It was not an unusual play, at least for me.
I was just blocking the plate, trying to save a run in a scoreless tie.
Nothing heroic.
Nothing foolish.
Just trying, as I had since joining the Jays in 1981, to remind a runner that in any game against Toronto, home plate belonged to Buck Martinez, and no one else.
It’s a play that gets me hit on more occasions than I have time to count. I’ve been run over, knocked down, and even (several times) knocked out; but I’ve always escaped unscathed, unhurt, determined more than ever to protect that very private piece of turf I call my own.
That’s just the way I feel about home plate.
My teammates know this. The players with the other clubs know it. I’d even guess that most baseball fans who have ever seen me play know it too.
It’s not just home plate, it’s my home plate.
The only trouble on that fateful night in Seattle’s Kingdome, was that somebody had apparently
forgotten to tell Phil Bradley.
From spring training to season end, Martinez writes about the players, the coaches, the key games and the emotion of the team winning its first championship.
Buck’s story is sprinkled with first hand commentaries: the Bell-Kison incident, both crucial series against the Yankees, the best game the Jays ever played and post season games down to the final out.