Change-up by John Feinstein

plate. Stevie now understoodwhy Acta might think about going to the bullpen. He didn’t think Doyle had much chance of getting Ortiz and Bay out one more time.
    The Red Sox fans were on their feet as Ortiz stepped in. It was pretty clear they had no interest in seeing a no-hitter. “Don’t fans sometimes get behind a pitcher on the other team going for a no-hitter?” Stevie asked.
    “Not in the World Series,” Svrluga said.
    Doyle’s first two pitches were nowhere near the plate. He had now thrown 117 pitches. Most starting pitchers came out after about 100 pitches, and the absolute maximum was usually 120. Stevie had checked the Nats’ postseason media guide and found that the most pitches Doyle had thrown in his three starts in September was 87.
    On 2–0, Doyle tried to trick Ortiz, who was no doubt expecting a fastball, with a curve. But the pitch never broke down and away, as it should have. Instead it stayed up and went right at Ortiz. At the last second Ortiz realized the breaking pitch had no break, and he tried to duck out of the way. But the ball somehow hit his bat and trickled straight back to the mound. Ortiz was still lying on his back when Doyle picked the ball up and threw it to first.
    “Oh my God,” Solomon said. “Talk about a Hail Mary!”
    “Talk about dumb luck,” Svrluga said. “That may be it for Doyle.”
    Acta was walking to the mound. Even though Doylehad gotten two outs in the inning, it was clear he was exhausted. The breaking ball that didn’t break had to be the last straw.
    The entire Nats infield surrounded the mound while Acta talked to Doyle. “No signal to the bullpen yet,” Susan Carol said.
    “Good point,” Maske said. “I would have thought he’d be waving someone in when he left the dugout.”
    And then Acta patted Doyle on the shoulder and trotted back to the dugout.
    “Oh ma God,” Susan Carol said, lapsing into a Southern drawl. “He’s stayin’ in.”
    “Acta’s either going down as the gutsiest manager in series history or the dumbest,” Svrluga said. “There is no way this guy can get four more outs.”
    Bay dug in to the batter’s box. He had joined the team in 2008 to replace Manny Ramirez, the enigmatic slugger who had thrilled and mystified Boston fans—not to mention teammates—with his bat and his antics for almost eight years. It was a hard act to follow, but Bay had become an instant fan favorite and had played well from the first day he arrived in Boston.
    Doyle threw a fastball that was outside. Then he threw three more just like it.
    “That was an intentional walk,” Svrluga said. “No way was he giving him any kind of pitch to hit.”
    Mike Lowell, the third baseman, was up next. He had been the MVP of the World Series in ’07. Doyle’s first pitchwas an 80-mph fastball right down the middle. Lowell never moved.
    “He surprised him by throwing a strike,” Maske commented.
    The next pitch was also a strike, and Lowell hit a bullet toward the left-field wall—the Green Monster. It was hit so hard it looked like it might go
through
the wall. But it never rose above shoulder level. Dunn, the Nats’ left fielder, had been playing almost on the warning track, so he took one step to his left and put up his glove, and the ball slammed into it. The groan from the fans was audible.
    “That may have been the luckiest inning I’ve ever seen a pitcher have,” Stevie said.
    “You need luck to pitch a no-hitter,” Susan Carol answered.
    “He’s going to need a miracle to get three more outs,” Maske said.
    No one argued. Terry Francona brought his closer, Jonathan Papelbon, in to pitch the ninth—he wanted to be sure the margin stayed at 1–0 so they’d have a final shot at winning in the bottom of the inning.
    Papelbon rolled through the Nationals, throwing only nine pitches to set them down one-two-three.
    Acta was really letting Doyle try to finish the no-hitter. Doyle walked slowly to the mound for the bottom of the ninth.