Sport: Pomp and Sparky

The various elements evoke images of a British coronation, a Spanish bullfight and an ancient Roman circus, but the total tableau is strictly from The Bronx. It invariably happens late in the ball game. The starting pitcher is tired, the home team's lead is threatened, and help is needed. The gate in Yankee Stadium's right-centerfield fence swings open and a Datsun painted in pinstripes taxis a relief pitcher toward the diamond. Eyes strain to see who is inside the car, voices murmur, hopes rise. The car stops, the stadium organist sweeps into the regal strains of Pomp and Circumstance, and the crowd exults. Out steps Albert Walter ("Sparky") Lyle. He sheds his warmup jacket with measured nonchalance and strides toward the pitcher's mound, one cheek distended by chewing tobacco. A few practice throws, a couple of spits, and Sparky is once again ready to try to quell a crisis.

With astonishing consistency, Sparky succeeds. Pitching in most of the Yankees' close games around the American League, the 28-year-old lefthander has compiled the best record of any relief pitcher in either league. Going into last weekend's action, he was credited with having saved 28 games, won four and lost three. (Only Clay Carroll of the Cincinnati Reds in the National League was close to him, with 24 saves, five victories and four defeats.) With some 40 games yet to play, Lyle has a good chance of breaking the major league season record of 34 saves, set by Ron Perranoski of the Minnesota Twins in 1970.

Statistics alone do not reflect a relief pitcher's effectiveness. Saves are credited when a pitcher protects any sort of lead, big or small. In Sparky Lyle's case, most of his saves have come in crucial situations. For instance, there was his performance in a game against the Texas Rangers in June. Summoned to the mound in the eighth inning, with the Yankees leading 3-2, Ranger runners on second and third, and no one out, Lyle intentionally walked Home-Run Threat Frank Howard, the first batter he faced. Then, with the bases loaded, he coolly struck out the next three batters on ten pitches.

Sparky professes not to think about the pressure during a game, or about the score after it is over. "If I come in and save or win a game," he says, "I just did my job. Why celebrate? That victory is in. The game is over. I might have to do it again tomorrow. If I lose, why moan? I hate to let runs score, but I can't get uptight. If I worry about ruining a game today, then I might wreck one tomorrow. When a game is over, forget it." Forget it he does. Win or lose, Lyle is always the life of the Yankee locker room. His most curious antic is to plant his bare backside on any particularly gooey cakes that find their way into the locker room. It all started when he played for the Boston Red Sox and a teammate hit him in the face with a cake; when the teammate later received a cake as a gift, Lyle promptly retaliated by sitting on it.