Tom Runnells knowingly chuckled as the question was being asked. That’s because Runnells, who spent more than 30 years in professional baseball, was immediately taken back in time to the most memorable game he ever managed.

“I’m just tellin’ ya,” he said. “There weren’t too many guys that were as competitive as Dennis in the game. I mean, you’re talking about a guy who weighs about 160 pounds, and he was as competitive as anyone I’ve ever met.

“And he never gave in.”

The man of whom Runnells spoke is the first Nicaraguan to reach the Major Leagues and one of the greatest Latino pitchers in baseball history. As MLB celebrates Hispanic Heritage Month, we look back on the illustrious career of Dennis Martinez.

If there’s one phrase that captures Martinez’s life and baseball career, it’s the one Runnells uttered in trying to describe the man who came to be known as “El Presidente”: “He never gave in.”

Through all of the adversity he faced, both on and off the field, Martinez tenaciously persevered, unrelenting in his resolve to overcome any and all obstacles along his path.

As it turned out, that path led Martinez into the record books as the winningest Latino pitcher in Major League history until his mark of 245 victories was eclipsed by Bartolo Colon two decades later.

Martinez is remembered more for the late stages of his 23-year MLB career than what would normally be considered his youthful prime. That’s because his career, and more than that, his life, can be divided into two distinct epochs.

The pivotal point of demarcation came in December 1983. Nearly eight years later, the pinnacle of Martinez’s baseball career came on July 28, 1991.

On that day, Martinez did more than etch his name into the annals of baseball history. He also completed his climb from the depths of despair and the clutches of alcoholism to become an inspiration not only to his countrymen in Nicaragua, but also countless others around the world.

Prequel to perfection

Runnells had a problem at Dodger Stadium on July 28, 1991. On this sweltering Southern California afternoon, with a first-pitch temperature of 95 degrees, his Expos were anything but hot at the plate.

“We were struggling so bad to score runs,” he said. “We were on some kind of ridiculous scoreless streak.”

Montreal hadn’t scored a run in 23 innings. Two nights earlier, Expos starter Mark Gardner held the Dodgers hitless for nine innings in a scoreless tie. He went back out to the mound for the 10th, but the no-hit bid was broken up by a Lenny Harris infield single. Two batters later, Darryl Strawberry delivered a walk-off single for Los Angeles.

As Gardner watched from the dugout two days later, the 37-year-old Martinez took the mound for the series finale. Given how things were going for Montreal’s lineup, Martinez knew there was little margin for error.

To err is human

Nobody’s perfect. Errors are inevitable. But sometimes perfection can seem much farther away than usual.

In 1982, Martinez’s father, Edmundo, was hit by a truck and tragically killed in the family’s hometown of Granada, Nicaragua. Dennis suspected alcohol was involved. Edmundo had been an alcoholic, and shortly thereafter, his son’s own battle with alcoholism would threaten to derail his life.

By this point, Dennis had established himself as a good Major League starter with the Orioles. He made his big league debut for Baltimore in 1976, and in ’79 he had a breakout campaign, posting a 3.66 ERA over an American League-leading 292 1/3 innings in 40 appearances (39 starts). He also led the league with 18 complete games, and his performance helped Baltimore win the AL pennant.

Martinez had another strong year on the mound in 1981, finishing with a 3.32 ERA over 25 appearances (24 starts).

But off the field, his addiction was building. In 1983, Martinez reached the nadir.

During a season that would culminate in a World Series championship for the Orioles, Martinez struggled to a 5.53 ERA over 153 innings. He wasn’t called upon to pitch in the AL Championship Series against the White Sox or the Fall Classic against the Phillies.

Shortly after Baltimore’s title-clinching victory in Game 5, Martinez was arrested for driving under the influence of alcohol, and that’s when he realized he needed to get help. That December, he checked into Sheppard Pratt Hospital in Baltimore for rehab and began attending Alcoholics Anonymous meetings.

