I was 10 years old, at a sports age when I probably felt entitled to a third straight Super Bowl, and to Roger Staubach’s career.
The score was Los Angeles 21, Dallas 19, and there were two minutes left.
No: But there were two minutes left. This was Roger.
Then there was 1:19 left, and the Cowboys, needing just a field goal to advance to a third straight NFC Championship — which they would surely win — had a 3rd and 10 on their own 33 in their own building. And had Roger.
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Shotgun. Dropback. Check off. Check off. Checkdown.
To Herb Scott. Offensive lineman Herb Scott.
We didn’t know it then — certainly not those of us who were ten years old — but it would be Roger Staubach’s final pass. A penalized completion in the game’s biggest moment, an uncharacteristic, ignominious checkdown that effectively brought to an end something awesome that I, surely, was sports-entitled to. That game, that season, that career.
I hung in there through last night’s Rangers-Angels game because that’s what I do. Even when Justin Upton, with a man on to start the ninth, barreled a grounder a half-step to Adrian Beltre’s left, and the double play that Beltre routinely turns didn’t happen. The ball bounced twice on the ground, then once off the heel of Beltre’s glove, then another time on the ground, then off Elvis Andrus’s glove, then on the ground a couple more times.
It was the last time Andrus would touch the ball in the game, an interchange between the two players that give us the most Rangers-joy of any, an uncharacteristic, ignominious E5 that led to 5-1 becoming 7-1, headed to the bottom of the ninth. I hung in there.
Robinson Chirinos worked a full count before striking out. Drew Robinson worked a full count before walking. Ryan Rua fanned on four pitches, after which Shin-Soo Choo and Jurickson Profar each lined a single on the third pitch of their at-bats. 7-1 had become 7-2, and Andrus stepped up. He wasn’t the tying run, and neither was Beltre, who stood on deck, but if both could manage to reach, Nomar Mazara would be, with Joey Gallo waiting behind him.
Ball one, with Profar stealing second.
Ball two.
New Angels closer Keynan Middleton, pitching in his 70th Major League game, had thrown 34 pitches. Not once in the previous 69 had he ever thrown that many.
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On 2-0, Middleton fired 97, riding in.
Andrus hung in there.
A split-second later, he was on the ground, writhing in obvious pain. Kevin Harmon sprinted, Jeff Banister followed, and my stomach dropped.
The Middleton fastball fractured Andrus’s right elbow, which was in no way meant to catch that baseball any more than Herb Scott was meant to catch that pass. This was not a purpose pitch. The young reliever, pushed to a career-high pitch count and finding himself in hotter water than expected, came inside, and probably a little more than he’d planned. Andrus dove at the pitch and couldn’t reverse field once he recognized its true path.
Herb Scott didn’t react quickly enough to avoid catching the pass. Elvis Andrus didn’t react quickly enough to avoid having his season fractured.
Like big brother Michael, Andrus has never spent a day on the disabled list in the big leagues. That’s about to change.
The way this season has started, certainly, speculation is bound to ramp up as to whether Texas might approach Beltre at some point to see if he’d prefer to play for the ring that has eluded him, to finish out this contract with another club, which the Rangers would likely attempt to accommodate out of respect for the player. If Beltre wants that, it would be the right thing to do, and from a talent acquisition standpoint, probably a smart one, too.
But the thought of that possibly happening before Andrus is back in action, the idea that we’ve seen the last interplay between Andrus and his other big brother on the left side of the infield — and that that final one was a ball that bounced off one’s glove and then the other’s — crushes my sports soul.
That’s not how I want Adrian-Elvis to end. That wasn’t how I wanted Roger to end.
Andrus doesn’t even come to the plate if three of the five hitters ahead of him don’t reach. A ninth-inning rally in a season with so few rallies, and that happens.
The season’s first day off, and this.
I’ll hang in there, and I’ll keep watching. That’s what I do.
I’m crushed that Elvis will be, too.
I just hope he’s back on the field in time to gather in another pop-up with Adrian, chins up, gloves up, one smiling, wearing the same uniform.
