LUCK MAKES THIS GAME SUCH A HIT.

Byline: Kevin Modesti

Down by a run, ninth inning, Game 7 of the World Series.

Nearly 30 years ago, with runners on base and two out, Willie McCovey lined a fastball from a tiring Ralph Terry toward right field only to watch Bobby Richardson glove it without moving a step. Terry had thrown a fat pitch. McCovey had smashed it - but, through no fault of his, right at the second baseman.

Tough out. And all these years later, the San Francisco Giants still haven't won a World Series. And McCovey, asked how he'd like to be remembered, has been known to reply wishfully, ``I'd like to be remembered as the guy who hit the ball six inches over Bobby Richardson's head.''

Today, during opening week, we choose to acknowledge luck as the most underrated player in baseball, to look it in the eye and salute it as one of the elements that gives the game its unique charm.

Luck, which turns line drives into outs and broken-bat bloopers into singles. Luck, which turns 400-foot drives off the wall into singles because the batter hit them too hard and turns cueball shots over the first-base bag into triples because the batter couldn't get around on a fastball.

Luck, which turns one ground ball into a game-ending double play because it's hit right at the shortstop and another into a game-winner because it's in the hole.

Luck, which made New York a world champion and San Franciscans bitter.

You'll never hear a basketball player say, ``We weren't shooting well tonight, but the ball was going in.'' A tailback never says, ``It would have been a touchdown, except I happened to run into that linebacker.''

Next time you keep score of a baseball game, keep track of the hard-hit balls that go for outs and the weakly hit balls that go for hits. Calculate later if the breaks evened out.

With a little prompting on the subject, the old Red Sox manager, John McNamara, recalls the 1986 playoffs and World Series, the unlikely chain of events that allowed the Red Sox to beat the Angels and then lose to the Mets.

``Three bloop singles, a wild pitch and a ball going through (Bill) Buckner's legs,'' McNamara said of Game 6 of the World Series. ``Would you call that (luck) evening out or not? I'm not sure there's an answer - except divine providence.''

Could it be that there is no such thing as luck? That a lucky team is really one that finds a way to win? That - here's another cliche - you make your own breaks?

``It seems like the good hitters get more of those (`lucky' hits) than the rest of us. I think there's an art to getting the broken-bat flair,'' said Al Martin, the Padres outfielder. ``A .260 hitter, a normal guy, might strike out or at best foul it off.''

But Angels pitching coach Bud Black, who played for the Royals, doesn't remember Hall of Famer George Brett getting the benefit of such artistry.

``It didn't even out for him,'' Black said. ``He just hit the ball hard. He made a lot of hard outs and got very few bloop hits.''

It takes a psychological toll. The man who's hitting in bad luck, one line out after another, might be doing everything right but find himself volunteering for extra cuts in the batting cage to try to work out of his ``slump.'' An inattentive coach might watch a pitcher give up those hard outs, throwing meatballs to the plate, and think everything's all right.

``I see it all the time in the dugout,'' said Rich Donnelly, a Rockies coach. ``A guy throws a pitch up here (high in the strike zone), the hitter hits a shot back to the mound that the pitcher catches, and it's `Great job!' Nobody says, `You know, he's dropping his shoulder.' Management says, `You know, he's been one of our good pitchers all along . . .' But if that ball goes through, they're talking about `What's wrong with him?'

``A guy goes 0 for 4 with four (line-drive) shots and he's saying, `I gotta work with my coach.' If he gets four bloop hits, he's in the bar telling everybody how great he is.''

The strangest stroke of luck I ever saw happened in a Dodgers-Mets Grapefruit League game in 1986. Howard Johnson hit a comebacker that sent Bob Welch diving to safety. The ball struck the pitching rubber and ricocheted back on a bounce across the first-base line. Catcher Mike Scioscia gloved it in foul ground. Plate umpire Steve Rippley correctly called it a foul ball since none of the fielders touched it when it was fair. A foul ball up the middle, so to speak. Johnson went back to the plate and popped out.

Then there are subtler - but more meaningful - lucky moments. Remember the foul-ball dribblers Kirk Gibson hit before his 1988 World Series home run? Was Gibson skillful to get a piece of those Dennis Eckersley pitches and stay alive? Or was he lucky he didn't get more wood on one of them and hit a weak ground-ball out?

Something to ponder, anyway, while Willie McCovey wonders what he could have done differently.

It's a new season. Good luck, everybody.