The Key West Conchs were the patsies of the Single-A Florida
State League at 32-79 and Johnny Crider of the St. Petersburg Cardinals wasn’t too
concerned about being ready for the game. He’d been in the minors for three
years and though he was batting a career high .248, he knew he would soon be on
his way out. Usually the team would
arrive in town, warm up, play a game, and be back on the road before midnight
without ever having seen anything but the ballpark. But since the only bus available had them
arriving in Key West some eight hours before game time on this August 6th,
1974, there was time to kill so Johnny decided to see the sights, not knowing
if he’d ever pass that way again.
From the free-roaming chickens in Mallory Square to the
polydactyl cats lounging around the Hemingway House to the whispers heard along
the docks of yet another overdue sailboat missing in the Bermuda Triangle, Johnny
was finding Key West a fascinating place.
“Weird,” he kept whispering to himself as he sipped tequila
at Sloppy Joe’s, “weird…”
When the first pitch was delivered in the bottom of the
first inning at Wickers Field that evening, Johnny was in right field. A thick
fog hung in the darkening sky despite a 20 knot wind and it amplified every
sound; the lights in the outfield cast an eerie blue glow.
CRACK!
The pitcher turned and pointed straight up and Johnny raced
in to field what he thought was a routine pop-up. The second baseman and the
center fielder converged beneath the arcing ball also. And then, the ball…
It didn’t go foul. It didn’t leave the park. It didn’t land.
“Weird,” Johnny whispered as the runner circled the bases. “Weird.”
