Dennis Cregg, already exhausted, walked to the plate on April 18, 1981, to work a game between the Pawtucket Red Sox and Rochester Red Wings. After spending all day moving from a third-story walk-up to a new house in Webster, Mass., he asked his crew chief for the night off. But another umpire had just been promoted to the Majors. Cregg had to work.
He first crouched behind home plate just after 8 p.m. He kept crouching for more than eight hours, until the 2-2 game between Pawtucket and Rochester was suspended at 4:07 the next morning. It was the longest game, by innings, in professional baseball history — and it still wasn’t over.
The endless game symbolized the trials of life in the Minor Leagues — an often Sisyphean struggle to push a rock up the hill, only to see it come tumbling down again.
At first the game seemed ordinary enough. Both pitchers easily retired the sides. Rochester, the top farm club of the Orioles, took a 1-0 lead into the bottom of the ninth. But Pawtucket tied the game in the ninth to the delight of the announced crowd of 1,740.
“The game was going quickly,” said Joe Morgan, who that year was in his eighth season managing the PawSox. “The pitchers were in control.”
But the game continued. Temperatures fell into the 30s. Winds howled in from the outfield at 30 miles an hour. Rochester players ripped off pieces of the bench to use as firewood. Pawtucket players used broken bats to build a fire in a 55-gallon drum in their dugout. Years later, players remember the sweet smell of burning ash.
McCoy Stadium was a hitter’s ballpark, but that day the balls felt hard and heavy on contact and did not carry.
“When you go up against a good sinker-ball pitcher, the ball is heavy when you hit it,” says Marty Barrett, who played second base for the PawSox. “It seemed like every pitcher who threw that night was a great sinker-ball pitcher. There was no offense.”
Bruce Hurst, who pitched five scoreless innings for Pawtucket, had only one real objective — to keep a sweat.
“I leaned over the fire, I went into the clubhouse, I covered up, I had my hands under my arms,” he says. “Anything to keep the sweat. Once you lose it, you don’t have any chance of getting it back and having any feel for the ball.”
No one scored again until the 21st inning, when Dave Huppert gave the Red Wings a 2-1 lead with an RBI double. But Wade Boggs tied the game with a double in the bottom of the inning.
“God, will this ever end?” Rochester third baseman Cal Ripken Jr. wondered aloud.
Players and coaches pleaded with the umpires to stop the game. Finally, everyone involved in the contest got their wish when they reached the president of the International League, Harold Cooper, who had been at a wedding in Columbus, Ohio. “This is absurd,” he barked into the phone when he learned of the marathon. “Call the game.”
When play was suspended after the 32nd inning — eight hours and seven minutes after it started — the game already was the longest in professional baseball history.
The game continued on June 23, the next time Rochester came to town. Major League players were on strike, so this was the biggest story in all of baseball. The PawSox issued 215 press credentials to see history made, and McCoy Stadium overflowed with 5,746 fans.
Then the game ended abruptly — in the same inning that it had left off. With the bases loaded, Dave Koza singled — his fifth hit in 14 at-bats — to give Pawtucket a 3-2 win.
“It took longer for me to get dressed that day than it took us to finish the game,” says Cregg.
“We were hoping to go seven or eight more innings and really set a record that stood the test of time,” Steve Grilli, the losing pitcher, said after the game.
The game’s 33 innings beat the previous record, set by St. Petersburg and Miami of the Florida State League in 1966, by four innings. The time of eight hours and 25 minutes beat the record, set by the New York Mets and San Francisco Giants in 1964, by more than an hour.
The game used 156 baseballs and set records for the most at-bats (219), pitches (882), strikeouts (60), assists (88) and putouts (195) in a professional game.
Local historians credit the game with stoking interest in the Pawtucket franchise, which had been broke and ignored just two years prior. But the players remember the game’s intensity.
“I knew that the Major League record was 26,” Barrett says. “I remember telling people, ‘We might get the 26 innings.’ You went through a wave of emotions. You get pissed. Then you get punch-drunk and giddy. And then you think, ‘Let’s just try to win it.’ And then you just want to go home. And you go through the emotions again … and again.”
“No one wanted to let the game slip away,” Ripken says. “It’s baseball’s version of sudden death. We got to a point of disbelief in the 16th and 17th innings. Then everyone became more determined to win. It was a test of two teams’ wills. … It became ridiculous. But I remember a persistence. If we were going to be out there, we might as well win this thing. There was a lull, but then both teams became more focused and wanted to win more.”
Yet no one suffered like the poor home plate ump.
“If you’ve ever done 900 deep knee bends, you know what it’s like,” says Cregg, now an instructor for the Professional Baseball Umpires Association. “Physically, it took a while for my legs to come back. I was so sore from doing those deep knee bends for eight hours. The next game was a lot shorter, but I couldn’t run from third base to second.”
Dave Huppert caught the first 31 innings for Rochester, and was so tired that, half-jokingly, he asked Cregg to call 12 straight balls — for either side — to force in a winning run.
