By Doug Smith
Each no-hitter has a personality. For the Webster Yankees’ Brian Pullyblank Friday night, the key was privacy. Practically nobody saw his 1-0 gem vs. the Niagara Power at Webster’s Basket Road Field.
And among the privileged few, the one whose heart might have raced the most was blissfully unaware.
Webster takes pride in Basket Road’s replicating the dimensions of Yankee Stadium. There endeth the similarity. A single bleacher, resembling a large chrome-plated penalty box, seats fewer than 50. That capacity was never tested.
Further, there’s no scoreboard, so that as Pullyblank piled up the zeroes, his achievement went unnoticed by the quorum, although Base Paths and Commissioner Dave Chamberlain were hanging on every pitch, speaking in code (“there are just four hits in this game and Webster has ‘em all”).
Along about the seventh inning, a striking young woman joined the mini-throng and began taking pictures with a camera the size of a compact. She was bubbly and chatty with a smile that would melt steel beams. She had just arrived from Illinois and that oh, yes, the pitcher, Brian Pullyblank, was her boyfriend.
“Is he pitching a good game?” she asked.
Base Paths and The Commish turned to each other. Base Paths loosened his death grip on a steak sandwich.
“Whaddya’ say, Commish, is he pitchin’ OK?”
“Yeah, I’d say he’s doing alright.”
“Actually,” Base Paths confided, “he’s doing something that we can’t even tell you about.”
Her brow furrowed. “Oh dear,” she said. “Is he in trouble?”
“Not yet,” said The Commish.
Major-league rules, by which the New York State Collegiate largely abides, were recently altered as regards records on no-hitters. The pitcher must finish the game without relief. Even Harvey Haddix’s 12-inning gem of 1959 was delisted. So when Pullyblank 1-2-3’d the Power in the top of the ninth, and his manager declared he was done for the night, Base Paths decided to risk it.
“Since he’s coming out of the game, we can tell you now, young lady, that your boyfriend has pitched a no-hitter.”
And she said:
“What’s a no-hitter?”
Base Paths yearned to tell her that this was one of sports’ singular achievements, which almost always ends with one man in full body armor leaping into the arms of another, more lightly clad. But while Pullyblank had done all he could, his team had not yet won the game. And when Andy Koontz did drive home the game-breaking run, Yankees ran every which way, some congratulating Koontz, others shaking the hand of the taciturn Pullyblank in the quiet of the dugout. He didn’t even get a victory lap.
Later, perhaps, he would explain to his lovely friend the magic of the moment she had come 849.62 miles to see.
Or perhaps not.
Signal Base Paths via pollyndoug@hotmail.com.
