Lightning struck who 104 years ago today?

[Madi$on18joshua]

ON AUG. 24, 1919, Ray Caldwell puts on a Cleveland uniform for the first time. The weather is brutally hot but clear -- for now -- and none of the 20,000 or so fans at League Park has any idea that they're about to see something that defies belief. A story of desperation, terror, survival and redemption, all channeling through Caldwell over the next two hours.

The crowd roars as he takes the mound, and the cheers only get louder as it becomes obvious that Caldwell has his best stuff today. Cleveland fans know the stakes for the right-hander: He has just been waived by the Red Sox, and the pulse of his once-promising career had all but flatlined prior to that day. This is his last gasp.
Five years earlier, he'd had been regarded as a transcendent talent, perhaps one of the greatest pitchers ever, before drinking problems moved him to the outskirts of baseball. Cleveland player/manager Tris Speaker, in a push for the playoffs, wanted to give Caldwell another chance, which looks like a genius move this afternoon.

Players call Caldwell "Slim" because of his 6-foot-2, 190-pound frame and how he leverages every ounce of it to produce an above-average fastball and elite curve. But he mostly falls back on his devastating out pitch: one of baseball's best spitballs. The pitch is still legal, and Caldwell has incredible command on this day against the Philadelphia Athletics; the A's are flummoxed for two hours, managing four hits and a walk through eight innings.

But then the clouds roll in -- fast -- off Lake Erie. Cleveland's players, who have grown accustomed to the lake-effect weather mood swings, take their positions and hope to grind out three more outs before the skies really open up.

So he hurriedly toes the rubber as the rain picks up. He gets two easy infield popouts to open the inning. One more to go. Now the wind howls, the storm fully upon the field.

Just as he gets set, a flash from the sky explodes down into the middle of the field. Shortstop Ray Chapman feels a surge of electricity go down his leg, and the violence of the lightning strike causes players to dive for the ground. "I took off my mask and threw it as far as I could," Cleveland catcher Steve O'Neill says later of his metal mask. "I didn't want it to attract any bolts toward me."

Five seconds after the bolt hits the ground, everybody looks around. The eight Indians position players are OK, but their newest teammate is not. Caldwell is on his back, arms spread wide, out cold on the mound. The lightning strike had hit him directly.

Players rush to Caldwell, but the first man who touches him leaps in the air, saying he'd been zapped by Caldwell's prone body.

So everybody steps back and just stares. Caldwell's chest is smoldering from where the bolt burned it. They're terrified to touch him, and nobody does.

All of them wonder: Is Ray Caldwell dead?

You can read the rest of the story here:

https://www.espn.com/mlb/story/_/id/...ke-finish-game

[Mungo Hungo]

Thanks, ESPN, for giving away the end. Kind of takes away all of the suspense that had been built up.