This Ervin Has Magic of His Own

There were no-look fastballs, behind-the-back sliders, a giant smile that carried a gaunt team another dramatic step toward a title.

For one breathtakingly familiar moment Monday, Ervin was Magic.

He’s not a point guard, he’s a pitcher. He doesn’t lead fastbreaks, he stops them.

But a quarter-century after a kid named Earvin Johnson replaced a star and lifted the Lakers, a kid named Ervin Santana did a pretty fair imitation for the Angels.

“I smile because I’m happy, because nobody is going to kill you here,” Santana said Monday night, grinning above his champagne-soaked black shoestring necklace. “This is just baseball.”

An intoxicating combination of joy and fearlessness live in that smile. So, too, does the biggest Angel victory in three years, a 5-3 win over the New York Yankees in the decisive Game 5 of the American League division series.

“Have some beer!” shouted Scot Shields, pouring a can over the head of Santana after the kid slowed the Yankees for nearly six emergency innings.

Shields paused, looked at the 22-going-on-12-year-old with horror.

“Wait a minute,” he shouted. “Are you old enough to drink?”

Today, their arms smelling like balm and their clothes reeking of bubbly, the Angels open the seven-game league championship series against the White Sox in Chicago.

But before they do, let us pause for a second to remember Philadelphia.

Back then, in 1980, it was Kareem Abdul-Jabbar who sat out the Lakers’ Finals game because of an ankle injury.

On Monday, it was Angel ace Bartolo Colon who trudged off the field in the second inning because of a shoulder injury.

Back then, rookie Magic Johnson replaced Abdul-Jabbar at center, played every position on the floor, and led the Lakers to the NBA title.

This time, rookie Magic Santana popped out of the bullpen and threw every sort of pitch and worked out of every sort of jam.

When he rushed to the field for his first work in more than a week, the crowd was hushed and the Yankees were inspired.

When he left a couple of hours later, the crowd was standing and the Yankees were reeling.

After giving up two runs to his first five batters, he gave up only one more to the next 19 batters.

In the beginning, he was so rusty that he idly stood in the way of Bengie Molina as the catcher tried to throw out Bubba Crosby at second base, leading to a steal.

In the end, he retired seven of his last eight hitters and was prepared to put up a John Lackey-style fight when Mike Scioscia justifiably came to get him in the seventh.

But, while he’s young, he’s not dumb.

“Of course I want to stay in the game, but those guys in that office, they can put me wherever they want me, I’ll do whatever they say,” he said with a grin.

As the crowd of 45,133 gave him a standing ovation, he wisely tipped his cap, then quietly hopped into the dugout to let the veterans finish up.

“Oh my gosh,” Orlando Cabrera said. “Did you see him out there tonight? Did you see all that?”

How could you miss it?

Arte Moreno, the Angel owner, was so involved in Santana’s dramatics, his family was worried.

Said daughter Nikki: “He was breathing really heavy and I said, ‘Dad, are you OK?’ ”

Said Moreno: “She thought I was having a heart attack.”

The owner later laughed.

“Isn’t it supposed to be easier than this?” he said.

Not when your Cy Young Award favorite walks off the mound grimacing with none out in the second inning and a full count to leadoff hitter Robinson Cano.

Uh-oh. The kid who began the season in double-A Arkansas was going to end it in prime time?

“They call in the bullpen for me, they say, ‘Get ready,’ and I say, ‘I am ready,’ ” said Santana, who had not worked in eight days.

His cap pulled low, his pants stretched long, he looked more like a high school pitcher than a guy who had actually started 23 games for the Angels this year after being promoted in May.

During the summer he was sometimes really good, occasionally really bad, but increasingly consistent, impressing the Angels enough with a 12-8 record and 4.65 earned-run average that they will allow Jarrod Washburn to work elsewhere next season.

“You cannot teach his poise and composure,” pitching coach Bud Black said.

But this being an ultimate playoff game, well, Cano jumped on Santana’s jitters, fouling off his first three pitches, then looked at ball four for a walk.

Bernie Williams then worked the kid to a full count and walked, the kid helped when Cabrera grabbed a bouncing throw from Molina to tag out Cano trying to steal.

But Jorge Posada then walked on four pitches, then three pitches later, Crosby singled to right, driving in a run, then Derek Jeter’s fly ball drove in another run.

Insisted Santana: “I was calm, the Yankees are superstars but I make my pitches, one pitch at a time.”

And so he did, stronger with each one, none of them bigger than the full-count fastball that struck out Alex Rodriguez to end that second inning with a runner on second.

“I make my pitch,” Santana said, smiling. “That happens when I make my pitch.”

And to think, for the first years of his career, his Dominican-doctored birth certificate read, “Johan Santana.”

Who knows? With more of this magic, maybe one day, the great left-hander for the Minnesota Twins will want to trade.

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Bill Plaschke can be reached at bill.plaschke@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Plaschke, go to latimes.com/plaschke.