No hits, many high-fives

Leiter had never thrown a no-hitter. Had never come close, counting a 1988 game when he was with New York and the Angels' Wally Joyner led off the seventh with a hit as the closest he had come.

And so Leiter staggered into Johnson's bearhug, and then disappeared beneath a mass of Marlins. The crowd at Joe Robbie Stadium, infamous for leaving early, stayed throughout a 11-0 blowout, then lingered for three more minutes just to cheer for the man who let them be a part of history.

After 10 minutes of interviews, Leiter bounded into the clubhouse and was handed a bottle of champagne and mobbed again by teammates. He high-fived his way to his locker, where the season's biggest crowd of reporters waited. Television crews kept coming and coming, dispatched from their stations in the eighth or ninth inning and getting to JRS in time not for the magic, but for the afterglow.

``It's an unbelievable feeling,'' Leiter said. ``How do you act? I didn't know.''

Leiter acted like he always does: He prowled the dugout between innings, chattering to teammates. In the seventh he struck out swinging, returned to the dugout and told Manager Rene Lachemann, ``He threw it in my wheelhouse.''

Lachemann: ``You don't have a wheelhouse.''

In the ninth, first baseman Greg Colbrunn was thinking: ``I'll dive. I'll slide. Whatever it takes.'' Colbrunn got his chance on Jayhawk Owens' hard grounder to lead off the ninth. He smothered it, ran to first and pounded his mitt. ``A once-in-a-lifetime thing,'' he said.

After the final out, Leiter was engulfed. He didn't know who was hitting him. It felt like everyone. It felt great.

``The whole thing is incredible,'' he said.