donnie i keep a baseball card in my desk drawer of a player, who shortly after the end of his career, took a gun and stuck it in his mouth. the card shows him smiling. happy days forever. with his stats on the back; lead american league in saves in '85 while with the angels, enjoys bowling, archery and struggles daily with bouts of suicidal depression. i remember the report in the morning paper, friends and team mates believed it was due to a divorce and one bad pitch in a play-off game against boston. dave henderson. i think it was a split-fingered fastball or a change up that never broke. it was supposed to be his "out" pitch. all year he'd been throwing it with success but his arm was worn out. dead. it was a game winner for the soxs and the angels missed their best chance in years at a trip to the series. teammates were quoted saying he told them several times how he felt responsible- personally and directly- for the team's missed opportunity. the constant drip in the sink from the pressure of history can lead a person toward many things. and the card is in my desk, next to a roll of stamps, a box of paper clips and a couple of pencils with big erasers to correct mistakes, allowing another chance to change history, to rewrite it. such events as small as a misspelling or putting a comma in the wrong place,