9102090648
DETROIT FREE PRESS
911023
Wednesday, October 23, 1991
METRO FINAL CHASER
1D
MITCH ALBOM
WORLD SERIES, DAY TWO, GAME THREE, ; SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION Page 1D
Copyright (c) 1991, Detroit Free Press
AMID ALL THE NOISE, AVERY BEARS BURDEN
ATLANTA -- 1. Chase girls.
2. Sleep through class.
3. Watch "The Three Stooges."
I don't know about you, but that's about all I did when I was 21 years old.
I certainly wasn't trying to save the world. I know I wasn't trying to save
the World Series. And I definitely never worried that, if I screwed up, about
four million people would blame me personally when they called in sick the
next morning. But such was the burden on the young shoulders of Steve (Can I
See Some ID, Son?) Avery, the wunderkind pitcher who, in the frantic hours
here leading up to Tuesday night, became about five Rhett Butlers and six
Robert E. Lees rolled into one.
"A-VER-Y! A-VER-Y!" the fans screamed -- that is, when they weren't busy
or throwing up on each other. The pitcher's mound can be a lonely place, but
on the night of the first World Series game in the history of Atlanta, a city
that has clearly gone over the edge, I assure you, the pitcher's mound was the
safest place to be.
And I speak from experience. Three hours before the game, I was nearly
crushed when I got between a group of protesting American Indians and some
local rednecks, who were actually swinging tomahawks when they told the
Indians to "Go back to India!"
You gotta love the South.
Outside: Chant versus chant
Of course, the protest was over the tomahawks -- and the face-painting and
the team name, the Braves -- all of which some Native Americans take as a
slap to their proud heritage. As one of the Indian leaders, a heavyset,
pony-tailed fellow named Wabun-Inina told the crowd, "How would you like it
if the team were called the Atlanta Negroes, or the Atlanta Jews?"
This didn't go over too well with the local folk, some of whom were
potbellied, holding a beer, and wearing T-shirts that read "Party 'Till You
Puke."
"We are asking you to respect our culture!" Wabun-Inina said over the
microphone.
"SCREW CULTURE!" the fans yelled.
Pretty soon, Braves' fans began that annoying war chant, and then the
Indians started their own chant, an authentic one, and then the local radio
stations began broadcasting only 50 feet away, so we had a real symphony going
here:
"AHHHH-AH-AH-AH-AH-AH," sang the fans.
"AHH-AHH-AH-OO-AH-OHH," sang the real Indians.
"WE PLAY THE HITS!" said the radio guy.
Later, after a near-riot broke out, Wabun-Inina shook his head and
mumbled to me, "We must remember that some of these people are not far
removed from the morons who came over from Europe two centuries ago and stole
our land. Most of them were in penal colonies over there, you know."
I figured it was time to get inside.
Inside: Whoops and hollers
Not that inside was any better. The Atlanta fans -- who after years of
ignoring this team have suddenly gotten so involved they actually give up BMW
shopping night to attend the games -- were lit up like a sparkler for their
first World Series night. They roared when their team was introduced. And they
booed lustily at the Minnesota Twins, and sang "CHEATER! CHEATER!" when Kent
Hrbek stepped to the plate. CBS was showing a feature it filmed at Avery's
house the day before (Steve eats lunch, Steve smiles at family) while trying
to locate Ted Turner and Jane Fonda in the stands.
If all this sounds like a circus, that's because the World Series is
exactly that. I realize some baseball writers -- like our own John (Let's Play
Two) Lowe, who is the nicest guy I know not in the clergy -- get to the
ballpark four hours before the grounds crew so they can soak up "atmosphere"
and tell us how the game is a "pastoral chess board of Americana."
I never bought it. For all the fuss, baseball is still one guy trying to
smoke a pitch past another guy's groin, while the other guy tries to make him
pay.
Which brings us back to Avery, who wound up throwing another hell of a
game. Eight innings, only two runs allowed. I still can't believe a
21-year-old can carry that kind of pressure on his shoulders, although we must
remember that Avery, after the Braves won the pennant, carried teammate Deion
Sanders on his shoulders out to the field, and Deion weighs a lot, what with
all the jewelry.
Anyhow, Avery left with a runner on in the eighth. He got a standing
ovation. Nice. Unfortunately, the next batter, Chili Davis, smacked Alejandro
Pena's pitch halfway to Savannah, and the game was tied. It would take another
90 minutes -- and just about every player on both rosters before Atlanta
finally won it, with a two-out single by the soon-to-be-famous Mark Lemke.
People around here (those who didn't fall asleep) will remember it in hushed
tones, Atlanta's first Series win. Baseball writers will immortalize it as a
"classic slice of diamond pie." I don't know about that. I do know this: There
were a few Indians outside who could care less.
TOMORROW: THE RETURN OF JACK
WORLD SERIES; BASEBALL; COLUMN; ATLANTA