Martinez told United Press International’s Milton Richman that it was “the turning point” of his life. 

Perfection in life is unattainable. But errors can be rectified.

It gets worse before it gets better

When Martinez climbed the mound to face the Dodgers under a brilliant blue sky on that late-July afternoon in 1991, he had come a long way from Sheppard Pratt Hospital in Baltimore eight years earlier.

From 1984-85, he struggled on the field as he worked hard off of it to cultivate sobriety. He had a 5.11 ERA over those two seasons before the Orioles traded him to the Expos in ’86.

It was in 1987 that Martinez drastically turned things around. He became a free agent prior to that season and didn’t re-sign with the Expos until May 1, but he proceeded to post a 3.30 ERA over 22 starts.

Over the next three seasons, he pitched to a 2.95 ERA over 693 1/3 innings. But his career year would come in 1991. Over his first 21 starts that season, he had a 2.17 ERA.

Then came July 28.

Through five innings, neither team had a baserunner. Martinez was rolling, but so was his counterpart, right-hander Mike Morgan. To compound the Expos’ offensive woes, the Dodgers hadn’t given up a run in 32 innings entering this game.

Less than 48 hours after Gardner threw nine no-hit frames and lost thanks to non-existent run support, Runnells was watching it happen all over again with Martinez.

But Martinez was undeterred. As he went into his unique windup before delivering each pitch -- a motion that suited his tenacious persona with its high, violent leg kick that brought his left knee in contact with his left elbow as his hands reached over the top of his head -- Martinez was in a zone unlike any he had ever been in before.

Both pitchers matched each other, zero for zero on the scoreboard, until the top of the seventh, when a pair of errors by Dodgers shortstop Alfredo Griffin and an RBI double by Larry Walker gave Montreal a 2-0 lead.

Martinez, who had retired all 18 batters he faced to that point, was nine outs from accomplishing something only 12 others had to that point in AL/NL history: perfection from the pitcher’s mound.

Help

Errors in life can be rectified. Errors on a baseball field, in and of themselves, can’t.

As Martinez went back out for the seventh inning, his own efforts from the mound, while critical, would not be enough for perfection. He needed help.

Martinez knew something about reaching out for help. All those years earlier, he needed help to emerge from alcoholism, and with it, he became a living example of what recovery could look like.

His nickname, “El Presidente,” was given to him by a teammate in Baltimore, Ken Singleton. It was a nod to Martinez’s popularity in his native Nicaragua, a fervor that only intensified after he battled back from personal adversity.

Now, Martinez needed the man behind the plate, Ron Hassey -- who also caught Len Barker's perfect game for Cleveland over Toronto in 1981 -- and the seven men behind him in the field to be perfect along with him.

There had already been some close calls. In the fourth, future Hall of Famer and former Martinez teammate Eddie Murray hit a sharp ground ball wide of first base, where Walker -- a right fielder by trade -- got an in-between hop.

“It’s not like it was my natural position,” Walker said. “That was just a position I played so I could stay in the lineup (coming off an injury). On the ball Murray hit, I kind of just jumped in front of it and it bounced off my chest.”

Martinez, a pitcher who fielded his position well, was there when Walker recovered the baseball and looked toward first base. He flipped to Martinez covering the bag for the out.

The first batter Martinez faced in the bottom of the seventh was speedster Brett Butler, who popped out to third baseman Tim Wallach in foul territory. Next came Juan Samuel, who was unaware that Martinez had a perfect game going and wanted to spark the Dodgers' offense. Samuel pushed a bunt down the first-base line.

As Samuel sprinted toward first base, Martinez sprang off the mound, picked up the ball along the line, and in one motion fell to a knee while throwing to first to get him.

Murray followed with a ground-out to second, and Martinez was six outs away.

With two outs in the bottom of the eighth, Harris, who had broken up Gardner’s bid for history two days earlier, stepped to the plate.

