On Saturday, August 17 at 2 p.m., the annual Artists-Writers Game will be played on the softball field behind the Stop & Shop supermarket in East Hampton. It’s an annual affair, a well-known summer event that has been contested every year for the last 75 years. The game is alternately athletic, serious and sometimes laughable. It is free to attend — donations optional — and if qualified, sometimes, even play in it.
Which brings us to what happened in the bottom of the ninth inning of the 74th game in 2022. Those who saw it will never forget it. It’s never happened before in any baseball game I’ve ever seen. I’d like to relate it here.
Before I do, however, I’d like to note that over the years, movie stars and billionaires have begun playing in the game. Also politicians.
So, among other people at this game in 2022 was former President Bill Clinton, gayly attired in a Hawaiian shirt with colorful squiggles, black shorts, long black socks and sneakers and a Panama hat. He umpired the first half of the game, his concerned secret service men, earpieces attached, looking on.
The bottom of the ninth began with New York Daily News sportswriter Mike Lupica at the plate. At that point the score was Artists 18, Writers 2. Three outs and it would be done.
Lupica singled to right. His son Alex, a substitute, came up next and singled to left. Next up was David Baer, a writer and last year’s MVP. He doubled to left, bringing home both Lupicas. And then Jerry Xie, a Wall Street analyst, singled through the second basemen’s legs. The score was now 18 to 5 and nobody out. The Writers were stirring.
The next batter should have been out. He was Dan Pulick, and his easy grounder to short was thrown to first, but the first baseman dropped the ball.
Next, writer John Lemire (his new book The Big Lie was No.4 on the New York Times bestseller list that week) singled, writer Nicholas Davidoff singled, novelist Peter Wood singled and producer Harry Javer walked in a run.
During all this, comedian Michael Cesaro pitched for the Artists. But now he seemed really spooked. He hit the next batter, Paul Winum in the arm. Winum fell to the ground groaning, but he was faking. So he got up, apologized, dusted himself off and hit the next pitch over the shortstop’s head for a single. After that, Brett Shevak, the founder and chairman of a big New York ad agency hit a triple down the left field line clearing the bases.
Now the score was 18 to 12. Scary. And so, Leif Hope, coaching the artists, walked out to the mound to change pitchers. He took out Cesaro, and summoned painter John Longmire, who earlier in the game had pitched several innings without allowing the Writers to score.
But the manager of the Writers, New Yorker writer Ken Auletta, ran out to object. You can’t put in a player you earlier had taken out, Leif argued back. The Writers had done exactly that in an earlier inning. But New York State Supreme Court Judge Richard Lowe who had replaced President Clinton earlier as umpire, agreed with the Writers. It hadn’t mattered earlier, but now in this critical situation, it did. Longmire was ushered off, and instead, photographer David Blinken came in to pitch. And it looked like he might end it. The first two Writers he faced hit routine fly balls to Center, both caught. The Writers were down to their last out.
The next batter, screenwriter Nicholas Davidoff hit a routine grounder to second that should have ended it. But the second baseman for the Artists picked it up, bobbled, it and then was unable to beat John Lemire on first racing to second to avoid being forced out.
I was umpiring behind First Base at this point and it was clear to me she had failed. Safe, I ruled. Also declaring him safe was Umpire Lowe.
But the entire Artists bench would have none of this. They came running out declaring the game over. Gloves were thrown on the ground.
I thought — this is a rebellion, bigger than any umpire’s decision. And I stopped to reconsider. But then, one of the writers, Mike Lupica, shouted at the Artists.
“Do you really want to end it like this?”
And that stopped them. They were ahead, still needed only one out. They retreated. And the game continued.
Here’s how it ended. It’s Artists 18, Writers 17. There are two men on base. And the Writers bring in someone who has never played in this game before. He is Rabbi Josh Franklin from the Jewish Center of the Hamptons on Woods Lane. He’s a Writer? Yes he writes. He swings at the first pitch. It’s a long fly ball deep out to center. The center fielder goes back and back, but has to stop to watch it. It’s a home run. And with the two men on base, the Writers have won, 20 to 18.
A crowd races out onto the field to embrace the Rabbi as he trots around the bases. It’s pandemonium. I catch up with him just after he crosses home plate and it seems he does not realize what he has just done. He’d just arrived to watch the game. Didn’t know the score. They brought him in.
As it turns out however, it is not a home run. The center field boundary is marked by a rope held up by traffic cones, a rather pitiful imitation of a wall now having been used for years, since many moons ago, when the wall was turkey wire with steel stakes to hold it up and singer Paul Simon, playing center field in a full professional baseball player’s uniform, leaped up to catch a fly ball and came down on the stake which stuck him in the back. People rushed out to help him, but he got up from the ground and declared he was fine. He held up the ball. A miracle. But you know what? It will be a rope from now on. No stakes.
Well now it turns out that the Rabbi’s drive came down under the rope. A ground rule double. So the Writers won 19-18, not 20-18. And that was that.
An almost impossible ending to this game. No one will ever forget it.
To read more of Dan Rattiner’s columns, visit DansPapers.com/voices/dan-rattiners-stories.
