Updated: May 12, 2021
Spahn and Sain; then pray for rain.
It was during one of my Little League years, 1981, that I first heard that phrase.
It was a sultry summer evening, and I had just gulped down a candy bar and capped it off with a mix of all the concession stand fountain drink options (we called the combo a suicide). I don’t remember who it was that asked if I was related to Johnny Sain. I do remember thinking it was a stupid question. How did anyone in my hometown of 3,002 souls not know that my dad was Johnny Carrol Sain, Sr.?
A story about a man, my distant kin, who I happen to share ten letters with, who was also from Arkansas, who won a few MLB World Series titles as both pitcher and coach, and who was most likely a baseball genius.