We dumped the peevish and ill-tempered Dane in June while the team was on the road. He let me have it, called me gutless for not releasing him at home. But if I'd fired him during a home stand the fans would have brought signs out to the park: So long Dane we'll miss you. Thanks for all the great years, Dane.

That's why I fired him in Cleveland.

His reaction didn't surprise me.

The newspapers printed summaries of his career, his lifetime stats in a not-so-little box. Quite a record.

Fan reaction was on his side.

Media reaction was on his side.

Player reaction? Relatively neutral, with the single exception of Shane London, who sounded off about it before the game. He blamed me, said I was too cheap to see straight. Dane is the best catcher in the league and John Courtland has no class. Plus he's ignorant of the game, he doesn't know baseball. And so on.

Ernie de la Garza was hammered that night, and we lost 11-7. Albert Blaze killed us all by himself. Six RBIs on four hits, including a homer and a double. The Indians were our chief rivals in the Central Division, and they'd cut our lead to a game and a half.

I got in a few shots of my own the next day: Oh Dane, if only you had known when it was time to step down. You should have quit while you were at the top of your game. It has been so sad to see a once-great player like yourself struggle against Father Time and come up short.

Crocodile tears. I laid it on, thick and nasty. That's what you do in this particular situation. When someone makes personal remarks about you, you throw similar comments back at him. I didn't really mean it.

Shane London took the mound for us that night. He wore a black armband with Dane's number on it, 27. Which meant that whenever Buck Palumbo and Perry Torrens ran out of things to say in the broadcast booth they could tell the viewers that Shane had always had a special relationship with the veteran catcher. Dane had worked with him, brought him along, and Shane's career had blossomed under the tutelage of the old pro.

We started the game with three consecutive singles, but only got one run out of it. Shane gave up two hits himself in the first, but pitched his way out of it. I thought we were going to see another high-scoring game.

Wrong.

We couldn't do a thing after the first. Maglio shut us down.

Shane was in constant trouble. It seemed to me that every time I looked up Albert Blaze was coming up with someone on base. And that someone always seemed to be speedster Kenny Lipton.

Shane just didn't have his best stuff. Or even his good stuff. They nicked him here nicked him there and he was always in trouble, always working out of a jam. And I died a little on every pitch. All he had going for him was anger and meanness, an expression of hate on his face.

He gave up eleven hits. Eleven! And still won the game, 1-0.

What a game! What a gutsy gritty performance from my Big Infant!

This was the Shane London we'd all been waiting to see.

Buck Palumbo and Perry Torrens raved about his performance afterward. His record was 3-6, but as they pointed out, with help from the bullpen it could easily be 7-3.

Just imagine. An eleven-hit shut out!

It overshadowed the release of Dane Mackowitz, gave everyone something else to talk about.

After the game I realized this is how I want to remember Shane London. For this game.

Cleveland's manager was quoted in the paper the next day as saying that John Courtland should re-sign Dane Mackowitz so he could fire him again the next time Shane London is scheduled to pitch.