The Unnatural

Malone had his best campaign in 1975, the year the Red Sox nearly dismantled the Reds in the World Series. Malone won one game right-handed and saved another throwing lefty. But in the Series finale, he was on the mound for more than an hour without ever loosing a pitch. Malone faced Pete Rose, a switch-hitter. When Rose dug in at the left side of the plate, Malone decided to throw southpaw. Rose called time out and moved to the right side. Malone called time and set righty. Left, left. Right, right. The standoff seemed to go on forever. If Malone hadn't finally collapsed from dizziness, the Series might now be in its 15th year.

By '77, both of Malone's arms had gone south. The only switching he did was from Budweiser to Wild Turkey. He blew saves, his paycheck, his career. All over Boston, kids stuck Sam Malone cards in their bike spokes: The streets buzzed with the sound of wimp, wimp, wimp.

The end came with a whimper at Tiger Stadium in 1979. ''I didn't have a drink the entire day,'' Malone recalls. ''I knew it might be my last chance to prove myself.'' But when the coach told him to warm up, Malone balked. ''My arm hurts,'' he said. After that, Mayday's life really hit the skids. Boozing and brawling, he lived a life of noisy desperation until he rehabilitated himself by taking a job at Cheers.

The one aberration in Malone's pathetic career came against the Yankees on a hot August day at Fenway. ''The top of the ninth,'' he recalls. ''We're up by a run. The bases are loaded, two outs, and Thurman Munson's at the plate. I throw Munson a left-handed forkball. Strike one! I throw him a right-handed slider. Strike two! I throw him a left-handed change-up. Strike three! We win the game!''

Alas, if you look at the box score, you find that Malone didn't strike Munson out. In fact, he didn't get anyone out: He balked in the winning run. As old-time sports editors used to say when confronted with facts that conflicted with the legend, print the legend.