Author: Larry Dierker

FRIDAY, MAY 30 ● Houston, vs San Diego

I sent José Cruz out with the lineup last night, but tonight he lost the magic touch. The Pads ripped Chris Holt for six runs in three-and-two-thirds innings, and San Diego went on to crush us 9-2.

The wheels started falling off in the second, when Bagwell got picked off first. The crash came in the fourth.

Down 2-0 against rookie Will Cunnane, we were still in good shape when we started playing giveaway.

With a runner on first and no outs, Biggio booted a double-play ball. Then Cunnane hit a fly ball down the right-field line. Thomas Howard got to it, but he missed it. That was bad enough, but he made it worse by not chasing it down. He thought it was foul, but that’s no excuse. Cunnane ended up at third, and we were down 4-0. 

Archi Cinafrocco doubled, and Tony Gwynn singled. I brought Ramón Garcia in to replace Holt, and Steve Finley hit a home run that made it 7-0. If we had played good defense, it would still have been 2-0.

Bagwell drove Biggio home with a double in the bottom of the frame, but Cunnane stiffened, and that was it. They scored a couple more runs off Garcia, and we got one of Tim Worrell.

The loss was discouraging, because we were hoping to regain some momentum on the homestand. At least we have Shane Reynolds going tomorrow, and he is due for a good game. I hope he rises to the occasion, because the bullpen is spent.

 

Gerry came down after the game to air his frustration; I couldn’t blame him. He wants a corrective interview with Howard tomorrow, and I agree that the time has come to speak up.

Tank has not been giving us a good effort. I don’t know if he has given up hope of starting a lot of games, or if he is just not as good a player as we thought he would be.

We have already learned that our scouting reports on Pat Listach were faulty. He was supposed to be an offensive catalyst — a guy who could hit for average and steal bases. His defensive ability was the only question.

As it turns out, his defense, though shaky, was good enough if combined with good hitting and baserunning. We may never know about the baserunning, because he hasn’t hit well enough to get on base.

No player could fall as far as he has in one year. The only explanation is that the scouting report was way off.

As for Howard, we have no excuse. We have both seen him play a lot the last few years, and he has played well on offense and defense. We don’t remember him being so big; it’s not as if he’s fat, but he is definitely not as fast a runner as the guy we thought we were getting.

I have some confidence that he will start hitting better. But I fear he will be a liability in the outfield, unless he loses some weight and gains some footspeed.

Gerry wants to start holding early workouts to practice fundamentals, like we do at spring training. I think this is a good idea, but I believe we should start it as a once-a-homestand routine instead of as a punishment for losing.

At any rate, I have a sense that the pressure is building.

 

The loss was especially disappointing in that we had a large crowd watching. Those who may have been casual fans will not be back — and that hits Drayton in the pocketbook, where it really hurts. 

 

THURSDAY, MAY 29 ● Houston, vs San Diego

I woke up feeling renewed. The experience of spending 19 of 21 days on the road, and surviving the death of my father, had to take a little time off the end of my slate. But it was good family time; a time we will never forget.

But now it is time to move on, which means back to the ballyard. Which means regroup and get going again. We are clinging to first place by our fingernails. The schedule gives us an opportunity to reach up and get a good grip, but we will have to do the reaching and the gripping; no one is going to do it for us.

 

When I arrived at the ballpark, I had a telephone message from Charles Barkley.

“Sorry to hear about your Dad,” it said. “I read about it in the newspaper. Good luck the rest of the year. We’re going to kick some butt tonight, and I hope you guys do too.”  

What a nice way thing for him to do! We had a small crowd tonight, because of the Rockets’ game with the Jazz. Even Judy wanted to stay home and watch, instead of coming to see us. I don’t mind that; they’re on the precipice of another championship. But the Jazz are one up in the series, with two to go.

 

I talked with Gerry at great length today. He is troubled that we are not doing better, and he seemed to be a little impatient, as if he is leaning toward taking drastic action.

He said he was thinking about giving Chucky Carr a tryout.

“Chucky is the most despised player I have ever known,” he said. “But he can play center field, and he has a certain cockiness that might not be bad for our team.”

I reserved comment, mostly because I don’t think he is a very good ballplayer, even though he is lightning-fast.

Cubby came in and Gerry grinned and said, “Chucky is going to be in town tomorrow.”

“Just passing through?” Cubby said.

“No, we’re going to sign him and give him a locker right next to yours,” I said. Cubby rolled his eyes.

We went on to talk about some of our problems: Hampton, Hudek, and the shortstop issue. Gerry was upset over some things Mike said in the paper, and also some scuttlebutt he heard about Hampton and Hudek blaming Vern for their problems. I don’t like these things either, but I don’t take them personally.

