But nothing happened in the eighth to change the score, and the ninth opened with the Red Sox still in the lead.
That the Red Sox would not score again was as nearly certain as anything can be in baseball. Joe, as cool as an icicle, was going at top speed. They simply could not touch his offerings.
But as the visitors went back in one, two, three order, they consoled themselves with the thought that they did not have to do any more scoring. They were already ahead, and if Fraser could hold their opponents down for one more inning, the game was theirs.
But Fraser had about reached his limit. He could not stand the gaff as sturdily as Joe. With the exception of that one wild spell, he had pitched superbly, but the terrific strain was beginning to tell.
His first two pitches went as balls, and McRae, whose eagle eyes saw signs of wavering, signaled Becker, who was at the bat, to “wait him out.”
The advice proved good, and Becker trotted down to first where he immediately began to dance about and yell, hoping to draw a throw which in the pitcher’s nervous condition might go wild.
The Red Sox players shouted encouragement to their pitcher, and the catcher walked down to the box on the pretense of advice but really to give him time to recover himself.
No doubt this helped, for Fraser braced up and made Iredell put up a towering foul, which Thompson caught after a long run.
Joe came next and cracked out a pretty single between short and second. Becker tried to make third on it, but a magnificent throw by Walters nipped him at the bag. But in the mix-up, Joe, by daring running, got to second.
With two out, a long hit would tie the game, anyway, and carry it into extra innings.