The "Call"

It was the bottom of the ninth, and the St. Louis Cardinals were three outs from a World Series Championship. The score was 1-0. The Cardinals had their top reliever Todd Worrell, on the mound. Jorge Orta of the Kansas City Royals hit a slow roller down the first base line. The Cardinals’ Jack Clark fielded the ball and tossed it to Worrell at first base. The throw clearly beat Orta, but the first base umpire, Don Denkinger, called him safe. The Royals rallied and won 2-1. After the game, Denkinger saw Peter Ueberroth, the Commissioner of Baseball, outside of the umpires’ room. “Peter, did I get the call right?” he said. Ueberroth shook his head and said, “No.”

The Royals won the next game - and the World Series. Two St. Louis radio announcers gave out Denkinger’s address and phone number. Torrents of hate mail flooded his home. He received death threats and eventually required around the clock protection from the police and FBI.

One of the ESPN websites lists Denkinger's call in the sixth game of the 1985 World Series as the worst call in sports history (http://espn.go.com/page2/s/list/worstcalls/010730.html). Not baseball history, sports history. As a lifetime Cardinals fan, I have to agree. In St. Louis, they still refer to it as “The Call.”

This story is very personal to me. I remember watching the Series. I remember where I was when the Royals won game seven. I remember going into a three-day depression after the game. I am still sad when I think about it today. The only thing that can fully cure me is a St. Louis World Series victory. I have been waiting 21 years, and I wonder how long I will have to keep waiting.

So you can imagine that my interest was piqued when I saw a teaser ad on ESPN for an interview with Don Denkinger. They were actually doing a story on the man who had cost my team the World Series. This I had to see.

The interview started with the obligatory facts about Denkinger’s career. He retired in 1998 after 31 years as an American League umpire – the longest in history at that point. He umpired in three All-Star games and four World Series. He was one of only seven umpires in history to work in two perfect games. He had an impressive resume.

Finally the reporter asked the all-important question: “What about The Call?”

“I got it wrong,” Denkinger said. “I made a mistake, the worst one of my career.”

I listened attentively as he told about the anguish of facing his failure, of admitting that when it mattered the most, he had failed.

The vignette ended with a tour of his memorabilia collection. I was startled to see that one of his prized possessions was an oil painting of “The Call.” There, hanging in his home for all the world to see, was a painting of the lowest moment of his career – a painting he commissioned himself. The reporter asked him why he would pay an artist to paint a moment that most people would never want to think about again. “As a constant reminder that everyone makes mistakes,” he said. “I wanted something to keep me humble.”

As the piece ended, I dried my eyes and reflected on Denkinger’s painting. “Something to keep me humble,” he said.

A Thorn in the Flesh

God gave Paul something to keep him humble.

“To keep me from becoming conceited…there was given me a thorn in my flesh.”

There are many opinions about the thorn in the flesh. One person says this, and another person says that. When people ask me my opinion I reply, “I do not know what it was, but I do know what it was for: to keep Paul humble.”

The thorn in the flesh is like a painting of your worst failure, a constant reminder that everyone makes mistakes. Something to display in your house, to boast about, even. Paul said about this thorn,

“But He said to me, ‘My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.’ “Therefore I will boast all the more gladly about my weaknesses, so that Christ's power may rest on me.”