I told him about Christy Mathewson’s assertion that a ballplayer must always have an excuse for failure. And I think there is a lot of wisdom in his words:

I will talk to these guys about this issue. I don’t mind the excuses, but a true professional does not divulge his alibi.

           

Cheo took the lineup card out in San Diego, and we won both games, so I asked him to take it out again tonight. I don’t know if he said anything to plate umpire Terry Tata, but we had the incredible expandoflex strike zone tonight. Terry is usually pretty consistent, but tonight he was all over the place. The hitters seemed to like it — especially our hitters. We won the game 10-6.

It took a little patience to get through the fifth inning, however.

We had a 9-1 lead when Kile went to the mound. But he had just scored from third on a wild pitch; it was a close play, and he had to slide. I think he was a bit winded when he went out there, but he struck out the first batter and then got two weak ground balls, but no outs. One was a hit, one an error.

He continued to pitch well, but he couldn’t put the hitters away. I think part of it was the umpire, but to his credit, Kile did not register any frustration. He gave up hard hits to Tony Gwynn, Steve Finley, and Ken Caminiti. Then Wally Joyner got a broken-bat hit.

But D.K. pitched like a staff leader. He didn’t give up, and by the time he left the mound it was 9-5.

Darryl gave us two more innings, and we finished up with Hudek and Martin. Hudek threw especially well.

 

When we got back to the locker room, the Rockets were up by two on the Jazz with two minutes left. It was tied at 100 with 26 seconds left. Clyde Drexler beat the 24-second clock with an off-balance, but open, bank shot. He just missed.

Utah called time out and worked an inbounds play that gave John Stockton an open three-pointer at the buzzer. He nailed it, and the Rockets’ season came to an end.

I felt bad for Rudy and the team, and especially bad for Barkley. I scratched out a message for Rob to send to Barkley via their PR guy:

 

 

Charles has taken a lot of criticism over the years, because he is outspoken. But he is good for the sport. He plays hard and with great skill all the time, and his honesty — though unpopular at times — is refreshing in an athletic world rife with cliché.

I remember when Charles said something about not being a role model for kids; I think he said that parents should be the role models for their own kids. I agree with him, to a point.

I believe it is important to maintain a good image. But I also think athletes are entitled to a private life. Fans can be intrusive, and I don’t think most of them understand what it is like to be on the other side. 

We need a character like Sir Charles on our team. Guys like that are hard to find.

WEDNESDAY, MAY 28 ● Los Angeles

The service was to start at 10:00, and Judy and I were going to pick up Tal Smith at the Holiday Inn at 9:30. At 9:15, Laura Lynn sat on Judy’s glasses and smashed them flat. John offered to bend them back, but he said they might break, so we rushed to an eyeglass store. A lady said the same thing as John; then she bent them and they broke.

We took them to a jewelry store across the street and had them soldered, then we picked up Tal and came back. The glasses were ready, and we arrived at the chapel on time.

There were about fifty people already seated, but four of Dad’s best friends were missing. When they showed up, we started. By then, there were maybe 75 people; it was a full house.

Rick sat on one side of Mom, and I sat on the other. We were constantly holding her hand and patting her leg. The pastor had his say, and then Lily sang Amazing Grace. She did a beautiful job, but somehow a nine-year-old girl is not so evocative as an older person might be with the entreaty to “save a wretch like me.”

“Lily doesn’t look so wretched,” I whispered to Mom.

 After that, Dad’s friends were invited to say a word if they felt the urge. I was proud to note that almost all of his close friends spoke up, and most of them broke up in the process.

The central theme of most of the speakers was his honesty and integrity. Subthemes included his temper — which I choose to call “his passion” — and his sense of humor.

I never thought of my Dad as a humorous man. Sure, he liked to tickle and tease us. He would invent outrageous stories, such as his assertion that my best friend in high school was an operative for the FBI.

“How’s things in the spy business?” he would ask. “Have you captured any new secrets from the Russians?”

One of the ladies who spoke said that when she called, he would say in a whisper, “we’re going to have to stop meeting like this. Marilynn will find out.”

“Most people wouldn’t joke around about something like that, but Chuck and Marilynn had such a solid marriage that he could kid around without offending me or her. He was such a sweet man.”

I spoke on the issue of time:

 

 

That comment got a good laugh, as did others made earlier about his all-thumbs approach to home maintenance, and his aversion to camping and beach activities.

I pointed to his business associates.

           

I had to proceed slowly, to keep from crying. I did gurgle a little, but I got through it.

