Hoyt Wilhelm threw a knuckleball, and I didn't like to hit against that. By the time it got to the plate it was somewhere else from where you last saw it, if you know what I mean. It moved all over, and you just couldn't be sure where it was going to be. But on this particular occasion, I think he tried to slip a curve by me. I saw the ball spinning and—
"Way back!" Caray screamed for the fourth time, now with a kind of frenzy that tightened his voice box and caused a gagging sound. "It might be...it could be...it is!"
Mr. Stafford roared with laughter and held up four fingers of the hand that was not on the press. Steam and black smoke seeped out from between the pads of the press, and I wondered about those gray slacks. I squealed with delight and headed for the house as fast as I could pedal. Mama was getting ready to go to church, but us menfolk gathered around the radio to see if our Man could do it one more time. Daddy said the fourth homer had equaled a major league record for home runs in two successive games. The Man was the best.
After the fourth one, they told me in the dugout I had tied a record. I guess I was somewhat elated about that. Although I wasn't a home-run hitter, I naturally believed I could hit with most of them, so to hit four home runs in one day made me very happy. I guess my next at bat was one of the few times in my whole career that I was thinking home run when I went to bat. I didn't swing for a homer, but I admit I was thinking about it even though I didn't feel I had a chance off the knuckleball. Wilhelm floated one up there, and I figured it looked about as good as any, so I swung and hit it well—
"Way back!" It was too much. David swung the broom handle like a maniac and fell backward over a footstool. I couldn't think of a thing to say that was loud enough, so I just jumped up and grinned and knew that the Man was my man. Even Mama got excited. She was on her way out the back door, Bible in hand, when she heard the noise. She ran back to "the living room door and watched us chant in unison, "Might be...it could be...IT IS! A home run, holy cow, Stan Musial's fifth of the day!"
Daddy shook his head. With a faraway look on his face he said, "Well, I'll be damned."
It was past 7:30 before Musial came to bat again in the ninth. I knew he would hit No. 6, but Daddy said we should be realistic. I figured, though, if he could hit five he could hit six.
They brought in Larry Jansen. I've never understood why they brought in the ace of their staff in the ninth to pitch to me. It was maybe the only time I ever swung for a home run. He threw me a fastball that came in real good, and for some reason I took it. You know, I've always had a feeling that I should've hit that pitch. Then he threw me a fastball, high and in. I was too anxious and swung way too hard and popped the ball up to Whitey Lockman at first base.
David and Daddy ate cold chicken at the kitchen table. I stood in the middle of the living room and swung the broom handle, from the left side, crouched in that unique position. "The pitch [swoosh], long fly ball, way back, it might be, it could be, it is! A home run. Holy cow!"