The entire Nats infield surrounded the mound while Acta talked to Doyle. “No signal to the bullpen yet,” Susan Carol said.

“Good point,” Maske said. “I would have thought he’d be waving someone in when he left the dugout.”

And then Acta patted Doyle on the shoulder and trotted back to the dugout.

“Oh ma God,” Susan Carol said, lapsing into a Southern drawl. “He’s stayin’ in.”

“Acta’s either going down as the gutsiest manager in series history or the dumbest,” Svrluga said. “There is no way this guy can get four more outs.”

Bay dug in to the batter’s box. He had joined the team in 2008 to replace Manny Ramirez, the enigmatic slugger who had thrilled and mystified Boston fans-not to mention teammates-with his bat and his antics for almost eight years. It was a hard act to follow, but Bay had become an instant fan favorite and had played well from the first day he arrived in Boston.

Doyle threw a fastball that was outside. Then he threw three more just like it.

“That was an intentional walk,” Svrluga said. “No way was he giving him any kind of pitch to hit.”

Mike Lowell, the third baseman, was up next. He had been the MVP of the World Series in ’07. Doyle’s first pitch was an 80-mph fastball right down the middle. Lowell never moved.

“He surprised him by throwing a strike,” Maske commented.

The next pitch was also a strike, and Lowell hit a bullet toward the left-field wall-the Green Monster. It was hit so hard it looked like it might go through the wall. But it never rose above shoulder level. Dunn, the Nats’ left fielder, had been playing almost on the warning track, so he took one step to his left and put up his glove, and the ball slammed into it. The groan from the fans was audible.

“That may have been the luckiest inning I’ve ever seen a pitcher have,” Stevie said.

“You need luck to pitch a no-hitter,” Susan Carol answered.

“He’s going to need a miracle to get three more outs,” Maske said.

No one argued. Terry Francona brought his closer, Jonathan Papelbon, in to pitch the ninth-he wanted to be sure the margin stayed at 1-0 so they’d have a final shot at winning in the bottom of the inning.

Papelbon rolled through the Nationals, throwing only nine pitches to set them down one-two-three.

Acta was really letting Doyle try to finish the no-hitter. Doyle walked slowly to the mound for the bottom of the ninth. Stevie noticed his warm-up pitches weren’t much more than lobs to the plate. He was clearly saving his strength. He had now thrown 124 pitches. The temperature had dropped since game time, and Stevie felt chilled as he watched Jason Varitek, the Red Sox’s catcher, walk to the plate.

Doyle rocked and threw his first pitch to Varitek. It was, Stevie noticed on the scoreboard a moment later, a 79-mph fastball. Varitek jumped on it, and it was clear the moment it left the bat that Doyle’s luck had finally run out. The ball screamed toward the gap in right-center field. As soon as it landed between Dukes and right fielder Austin Kearns, the crowd roared. By the time Dukes ran the ball down and got it back to the infield, Varitek was standing on third and Stevie could feel the park literally rocking underneath his feet.

“He threw into coverage once too often,” Solomon said.

Acta was walking slowly to the mound. The no-hitter now gone, he instantly waved to the bullpen for his closer, Joel Hanrahan.

“Probably too late,” Svrluga said as Hanrahan began to jog in. “Best-case scenario, they hold them to one run here and get the game to extra innings.”

Doyle had opted to wait on the mound until Hanrahan arrived, instead of leaving right away the way most pitchers did when coming out of a game. When Hanrahan walked onto the mound, he handed him the ball, said something, and began walking off the mound. As he did, the entire stadium stood and cheered.

“At least the Red Sox fans appreciate the effort,” Susan Carol said.

“Now they do,” Stevie said, feeling very sad for Doyle and the Nats. “Now it’s okay because they’re about to tie the game.”

Doyle received handshakes and hugs all around in the Nationals dugout. Hanrahan finished his warm-up pitches and looked in at J.D. Drew, the Red Sox right fielder.

Drew had power, although it was more the line-drive-double type of power than home-run power. The Nationals moved the infield in, positioning all four of them on the grass so that they could throw home to try to get Varitek out on a ground ball and keep the Red Sox from tying the game.

“No pinch runner for Varitek?” Susan Carol asked. “Wouldn’t they want more speed at third base?”

“They’re thinking if they tie it, they don’t want their starting catcher on the bench in extra innings,” Svrluga said.

“Team that wins the toss usually wins in overtime,” Solomon said, causing everyone to look at him as if he were from Mars.

Hanrahan looked in for a sign and threw a strike, Drew taking all the way. The next pitch produced a ground ball right at third baseman Ryan Zimmerman. He scooped it on a short hop, glared at Varitek for a second, as if daring him to leave third base, then threw across the diamond to get Drew out at first by a step.

“Still alive,” Susan Carol said softly.

Stevie realized that he was also relieved to see the lead still intact. He had been so caught up throughout the game thinking about what was going on with Susan Carol that he had almost lost track of the fact that he might be witnessing history. Now, with the no-hitter gone, he wanted very much to see Doyle at least get the win and to see the Nationals even the series at one game apiece.

Red Sox manager Terry Francona had decided to go to his bench, bringing up Julio Lugo to pinch-hit for shortstop Nick Green.

The whole stadium was standing now, wanting Lugo to at least get the tying run in with less than two outs. Hanrahan, knowing that Lugo had home-run power, worked carefully, falling behind 2-1 before Lugo fouled a pitch off with a vicious swing.

“He just missed hitting that pitch a long way,” Maske said.

Hanrahan was like most relief pitchers in that he never used a windup, just pitching out of the stretch because he often came in with runners on base. Now he stretched and threw again.

Lugo reached out for the pitch and hit a fly ball to right field. It wasn’t deep, but it wasn’t shallow. Austin Kearns took a step back and then came in to make the catch, clearly trying to get himself in position to make a throw to home plate. Varitek tagged up, Kearns made the catch, and Varitek took off for home.

“This is going to be close,” Stevie heard Susan Carol say, even over the din of the crowd.

Kearns ’s throw was strong but just a little bit off-line on the first-base side of the plate. Varitek started to slide as the ball was arriving, and Nationals catcher Wil Nieves grabbed the ball out of the air and dove back in, trying to get the ball on Varitek before Varitek got to the plate.

Varitek, Nieves, and the ball-in Nieves’s glove-appeared to arrive all at the same moment. Nieves landed almost on top of Varitek’s legs, applying a tag as Varitek slid into home. Plate umpire John Hirschbeck stared at the two men for a moment, then pointed at Nieves’s glove, which he was holding in the air to show that he still had the ball. Hirschbeck’s arm came up in the air, and Stevie thought he heard him say, “You’re out!” even though he couldn’t possibly have heard him from so far away in the cauldron of noise. Nevertheless, the arm raised in the air was enough. It was a double play. Varitek was out. The game was over. Somehow the Nationals had won, 1-0.

As soon as Hirschbeck gave the out call, Susan Carol jumped from her seat, yelling, “They did it, they did it!”

Stevie had also jumped from his seat and, instinctively, he turned to hug Susan Carol. She did the same thing. Then, almost in midhug, they both stopped, awkwardly pushing back from one another.