 Ashley got up and said a few heartfelt words. She is the most-sensitive of Laura’s daughters, and her halting speech left everyone teary-eyed.

Laura read a passage from the Bible and elucidated it nicely. Then she called for the music: Dan Fogelberg’s The Leader of the Band.

 

The leader of the band is tired

And his eyes are growing old

But his blood runs through my instrument

And his song is in my soul

My life has been a poor attempt

To imitate the man

I’m just a living legacy

To the leader of the band

 

The service concluded, we filed out of the chapel and into our unTossed [?] lives. There had been a lot of quiet weeping, but no wailing. It was the way Dad would have wanted it.

 

We still had a few hours before our flight. Tal came back with us, and we went over to a neighbor’s house for lunch.

Mom got dizzy after drinking half a glass of wine. It’s hard to drink wine when you haven’t been eating. I hope her appetite will return soon.

Her departure gave us all an excuse to go home. She lay on the couch, and we talked about life and baseball.

I said that I was impressed with the relatively small crowd at the service.

“He was such a powerful influence on all who knew him,” I said. “It makes you realize how small you really are in the world. There were only a handful of people there who really knew him,” I said. “What a shame.”

Judy took exception to my observation.

“He may not have had a direct effect on a lot of people, but his influence must have had a ripple effect. What about the people he did business with? Don’t you think his honesty and integrity rubbed off on them a little? He had a lot more impact on the world than you think.”

Though I still felt rather small, I agreed. I read somewhere that a life is important only in the impact it has on other lives.

My Dad was an important guy.

          

Rick took us to the airport. We got stuck in traffic again, and we barely made the flight. Tal had a first-class ticket, and Judy and I had upgrades, but there were no seats for us. We sat in the back, just in front of a crying baby. Tal sat up front with a lapful of Coke, courtesy of a clumsy flight attendant.

It was not an easy week.

TUESDAY, MAY 27 ● San Francisco, vs Giants

Any hope we may have had about Mike Hampton returning to form was erased in the first inning, when he walked four batters. Luckily, they didn’t get a hit, so we were only down 1-0. 

Mark Gardner was almost as wild for San Francisco. He flirted with danger throughout the game, but once again, we couldn’t get the big hit to put him away. Gardner can be a tough pitcher when he has the feel for his curve ball and good control of his fastball.

He had neither. The only thing he had going for him was us.

Hampton settled down a bit, but he had several lapses. He left trailing 4-3 after six innings.

We tied the game in the seventh, and Tom Martin and Russ Springer kept it that way.

We had ample opportunity to take the lead with minor-league veteran Joe Roa on the mound, but we couldn’t get it done.

At one point, I pinch-hit with Ken Ramos, hoping Dusty would counter with lefty Rich Rodriguez, who was warming up in the bullpen. I was going to answer that move with Tony Eusebio, but I guess Dusty had preconceived that matchup and preferred Roa/Ramos.

I thought Ramos would give us the lead; we had runners on second and third with one out. The count went full, and Kenny popped out to first base. Dusty walked Biggio, and Ausmus popped out to end the inning.

We failed to score off Rod Beck in the ninth, even though Thomas Howard led off with a single. Bill asked me if I wanted to bunt him over, and I said “No, reinforce the green light,” meaning I wanted Howard to try to steal second base. Beck is slow to the plate, and he rarely throws to first.

Howard waited until the count was 1-2, then broke for second. He had a good jump and would have made it, but Gutierrez fouled the pitch. With two strikes, Gutierrez had no choice but to swing.

This is typical of the way we are playing: a little too tentative.

The reason I didn’t have Ricky bunt was threefold:

 

• The possibility of the steal
• A lack of confidence that he would get the bunt down
• Ricky is hot. He’s hitting around .400, and had already hit three line drives in this game

 

Well, he hit another hot shot on the second 1-2 pitch. It was headed up the middle, but it hit the side of the mound and caromed slightly off to the side, toward shortstop José Vizcaino. Vizcaino made a brilliant play on the ball and flipped it backhanded to Jeff Kent. Kent barehanded the ball and nipped Ricky by an eyelash at first.

It was a tremendous double play, but it left me wondering if Ricky was running full-out. It seemed like he should have been able to beat the throw if he was running all out. I asked Bill if he had noticed, and he said he was watching the ball, like I was.

Should I have bunted? In retrospect, yes. In the future, under the same conditions? No. Howard had the base stolen, and Ricky hit the ball hard. The two things I was hoping for, happened — but not at the right time.

This time I used Wagner in a tie game. Why not? We have the day off tomorrow.

Billy mowed them down in the ninth.

