VICTORY, ROCK CATS! SAVE, LEVY!

Everybody was drained.

The visiting Portland Sea Dogs had a 2 p.m. bus from their hotel in Southington with the knowledge that it was going to be a long, long day. A doubleheader that simply had to be played was slated to begin at 4:05 p.m. Rain was in the forecast.

Manager Arnie Beyeler was cordial but far from jovial after nearly 4 1/2 hours of baseball separated by 30 minutes of fireworks on a day where the start of the game was delayed by 2 hours, 26 minutes by a violent thunderstorm.

"We went down to the cage and took some swings down there," Beyeler uttered in the monotone you'd expect from a tired manager whose team lost two games and had a 4-hour bus trip on the docket that would begin after midnight. "We didn't do anything on the field.

"We knew it was going to rain and it was going to be bad so we didn't get here any sooner than we had to."

Mental fatigue is one thing, but consider the following tale of physical and mentral strain rolled into one that needs to be told.

The gallant association of Rock Cats tarp-pullers was instructed by budding meteorologist, bon vivant and team president Bill Dowling to get the infield covered. That amoeba-like blob percolating across his weather map with green on its perimeter, yellow at its core and angry red in its nucleus was bound to cause problems. The sun was shining but Dowling knew those clouds in the western sky were a threat to wipe away his expected sellout crowd.

The sky blackened. The wind kicked up. The temperature plummeted like the thermometer was taken out of an oven and plunged into ice water. The tarp people did their usual superb job with one glaring exception. They underestimated the powerful wind that was now peeling the tarp off the infield near the critical shortstop area. One torrent and the doubleheader with over 7,000 fans would be bogged down in two inches of infield mud.

Enter Rock Cats assistant general manager Evan Levy. Evan can be a demanding boss. He wants everything done to his level of perfection, but he sets an example through the meticulous execution of his responsibilities, and then some.

As the undulating canvas threatened to waft skyward, Levy tried to summon his crack crew but they had scattered to perform their usual day-fo-game tasks. He and three others took matters into their own hands. With the rain pounding him and wind nearly taking him off his feet, he held onto the tarp at shortstop, like a 19th century deckhand battling to keep his sails aloft and his ship from sinking.

The wind was so strong it blew the huge cyclinder -- that big pipe-like contraption that rolls up the tarp -- toward the middle of the infield. Completely soaked to the skin, Evan and his abbreviated crew pushed it back and secured it.

As is always the case when rain falls at a ridiculous pace, the New Britain Stadium outfield was inundated. There's nothing anybody, not even Evan, could do about that. But with the sun again shining and 7,109 folks clamoring for entertainment, the tarpers did their thing in reverse and revealed a perfectly dry infield.

After the game, Evan had to supervise a girl scouts sleepover. Obviously there were places he'd rather be -- at home in bed being his most likely choice.

The managers were tired, the players were tired, the tarpers were tired. Evan had to be close to the human brink of exhaustion.

Rock Cats reliever Tim Lahey notched the save in the first game. J.P. Martinez rescued the second. But for the first time in baseball history, someone saved two games with one dramatic effort. He'll be at the ballpark well in advance of today's 1 p.m. youth clinic if anybody wants to thank him.