Fractured fairy tale

The whole episode took less than 60 seconds.

It was two weeks ago last night. Auburn senior Chris Halliday threw the final pitch of his high school career, retiring a Plymouth North batter on a fly ball to center to seal a 2-1 victory in the Division 2 state championship game.

Then came the obligatory pig-pile on the mound as Halliday was smothered by more than a dozen of his closest friends and teammates. Then came the leaping chest bump with catcher Kyle Beede. Then an awkward landing and the sound of bones breaking above Halliday’s left ankle.

And that was that. The thrill of victory and the agony of the foot. Auburn had its state championship and Halliday had a badly broken leg. Folks didn’t know whether to cheer or cry.

Halliday, who plans to start working in his uncle’s Worcester bakery as soon as he can walk again, spent more than a decade playing ball with his friends in Auburn. Usually coached by Paul Croteau, they made trips to Rockland, Seekonk, Gloucester, even New Jersey, beating almost every team in their path.

This was no all-star unit with kids recruited and assembled from all over the state. This was just a bunch of pals from the town of Auburn who came of age competing at the highest levels of Little League/Junior League/Senior Ruth state and regional tournaments. They were together so long they could communicate with just a glance. Words and signs were not necessary.

Once the boys got to high school, they twice advanced to the state finals, winning the ultimate game at LeLacheur Park in Lowell June 13. And then Chris Halliday broke his leg before MIAA officials had time to wheel the trophy onto the field.

“It’s kind of funny when I look back on it,’’ said Halliday, resting at home with a 6-inch metal rod in his leg. “I went from the biggest high of my life to the biggest low, in less than a minute. Every time I think about it, I kind of laugh.’’

Halliday was working his second inning in relief of his best friend, Jeff Croteau. Auburn led, 2-1, in the bottom of the seventh (final) inning. With the tying run on second and two outs, Halliday threw an inside fastball and induced a routine fly to Brian Sullivan in center.

“I watched him catch it,’’ recalled Halliday. “I don’t even know what was going through my head. I was so happy, I just fell on the mound. No jumping into anybody’s arms for me. I had no energy left and just completely fell down. Everyone jumped on me. The whole pile thing. But it wasn’t in the pile that I got hurt.

“I came out of the pile and was running around with teammates. I was back behind the mound, around second base and I did a chest bump with Kyle. I must have landed wrong when I came down. Right away, I heard a crack. I looked over and said, ‘Kyle, I broke my leg.’ He said, ‘No way, dude,’ and I just said, ‘Kyle, I broke my leg!’ ’’

Halliday had never experienced a broken bone, but he knew what he was looking at. His left foot was pointing in the wrong direction. He reached down to make it straight. He felt the grinding.

At first, few noticed. Teammates were still leaping and shouting. Then it became clear something was wrong with the boy on the field who was not getting up. He was in pain and his leg was mangled.

“When they saw it, people started running away, trying not to puke,’’ said the pitcher. “My coaches surrounded me and were holding my hand and stuff. My dad and little brother and uncle came onto the field because they thought I’d had a heart attack or something. They were kind of happy it was only a broken leg.’’

Auburn folks tempered the celebration once it was clear what had happened to Halliday.

An ambulance appeared. A trainer straightened Halliday’s leg and put it in a splint. Once he was moved onto a stretcher, they brought him the trophy so he could hold it for a moment before he was packed into the ambulance.

“That was kind of cool,’’ said Halliday. “I held it up to the crowd, kind of like Rodney Harrison after that Super Bowl. But other than that, I pretty much missed the whole celebration. I only got to celebrate for about 30 seconds.’’

Classy and respectful, the Plymouth North team stuck around until Halliday was rushed to the Lowell hospital.

Halliday’s dad and uncle followed him to the hospital and bribed the staff with bakery goods to get Chris a television so he could watch the Red Sox. He didn’t want to look at his leg (broken tibia and fibula). Doctors told him the bone almost came through the skin.

Halliday was transferred to Worcester, where he underwent two hours of surgery the next night. He remembers nurses reading headlines about Auburn’s baseball state title (and a photo of him on the field with his broken leg) as he was prepped for surgery.

The metal rod runs the length of his shin. He still can’t bend his knee or rotate his ankle. He wears a medical boot when he gets around on crutches. They’re telling him he’ll be 100 percent again someday, and the coach at Quinsigamond Community College would like him to come pitch there, but Halliday sounds ready to call it a career. His uncle John wants him to start his apprenticeship in the bakery.

“I’m pretty sure that was my last moment of baseball forever,’’ said Halliday. “That was my last pitch. If that’s the way my career ends, you can’t be mad. It was a good way to end it, winning the state championship.’’

Auburn High School coach Eric Swedberg calls him every day. Teammates Croteau, Evan Pluff, and Jon Leroux - guys he has known his whole life - call and come to visit. Beede, the chest-bump bookend, dropped off some Red Sox tickets. Auburn High’s ring/jacket/trophy ceremony is scheduled for August.

“Everyone’s been great to me,’’ said Halliday. “I’m usually the one that pokes fun of everybody. This is a chance to really get me. I could tell they were sad at first, but the second they had a chance to make fun of me, they did.’’

Halliday seems uniquely equipped to handle the fallout. He’ll no doubt hear stories of Cardinals kicker Bill Gramatica, who tore his ACL celebrating a field goal in 2001. And let’s not forget Sox hero Dave Henderson, who wrecked his knee doing a 360-degree jump when he homered off Donnie Moore in the 1986 ALCS.

“I can’t say there’s a lesson to be learned,’’ said Halliday. “Maybe just tell people to walk while you can take advantage of it. I would love to say not to celebrate, but that’s ridiculous. All I did was jump up and I broke my leg.’’

There are times in sports when reality clashes with theater, when truth supersedes anything fiction can offer. This was one of those times. You don’t have to make it up because it happened.

The moment was at once great and a little goofy, and it will be talked about whenever Chris Halliday and his friends gather as they get on with the rest of their lives.

Dan Shaughnessy is a Globe columnist. He can be reached at dshaughnessy@globe.com.