The game could have ended four times when runners got thrown out at the plate. Ripken also remembers Boggs snaring two line drives to take away hits. “That’s what the game was like,” says Rich Gedman, who played 13 years in the Major Leagues, mostly for Boston. “Everyone was playing hard.”
Gedman now manages the Worcester Tornadoes of the independent Canadian-American League, and he recalls not appreciating how much it meant for the players to win until years later.
“Even though it was early in the season, we still didn’t want to lose,” he says. “The pitchers threw phenomenally, and the fielders made the plays. Everybody had their chances. It’s what the game of baseball is all about. You don’t realize how special it is at the time because you’re just trying to find an edge and win.”
Stiff winds pushed back balls that would have been home runs on any other night. Ripken remembers thinking Pawtucket right fielder Sam Bowen’s smash was a sure home run.
“It was a bomb, way, way over my head, and I didn’t even bother turning around because I figured, ‘It’s out of here and the ballgame’s over,’” Ripken says. “But the wind ends up blowing the ball back into the park, and our left fielder catches it.”
As Bowen loped by Ripken on the way back to the dugout, he said, “Cal, that was my best bolt. If that’s not going out, we’re going to be here for a while.”
Ripken played all 33 innings, a harbinger of his Iron Man future. On Aug. 10, Ripken would get promoted to the Orioles. The following May he played in the first of 2,632 consecutive games. “That game was symbolic of what my father taught me,” Ripken says. “You go out there to play a game and do everything to win. That game was an extension of that will to play every inning, every day.”
Cregg remembers being impressed by the confidence of players like Ripken, Boggs, Hurst and others. Although they weren’t quite ready for the Majors just yet, Cregg knew that those players were destined for greater things.
“When we were all in Single-A ball, you couldn’t see it as well,” he says, “but we rose up through the system together, and by the time we were in Triple-A, guys like that — and Kirby Puckett and Don Mattingly — they stuck out. They were so good, they made it look like it was a video game. They knew that that wasn’t going to be their final stop, and they were relaxed and waiting their turn.”
Of the marathon’s 41 players, 31 eventually played in the Majors. Boggs entered the Hall of Fame in 2005; Ripken likely will join him in 2007. Others — pitchers Bruce Hurst and Bob Ojeda, infielder Marty Barrett, catcher Rich Gedman — all had solid careers.
The same tenacity that kept the game going enabled players like Ojeda, Hurst, Gedman and Barrett to make it to the Bigs. They succeeded because of their intelligence and drive as much as their athletic talent.
Undrafted but signed for $500, Ojeda secretly ran in the outfield when teammates hit the bars. “I didn’t want to look like a bum so I didn’t tell anybody,” he said. “But I wanted to make the Majors.”
His work ethic won the confidence of Morgan.
After getting rocked in a late Spring Training game between Triple-A and Double-A squads — Gedman hit a grand slam against him — Morgan called Ojeda into his office. “He said, ‘You know, kid, I know you did horsebleep yesterday, but there’s something about you,’” Ojeda remembers.
Barrett — whom Hurst calls the smartest player he ever saw — was acutely aware of the thin line separating Major Leaguers and Minor Leaguers. His brother, Tommy, collected more than 1,000 hits in the Minors but got just 84 at-bats in the Majors, with Philadelphia and Boston. Modestly or not, Barrett said his brother “was pretty close in talent to me, but I was in the right time and place.”
Boggs was stuck in the Minors on that fateful night. He went 4 for 12 and went on to bat .335 for Pawtucket on the season. But Boston did not make Boggs a September call-up.
“Some players get labels, like, ‘He’s a Triple-A player,’” Ojeda says. “Wade was like that. He hit and hit and hit. But some people in the organization didn’t believe in him. He was left off the 40-man roster. Anyone could have had him for $25,000.”
Boggs was mystified by the snub but fought on. Teammates remember Boggs coming to the park at 1 p.m. for night games. “He’d have buckets of balls, and he would concentrate on placing them,” Hurst remembers. “You’d see one ball in right and dozens of balls in left.”
Boggs got his chance when third baseman Carney Lansford injured an ankle in June 1982. Boggs hit .390 the rest of the season. Lansford was soon traded.
Other players had lesser careers but stayed in baseball. Dallas Williams went hitless in 15 plate appearances for Rochester — 0 for 13 with two sacrifice bunts. Still, he hit .283 before getting called up to Baltimore. He played in 20 Big League games and now is a hitting coach for the Ottawa Lynx of the International League. “I hit the ball good seven or eight times that night,” he says. “I’ve had longer 0-for streaks — everyone has. We weren’t thinking of hits, we were trying to score.”
By the time the game was suspended, only 23 fans remained. The PawSox management rewarded them with season passes to McCoy Stadium.
In retrospect, this record game shouldn’t have happened. The rulebook states that no inning should begin after 12:50 a.m. Both sides pleaded for a suspension of the game, but crew chief Jack Leitz did not have a complete copy of the rules on hand.
“I believe in fate and I believe in destiny,” says Ojeda, who pitched the 33rd inning and got the hard-fought win. “That’s just the way things had to work out that night.”

“Why, your calling card, of course. And if it doesn’t look just right, you’ve got to have a new one printed.”
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