Miracle III?

In an earlier and simpler age, there was only baseball. A really tight pennant race would drown out political campaigns in September, and kids were let out of school at World Series time. But, as everybody knows, faster and more violent sports have eclipsed the old national pastime.

Or have they? With last week's pennant playoffs, baseball suddenly recaptured so much suspense and emotion that Ring Lardner could not have written a better script. Winners of the National League's Western Division were the well-muscled Cincinnati Redlegs, with the best record (99 wins, 63 losses) and some of the mightiest hitters in the league. Up against the Big Red Machine stumbled the New York Mets, living proof that baseball is still a game of inches. Two months ago, Manager Yogi Berra was within inches of losing his job again (the New York Yankees dumped him in 1964) as the Mets floundered in the Eastern Division cellar, dispirited and haunted by injuries. After a spectacular September drive, the team won the division title by inches on the last day of the season. That was Miracle I, which rational men could dismiss as an unrepeatable quirk.

Like Lourdes. When the dust settled at Shea Stadium last week--literally settled, for maniacal fans made a fair attempt to atomize the ballpark --the Mets had stolen the series three games to two. Miracle II was worthy of a week at Lourdes. The Mets pitching, led by sore-shouldered Tom Seaver, held the Midwestern maulers to only eight runs in the five games. The asthenic Met batters, none of whom finished the regular season above .300, banged out a hearty 23 runs. Met Shortstop Bud Harrelson (155 Ibs.) miraculously escaped maiming when his scuffle with Cincinnati's Pete Rose (189 Ibs.) blossomed into the best-watched brouhaha since the 1968 Democratic National Convention. Rose later escaped injury at the hands of garbage-throwing Mets fans.

The Mets even made the lame and the halt rise from their pallets to perform. Willie Mays, 42, sidelined with cracked ribs and due to retire at the end of the season, was sent in as a pinch hitter during the final game and scratch singled in a run. Willie was replacing Veteran Ed Kranepool, the last of the original Mets, who in turn was substituting for Rusty Staub. Staub, on a home-run jag, could not play in the fifth game because he slammed into an outfield wall making a crucial catch in game four. Kranepool performed on cue by getting a single that brought in two runs. Homemade banners in the stands said it all: YOU GOTTA BEE-LEEVE.

While New York was outlasting Cincinnati, the 1972 World Champion Oakland Athletics were having their own tense five-game contest with the Baltimore Orioles in the American League playoffs. When the Orioles knocked out Oakland Ace Vida Blue (20-9) early in the first game and won it 6-0, there was hope in Baltimore that the home team's strong pitching staff, starring Jim Palmer (22-9), would prevail over Oakland's aces. But then came Oakland's other stone walls, Ken Holtzman and Jim ("Catfish") Hunter. They and Reliever Rollie Fingers stood their ground in three of the final four games as obdurately as a goal-line defensive unit in that other sport.

Preparing to face the A's in the World Series, the Mets seemed to be asking too much: nothing less than Miracle III. Oakland has timely hitting, strong arms and bench strength. Manager Berra ("I'd rather be lucky than good") and his team have faith and a good memory. The Mets clearly remember 1969, when rational men said that faith was not enough.

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