GEORGE KIMBALL/America at Large: After watching the relationship between Sergio Garcia (aka "Waggle Boy" for his annoying pre-shot routine) and his once-adoring American galleries rapidly deteriorate last weekend, a colleague pointed out that Mister Hingis should probably count himself fortunate that the US Open was being played at Bethpage State Park and not at Yankee Stadium.

"By now," said the chronicler of the New York sporting scene after Garcia had saluted the crowd with an extended middle finger, "somebody in the cheap seats would have thrown a battery at him."

American journalists might have been surprised to arrive at Bethpage on Saturday morning to find their European counterparts glued to the press tent television sets watching World Cup matches from Japan and Korea, but at least they understood why they were doing it.

When, a few hours later, the Americans similarly began to cluster about the two monitors not tuned to golf coverage, a bit of explanation was in order.

Under normal circumstances a Yankees-Mets regular-season baseball game would be of lukewarm interest outside the boroughs of New York, but the run-up to this one made it seem like Lewis-Tyson, Part II. Roger Clemens was going to have to step into the batter's box against the Mets, and everyone in America had reason to believe that he was going to be drilled with the first pitch.

Beyond the local broadcast crews of the two involved teams, the FOX network was televising the game nationally, and didn't miss the chance to tout the high drama in the air. The network led into its telecast with the strains of Bruce Springsteen's Badlands and the theme from The Sopranos. The network even conducted an interactive poll on the question of whether the Mets should throw at the Yankee pitcher. Three-quarters of the respondents voted "Yes".

Clemens enjoys something of a reputation as what baseball types describe as a headhunter, a pitcher who isn't averse to throwing at opposing batters by way of intimidating them. Given baseball's unwritten code of honour, headhunters are more prominent in the American League, where pitchers don't have to bat. They don't tend to be as brave in the National League, where retaliation can be almost instantaneous.

In the late summer of 2000 Clemens uncorked a fastball that hit Mets' catcher Mike Piazza in the head. Debate may linger on whether he was deliberately throwing at Piazza (who has enjoyed enormous success batting off Clemens), but there was little question that he was at the very least trying to move him off the plate.

That autumn, in a celebrated World Series confrontation, Piazza broke his bat swinging at a Clemens pitch. As Piazza trotted toward first base, Clemens picked up the business end of the shattered bat and flung it at Piazza's head. Clemens lamely said that he had mistaken the two-foot long chunk of jagged lumber for the ball.

Saturday would mark the first time Clemens would have to take his place in the batter's box against the Mets, and though the retaliation would come fully 707 days after the incident which originally served to provoke it, all of New York was gripped with a riveting anticipation.

THE instrument of retribution in this instance would be Shawn Estes, a young lefthander who didn't even play for the Mets when Clemens hit Piazza. Although he declined to speculate over what might happen when he faced Clemens, Estes clearly understood the burden placed upon him. If he did anything other than throw at Clemens, he would risk being ostracised by his own team-mates.

A month earlier Piazza had unhappily found himself in the national spotlight after a New York tabloid had published a gossip-column item suggesting that a prominent baseball-playing bachelor noted for being seen in the company of glamorous models was actually gay. Piazza thus became the first man in baseball history forced to convene a press conference to reveal to the world that he was in fact a practising heterosexual.

There were over 54,000 fans in the stands at Shea Stadium, and each and every one of them knew what was coming. In the Open press tent, some scribes maintained a countdown ("Six batters to go!") while some of us tried to explain to our visiting colleagues what this was all about.

It all proved rather anticlimactic in the end. When Clemens assumed his position in the batter's box in the top of the third inning, Estes cut loose with a medium-speed (clocked at 87 mph) fastball that sailed behind Clemens' back, missing his ample posterior by inches. The ball deflected off Piazza's glove and sailed to the backstop.

Wally Bell, the plate umpire, immediately pointed toward Estes, and then at both dugouts, putting both teams on notice that the next pitch aimed at a batter by either team would result in immediate ejection for the perpetrator.

It seemed the best result for all concerned. Estes appeared relieved to have performed his duty. The pitch had been close enough that its intent could not be misinterpreted, but at the same time he hadn't put anybody in hospital.

Moreover, the umpire's warning more or less put an end to the feud for the day, and simultaneously threatened to curtail Clemens' effectiveness. If the Yankee pitcher so much as threw inside to a Mets' batter, he, too, risked being tossed. Deprived of his most strategic weapon, the future Hall of Famer was battered for six hits and four runs before departing what turned out to be an 8-0 Mets rout.

"I missed my spot. I didn't execute my pitch on that one," Estes would later explain. "The fans know the situation, so I'll let the people draw their own conclusions. I will say it worked to our advantage, though, because Roger wasn't able to pitch inside like he usually does."

Most deliciously of all for the Mets fans, not only did Piazza hit a home run off Clemens to extend his personal record to 9-for-18 against the Yankee ace, but Estes (who hadn't recorded so much as a base hit all season) became the first pitcher ever to hit a homer off Clemens when he delivered a two-run shot.

Two days later Estes learned that he was being fined $750 for the "purpose pitch", but even Bob Watson, who hands down punishment for Major League Baseball, conceded that Estes' comportment had actually defused what was potentially an even more volatile situation.

"I feel a lot like Lennox Lewis after beating Tyson," said a plainly relieved Estes, who conceded that he had felt "awkward" over being asked to throw at his fellow pitcher. "I feel pretty good about the way everything worked out."