in Fenway was so tiny he could barely move from locker to locker. He managed to scrounge a couple of quotes from several players about Beckett-Kelleher had suggested he write his sidebar on how good Beckett was in postseason-but couldn’t get close to Ryan Zimmerman, who was surrounded by at least ten cameras, not to mention all the notebooks and tape recorders.

It was already midnight, and Stevie had to file his story by 12:45. There was no time to hang around until the crowd around Zimmerman began to disperse. Stevie was heading for the door when he saw Norbert Doyle. He was standing at a locker near the door with one reporter talking to him. Seeing Stevie, he waved.

“Eleven o’clock tomorrow?” he said.

“Absolutely,” Stevie said. “We’ll be there.”

“Great. My kids are really looking forward to it.”

Stevie was tempted to say, “You mean David is looking forward to meeting Susan Carol,” but he resisted.

“Us too,” he said, and raced back upstairs to try to write. Once again he knew what he was writing wasn’t particularly inspired. The quotes were hardly brilliant. “The guy’s got great stuff and great control,” left fielder Adam Dunn had said.

Great, Stevie thought, like anyone watching couldn’t figure that out. Kelleher often reminded him that some nights you just do the best you can and make deadline. Stevie knew that was true, and he knew everyone else was dealing with the same banal quotes. Still, it didn’t make him happy to file such a nonstory.

He was even less happy when he found Susan Carol writing away with a big smile on her face. “What are you so happy about?” he asked.

“Me? Oh, nothing,” she said, still smiling. “I’ll tell you later.”

“Give me one sentence,” he said.

She shrugged. “I got lucky,” she said. “Bill Buckner was in the Sox clubhouse, and he recognized me, I guess from when we were doing Kidsports . They had told everyone he was off-limits until the off-day press conference, but he talked to me.”

Stevie stared at her. In the middle of a packed World Series clubhouse, she had gotten an exclusive story. Buckner was famous for the error he had made in the 1986 World Series when Mookie Wilson’s ground ball darted between his legs, allowing the New York Mets to score the winning run.

For years Buckner had been the symbol of Boston ’s postseason futility. Stevie remembered being at lunch one time with Kelleher and Esther Newberg, his literary agent. Newberg was one of those crazed Red Sox Nation fans.

“Watch this,” Kelleher had said quietly to Stevie while Newberg was going on about how much she hated Buckner.