Cliburn gave Stevens a jump-start.

Stevens told Cliburn he was looking at getting a jump-start on the rest of his life.

"I'm thinking about retiring from baseball," Stevens said, "and joining the military."

Cliburn said he always thought Stevens had major league potential.

On Friday, he found out how right he was.

A story by Ellen Knickmeyer of The Associated Press arrived by e-mail during the course of the day. The dateline was Askan, Iraq, and when Cliburn finished reading the piece, he couldn't stop shaking his head.

Marine Lance Cpl. Tony Stevens has been bombed nine times over the past six months.

He has survived all nine.

"I always knew Tony Stevens was quick as a cat," Cliburn said. "I didn't know he actually was a cat."

Sept. 11, 2001, brought a clear and beautiful morning to Connecticut. The Rock Cats were prepared to start their championship series that night at New Britain Stadium. Finishing his shower, team president and general manager Bill Dowling's mind was racing with possibilities when the phone rang.

It was Dowling's daughter Elizabeth on her way to work on 16th Street in Manhattan. It was 9 a.m.

"Dad, I just saw a plane crash into the World Trade Center," she said.

"C'mon, Lizzie, you're kidding," Dowling answered.

The hijackers buried a second plane into the towers. She wasn't kidding.

Pat Tillman was among the nearly 300 million of us who watched the cowards punch flaming craters into the World Trade Center, who watched in disbelief as the 110-story symbols of American commerce dissolved like sandcastles. Tillman was moved to give up his NFL career, forfeit millions of dollars, to fight and later die for his country.

"I remember how shaken our players were that day," Dowling said. "They're young. Some are from sheltered environments. All of a sudden, those of us in the toy department of life looked outside, saw something horrific and dealt with it in our own way."

The story from Iraq did not specify what motivated Stevens to leave baseball at 23 and enter the Marines.

Maybe it was entirely 9/11, maybe it was partially 9/11. This much is certain: Stevens batted second in the lineup on Sept. 8, 2001, the night the Rock Cats clinched the Northern Division playoffs in Norwich, and he never played again. The league finals were called off after the tragedy, a co-championship declared.

Dowling remembers talking to Terry Ryan in February 2002 when the Twins GM surprised him, saying, "I've got to find you a new shortstop. Stevens is going into the Marines."

"I knew his dad was in the military," Cliburn said. "I knew that was an influence."

Stevens is only days from completing his second tour of duty as a member of the 1st Battalion, 2nd Marine Regiment, working the triangle of death south of Baghdad. Bomb explosions are common. So is death. A six-month deployment there leaves Marines with an injury rate of 1-in-5.

No Double A team has had as many players move to the big leagues so fast as the Rock Cats. Torii Hunter, Corey Koskie, Doug Mientkiewicz - the list is long, but what has happened to Stevens, now 26, is a record of bad-luck, good-luck bigger than any league. Nobody in Iraq, as best as anyone can tell, has been hit as many times as Stevens.

On Aug. 8, according to the AP, a car loaded with 155mm shells exploded next to his Humvee at the same time five roadside bombs went off under it. The next morning, a freezer filled with 155mm shells was set off by a detonating cord. A buddy lost some fingers. The third time, a Marine riding in the turret of Stevens' vehicle was injured.

"When you hear the explosion, that's actually good," Stevens told the AP, knowing sound travels more slowly than the angel of death. "It means you're still in the game."

The fifth bomb not only hit his vehicle, it sheared off a power line. The live electrical snake, sparking, burned the collar of Stevens' flak jacket.

"Two-in-one on that one," he told the AP.

"He always did have a good sense of humor," Cliburn said. "But the most striking thing about Tony was how sure he was of himself. Guys looked up to him. Steve Little, the Twins' bench coach, had him as a major league prospect, too. Even though he was light-hitting, I think he eventually would have gotten there. He was like a point guard in basketball. I thought he was the key to our championship season in 2001."

He was that good a fielder. He had that good an arm. He could run that well. A 3A Florida high school basketball player of the year, at 5 feet 10, 160 pounds, he was that good an athlete. Maybe he could have pulled it off. Maybe he could been a utility infielder in the majors.

"I just remember a line drive up the middle [in the last game he played]," Cliburn said. "Tony dives to his left, his body parallel to the ground, catches it, gets up to his feet and doubles the guy off first. He was quick. He was an athlete."

"That's all you can do in this place," he said.

Stevens' tour will be over soon and he has seen the number of attacks decrease in the triangle of death. He is hopeful the elections Sunday will spawn a democracy.

"I'd do it all over again," he said.

Cliburn remembers standing there late in 2001, jumper cables in hand, telling Stevens that whatever he did in life he knew he would be successful.

"He had will, leadership," Cliburn said, "and he was blessed with an instinct, a sense of surrounding, that must serve him well in Iraq."

And then Tony Stevens' old manager stopped for a moment and considered nine - nine! - brushes with death.

"That and the good Lord looking after him."