All Night in Pawtucket

Item: The Pawtucket Red Sox and Rochester Red Wings play a 32-inning game in Pawtucket, the longest ever.

The first thing you have to think of are the umpires. The players have dugouts; all the umpires can do is shift their weight every five innings or so. No place to sit down, no place to go to the bathroom.

Next, the fans. What a great game to attend! Just think if you knew in advance that this was going to happen, you could get one of those return passes like they have at film festivals. See a few innings, go grab some dinner, see a movie or go bowling, then back to the ballpark. A great night out.

And how about the players? Even a Chico Walker, who had only one hit in 13 at bats on the night, has some consolation in a game like this. Why, he'll be right up there among the league leaders in at bats. You could have a hot streak, go into a slump and fight your way out of it, all in the same game!

If you were a sportswriter covering the game, you could give hourly bulletins, like they had for the space shuttle. A television station could have packaged the game like a telethon, with entertainment from all over Rhode Island. Singing, and dancing, too.

And what if you owned the concession stands? How many thousands of cups of coffee do people buy in eight hours, in 32 innings of baseball? How many Fritos? Millions, probably, millions of Fritos sliding into 25 or 30 stomachs for hours and hours, washed down by coffee and milk and Mountain Dew.

But pity poor Xiomara Aponte. She suspected some sort of infidelity, I have a feeling, when her husband Luis stayed out all hours Saturday night. But the only curves he saw were his curveball--he fanned eight of the twelve batters he faced, way back in the tenth, or fourteenth or something like that. And he stumbled home, leaving the ballpark after 19 innings, walking in the door at about 2:30, to be greeted by...what? Xiomara in hysterics, asking him where he'd been. Wasn't she listening on the radio?

They'll have to do this again; it was still tied after 32. All the camaraderie--like being stuck in an elevator, only you get to yell. Like the Boston Marathon with bats and balls, or a trip cross-country on moped. Long, but exciting. Tiring, but worth it.

The commercial possibilities are endless--a tie-in with Seiko or No-Doz, or a prime-time situation comedy. They played enough for 16 episodes of half-hour comedy, if you count between innings.

Even the ending is perfect--a tie. You know what that means. Sequel!

Item: Don Zimmer returns to Fenway Park.

Yes, Don Zimmer did show up at the ballpark yesterday in a ten-gallon hat ("I'm probably the world's fattest cowboy"--Zimmer), but it wasn't even his. And while the 26,000 fans gave the man who really does look like a gerbil a rude welcome. Zip held court for over an hour, talking to reporters and broadcasters in the Texas dugout.

Walter Hriniak came by to say hello, and Jerry Remy waved, and Don Zimmer chatted about being manager of the Texas Rangers.

He talked about the Texas talk shows. "So mild it'll scare you," he said. "I went on it a few times from Florida and it's a cakewalk." He talked about the plush new clubhouse in Arlington Stadium. "They're beautiful, carpeting this thick," he said, holding up fingers three inches apart. "It's almost a shame to wear your spikes in there." Tough to get the players out on the field?" he was asked. "Not easy," said Zimmer.

He talked about Dodger rookie Fernando Valenzuela ("He ain't no mistake, he knows how to pitch") and other fine pitchers, and when the Texas starting nine was flashed on the scoreboard, he said, "Look at that lineup." And it was a good lineup.

He talked about the Red Sox. "Yeah, I've seen some of the players," he said, "They're right out there." And then he talked about the weather, and then the Red Sox some more. "Lansford's doing well? Doesn't surprise me," he said, "doesn't surprise me."

And when manager Don Zimmer of the Texas Rangers got what he called "a standing boo" from the paid patrons, he tipped his hat and waved to the grand stand. "You have to expect it," he said. "You have to face the music."