SPORTS
Tuesday, July 9, 1985 The Michigan Daily

Page 11


A 2.tt

..bay
THE SPORTING VIEWS J
By DAVE ARETHA Nobody scored in the 14th...or the 15th...or the 16...or th:
A T TWENTY-TWO to two in the morning, my In- 17th, and the game was quickly approaching 3:00 a.m. Thb
dependence Day had neared an end. Or so I thought. hours were no longer very wee.
As I headed upstairs to slug the burlap.... (oops, start

a.m. Camp out .. .
seball, fireworks, spirits

over).
As I headed upstairs to hit the sack, a greenish glow
beckoned me into the dark family room. A baseball game
was on cable, and yours truly - your truly fanatical
baseball fanatic - was drawn to the screen like the little
girl in Poltergeist.
Being so late, I figured I was lured to a West Coast
game. But this was the New York Mets versus the Atlanta
Braves. In Atlanta, it was twenty-two to two, too.
WTBS broadcaster Ernie Johnson told me why they
were playing the Independence Day game well past the
twilight's last gleaming.
"We've had two rain delays," said Johnson. "The game
is tied, 8-8, in the top of the 13th."
He added: "Stick around, we have a fireworks display
after the game."
Fireworks? Uh, oh, things were getting spooky. I
recalled the Poltergeist girl. I remembered her sitting
mesmerized in front of the tube during the morning's wee
hours. She was watching the playing of the Star Spangled
Banner - before she got sucked into the TV screen by evil
spirits.
To me, baseball, the Fourth of July and fireworks had
too many National Anthem connotations. At this hour of
the morning, I wasn't sure I could deal with evil spirits
and picture tubes.

Meanwhile, while I was taking some mean bites off my
fingernails, worrying about my Evil Spirit interview and
picture tubes in my nostrils, Johnson was actually
cracking jokes.
"Gorman is the batter," he said. "Knight will
follow .... then day.
"After the fireworks, be sure to watch 'Jacques
Cousteau: The First 75 Years.' Of course, he's 76 now."
Home plate umpire Terry Tata wasn't in the mood for
Johnson's humor either. After seven hours behind the
mask, Tata was getting mighty irritable.
New York's Darryl Strawberry was called out on strikes
in the 17th. But before Strawberry could finish saying,
"Excuse me, Mr. Umpire sir, butI do not believe that pit-
ch was a strike," Tata threw him out of the game.
Tata was definitely overagitated by the overwork. If
Ernie Banks had gone up to him at that moment and said,
"It's a nice day, let's play two," Tata would have slugged
him.
In the bottom of the 18th, though, it looked like Tata's
miserable day was finally over. The Braves, now trailing
11-10, had two outs and none on. And with no pinch-hitters
left, they were forced to send pitcher Rick Camp to the
plate.
Most pitchers are bad hitters, but Camp is especially
lame. How lame is he? Well, when Camp came to bat,
Mets' catcher Gary Carter actually waved the outfielders
toward the infield.

But then I said, "Hey, a wicked spirit would make a hell "Come on in," Carter was saying, "this guy ain't gonna
of an interview." So I decided to stick around, hit it."
Terry Forster was pitching for the Braves in the 13th, Camp is really a sickly hitter. In fact, you could call him
and it looked like the portly pitcher would mow down the "Concession Stand" Camp, because everyone goes to buy
Mets. Forster, despite being called a "fat tub of goo" by their hot dog when he's at the plate. Camp is so bad, he
David Letterman, was having an outstanding year for couldn't hit the weight of Forster's son's overhang.
Atlanta. In fact, his ERA looked like the GPA of Welcome I mean, this guy is bad news. Normally when Camp is
Back Kotter's Vinnie Barbarino. batting with two outs, the next scheduled hitter puts on his
mitt instead of his helmet. Camp couldn't hit the broad
With two outs and one on, Forster was in complete side of a barn - from the inside. In eight major league
command - especially with the patfletic Howard Johnson seasons, Camp has amassed a total of zero home runs.
at the plate. Some players struggle to hit their weight. Ho

After smacking a game-tying homer at 3:30 a.m. Friday, Atlanta Brave
pitcher Rick Camp is congratulated by Chief Noc-A-Homa.

Jo was having trouble hitting the weight of Forster's
overhang.
However, ("hello, Ripley? I don't think you're going to
believe this,") Johnson flattened a Fatty Forster fat pitch
over the left field fence to give the Mets a 10-8 lead. It was
just the third home run since last August for Johnson.
Things were getting spookier.
In the bottom of the 13th, New York pitcher Thomas
Gorman, no relation to American League slugger Gorman
Thomas, was one strike away from finishing off the
Braves. But with a man on first, Terry Harper blasted a
long one down the left field line.
"If it stays fair...," blared Ernie Johnson. "IF IT
STAYS FAIR..."
Eight thousand Braves fans tried to coax the airborn
baseball into fair territory. They waved their hands to the
right and wiggled their hips this way and that way. They
looked like Rodney Dangerfield in the Lite Beer bowling
commercial.
Then it happened. ("Ripley, I know you're not going to,
believe this.") Harper's ball banged off the foul pole - just
like Rodney's bowling ball clanged off the front pin - and
the game was tied, 10-10. Spooky, spooky, spooky.

Until now.
With an awesome swing reminiscent of Gorman
Thomas, Camp reciprocated a Thomas Gorman fastball,
drilling it over the left field fence. ("Someone get a wet
towel. I think Ripley's fainted.") We went to the 19th tied,
11-11. Heavy duty spookiness.
The Mets scored five times in the 19th, but again the
Braves were coming back. They scored one run at 3:50
a.m. and another at 3:52. And at 3:54, they had the tying
run at the plate in the person of - Rick Camp.
I rose to my feet. Could Concessions do it again? Could
he outspook the spookiest of the spooks? Could he send
Ripley into cardiac arrest? Could he chop down the flag
pole with a mighty blow to center?
No.
Camp struck out and the flag was still there. America's
team had lost the Independence Day battle.
Now all that was left were the fireworks. The rockets'
red glare o'er the land of the sleepy. Bombs bursting in air
over the home of the Braves. Fireworks, fireworks - until
the dawns early light.
Uh, oh. Star Spangled Banner. Poltergeist. Spookiness
revisited.
I decided not to stick around. I figured an interview with
a spirit wa 'tworth a ictbire tube in thebbse.

U

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