GOODYEAR, Ariz. -- The TV graphic flashed his uninspiring season stats -- a .242 average, one home run, four RBIs, a .574 OPS, plus three strikeouts in three postseason at-bats.
Two outs, one on, down one in the 10th inning of Game 7, and the person the Indians sent to the plate was No. 1, according to his jersey, but No. 25, according to his role.
The very late-inning machinations that had helped Cleveland manager Terry Francona extend Game 7 of the World Series into an extra inning had introduced what had once seemed impossible: Championship dreams rested in the bat of little, light-hitting Michael Martinez.
Well, you know what happened next. Martinez swung at the second pitch offered by Cubs reliever Mike Montgomery, and the batted ball bounced once, twice, three times, into the glove of a hard-charging Kristopher Bryant, who then flung to first in time to get the inevitable out and set off a party the Cubs had been planning for 108 years.

We'll see that highlight the rest of our baseball lives, which means we'll forever see Martinez streaking down the line -- so close and yet so out.
"It's not easy to get to the World Series, and we were there," Martinez says now. "We thought that we had it, but …"
Martinez's voice trails. His eyes look across the Tribe's locker room, but his mind is replaying the moment.
"I was sad."
Indians fans were sad, and, months later, some of them are still mad. Those who viewed the career .197 hitter as a waste of a roster spot had their criticisms corroborated by this moment of great magnitude and empty outcome.
Under the circumstances, the acrimony is understandable, but the truth is that as unpopular as Martinez might be outside the Tribe's clubhouse, he's beloved inside that room. The 34-year-old is a journeyman utility guy with just three years of service time to his name, no spot on the current 40-man roster and, even with second baseman Jason Kipnis currently dealing with shoulder soreness, no hope of occupying an everyday spot in the Indians' lineup.

And yet, people on this club toss around the word "leader" in association with Martinez. Latin players -- even those with far greater organizational standing -- gravitate toward him for his insights and expertise about a sport he has so often studied from the sideline.
"He doesn't have too much experience in the big leagues," first baseman Carlos Santana says, "but he looks like a veteran. He's a very good teammate, and I appreciate him because he can help a lot of younger players here. They listen to him."
Listen to what Francona says about Martinez.
"I think people get hung up on batting averages and things like that," Francona says. "We needed him to pinch-run, go in and play a defensive position, and be reliable and catch the ball wherever we put him. That's hard to do. … If he's playing too much, something's wrong. You know what I mean? That's not his job, to produce runs."
Martinez was in Game 7 because of his late-inning defensive value, and it just so happened he was thrust into an impossible spot.

Had Martinez come through in the clutch with the game-winning home run, he would have broken baseball. That would be it. The sport would be no more, because that already epic Game 7 would have bounded past the limits of human comprehension.
Instead, Martinez darn near extended that fantastic tilt with his hard charge down the line on a play that was no gimme from Bryant, whose foot slipped in the grass as he made the throw.
"You have the confirmation bias or optimism bias or whatever you want to call it," says Tribe general manager Mike Chernoff, "but I thought he was going to throw it away. What kind of story would that be, right?"
Because Martinez had taken Montgomery's first-pitch curveball for a strike, he felt obligated to swing at the second identical pitch, and he topped the ball into the dirt.
"I was thinking that I have a chance," Martinez says. "I hit a high chopper, but the infield was a little bit wet from the rain. He got it, and he made a good throw."
Not long thereafter, Martinez was removed from the Indians' 40-man roster. That's life on the big league bubble, and he enters this final week of Spring Training camp with his non-roster status working against him in the fight for the utility job.
"Every year when the season is over, when the World Series is over, every time, I'm out [of] the 40-man roster," Martinez says. "So I just come to Spring Training ready to play, do my thing. If I make the team, good. If not, I go back to the Minor Leagues and do my thing and get back to the big leagues as soon as possible. Just play the game, and they'll know if you can play or not. The only thing we can do is play the game. That's all we can do."
Martinez will keep playing hard, until the final out.