Cabrera is hacking. He drives the ball toward shortstop Jay Bell. On the TV it looks to Smoltz as if Bell has caught the ball and the Pirates have won the pennant, but then he feels the room shake and hears the crowd scream bloody murder, and he sprints down the tunnel to the Brave dugout. Sid Bream, slower than bread mold, as they say. Bonds throws the ball on a line maybe six feet inside the third base line, and catcher Mike LaValliere makes a sweep tag as Bream slides, and it's too close to call with the naked eye.
All hell breaks loose.
Mounted police spill instantly from openings in the walls down both foul lines. Caray's call is heard on car radios by a thousand or more saps who left in the eighth inning to beat the traffic. It is impossible to hear anymore, until the crowd is spent. He can't believe it. That is all you hear when you can finally make out individual voices in the throng of paid customers.