“On the hit that broke up Gardy’s no-hitter, Lenny hit a chopper over Gardner’s head,” Runnells said. “[Shortstop] Spike Owen couldn’t make the play, and that’s how they broke up the no-hitter.

“In the game with Dennis Martinez in the eighth inning, Lenny hit the same ball -- he beat it into the ground for a high chopper that was going over the mound.”

Self-help

They say baseball is a game of inches. When perfection is on the line late in a game, every inch holds the potential to be the difference between history and just another start.

Gardner’s outing two days earlier became just another start. And now, Martinez was staring at the same possibility as he looked into the sky to locate the ball hit by Harris, the same batter who dashed Gardner's dream.

As the play developed, Runnells looked on in incredulity, the thought of something so unlikely crushing his pitcher’s chance for baseball immortality twice in the span of three days racing through his mind.

A split-second later, there was a collective sigh of relief from the visitors' dugout.

“Dennis was able to get off the mound and make the play himself,” Runnells said. “Another foot or two, and we’re looking at identical situations to break up a no-hitter. It was weird.”

At 37 years, two months and 15 days old, Martinez was pouncing on everything in his vicinity as if his legs were 10 years younger. But he had been rejuvenated in a sense much greater than baseball. His best years were now.

Just perfect

After three All-Star seasons for the Expos from 1990-92, Martinez would go on to pitch six more years -- one more with the Expos before three with Cleveland, one with the Mariners and one with the Braves.

Martinez appeared in the postseason for Cleveland in 1995, taking the mound in a playoff game for the first time in almost 16 years when he started Game 1 of the AL Division Series against the Red Sox.

The 41-year-old gave up two runs over six innings in a 5-4 Cleveland victory. Two weeks later, 16 years to the day since he appeared in Game 7 of the 1979 World Series for the Orioles, Martinez tossed seven scoreless innings against the Mariners in the AL pennant clincher for Cleveland. Overall, he posted a 2.73 ERA over 29 2/3 innings that postseason.

Three years later, a 44-year-old Martinez made four scoreless relief appearances for the Braves in the National League Championship Series against the Padres.

The longevity of “El Presidente” was a testament to his renewed life and the determination that helped him overcome much more than adversity on a baseball field. But his crowning moment, the moment for which he will forever be remembered in baseball, came in the ninth inning back on July 28, 1991.

Mike Scioscia, Stan Javier and Chris Gwynn stood between Martinez and a perfect game.

Scioscia flied out to left. Martinez struck out Javier swinging for his fifth and final strikeout of the game. Then Gwynn lifted a fly ball to deep center field.

“When that ball came off the bat and Marquis [Grissom] started going back toward the warning track, I’m like, ‘Oh, no. Please don’t let this be the one,’” remembers Runnells.

Grissom, however, ran it down and, with his feet backpedaling onto the warning track, he made the catch.

Expos broadcaster Dave Van Horne summed it up perfectly with four words: “El Presidente, el perfecto!”

Sitting next to Van Horne as his partner on the broadcast was the man who coined Martinez’s memorable nickname. As the telecast showed a replay of the final out, Ken Singleton had the chance to savor the moment.

“You have to hit it a long way to get it out of center field at Dodger Stadium,” he said. “ … Grissom knows he has it, and here is your perfect ballgame.”

In the afterglow of Martinez's historic performance, Nicaragua declared July 28 as "National Sportsman Day," a national holiday in Martinez's honor. In 1998, Nicaragua's national stadium was renamed Dennis Martinez Stadium.

There is no perfection in life. But there is perfection in baseball. Dennis Martinez is one of 24 pitchers in AL/NL history to know the feeling, and the first pitcher born outside the United States to throw a perfect game.

His unique journey to that moment was an undeniable thread throughout, from out No. 1 to out No. 27.

“Dennis was … I mean, he was just perfect,” Runnells said. “He really was.”