With two outs in the tenth, Bagwell singled between third and short, and when Barry Bonds was a little too casual going after the ball, Bags raced into second, safe by an inch. What a ballplayer!

This effort forced Dusty to walk González. I could have hit for Berry, who is slumping, with Spiers, who is hot. But Dusty had a lefthander ready, and in the long run, if we don’t get RBI from Berry, we’re not going to make it.

 

For an instant, it looked like Sean was going to drive both runners home. He hit a hard line drive to left-center, but the Giants were playing him to pull, and Stan Javier made a nice running catch.

Everyone in the ballpark was anticipating the confrontation between Bonds and Wagner in the bottom of the tenth. Wagner got out in front 0-2, then he threw a pitch that was close enough to be called a strike, but was called a ball.

Bonds hit the next offering to center. He hit it so hard it should have been a home run, but the wind held it and he stopped at second.

Kent tried to bunt, and he popped out to Ausmus. Then, on a 3-1 pitch, Wagner hit Mark Lewis on the wrist — or did he?

Umpire Jim Quick, he of the reversed balk call, motioned Lewis to first. I couldn’t tell what the ball hit, so I just stood there for a moment. Then I realized that Lewis stood for a moment before he went to first.

I ran out of the dugout and confronted Quick.

“That ball hit the bat!” I said.

“No, it hit the batter,” Quick replied.

“Then why did he just stand there?” I asked. “Don’t you think he would have grabbed his arm if it hurt, or immediately run to first if it hit him? He didn’t do anything, which tells me it hit the bat.”

“It doesn’t matter,” he said. “It would have been ball four anyway.”

“Not if it hit the bat. It would have been strike two.”

 “Well, I saw it hit him.”

 “You saw it nick him at 98 MPH.” I said. “I can understand if you heard it hit meat rather than wood. But I don’t think you could see it. I know I couldn’t.”

“I saw it hit him, Larry, and that’s that.”

As I headed back to the dugout, I wasn’t really mad at Quick. He has been firm-but-civil the two times we have argued. I know he is doing his best, but I feel like he owes me one now. I don’t expect him to try and make good; that wouldn’t be right. But if he does happen to call one our way, I will be satisfied that we deserve it.

In this game, the call had only minor significance; we had considered walking Lewis anyway. His run meant nothing. Still, on a 3-2 pitch, Wagner might have struck him out, which would have changed the way the game ended.

It ended when Stan Javier chopped a grounder to short. It was a little bit toward the hole, and Ricky was playing up the middle to hold Bonds. Still, it was a weak chopper, and I was expecting a force at second at the very least.

For some reason, Ricky couldn’t get started. By the time he got to the ball, he had to stretch for it, and it bounced off his glove and into left field. There is no question in my mind that this ball should have been fielded, but it was not.

The way Ricky is hitting, it seemed our shortstop problems were over. But the fact that he couldn’t beat the rap on the double play in the ninth, then couldn’t get to the ball in the tenth, casts some doubt on his speed. I know he’s not fast, but I thought he was at least average in the speed department. Now, I wonder.

We won’t be able to win our division without decent fielding at short. Now the only way I know I can get the glovework is to play Tim Bogar. Bogey is a good fielder, but he has never hit much. Right now, we need the hitting at least as much as the fielding.

 

After the game, I was asked if I felt good about Wagner facing Bonds.

“I feel good about Wagner facing anyone,” I said. “But I’ll tell you this: Bonds is going to get his hits off anyone. He hit an 82 MPH changeup yesterday, and a 98 MPH fastball today. I know he hasn’t hit well yet this year, but he is still one of the best hitters in baseball.”

 

It was with a heavy heart that I left Candlestick Park for Los Angeles and my father’s memorial service. My sadness was replaced with anger when I was misinformed by a United Airlines representative at the airport, and almost missed my plane.

Judy was starving, but she didn’t have time to eat — even though we were at the airport an hour-and-a-half before flight time. Somehow, the pretzels we got on the plane seemed inadequate.

Well, at least we would see a friendly face at the Burbank airport. I called home just before we got on the plane. The line was busy, but I left a message. When we got to the airport, no one was there. I called home, and Mom told me that when she heard the recording from AT&T, she thought it was someone trying to sell her something.

We took a cab home, and though I was weary when we arrived, I was still mad. The family was having dinner, and there was food for us.

I’m sure everyone thought I was antisocial when I declined dinner in favor of a swim. After thrashing out a mile in the water, I felt better. I attacked the leftovers, then Rick gave me a Cuban cigar.

 

A glass of wine and a little smoke did wonders. I rejoined the family on the lanai, and we shared more feelings about Dad and planned our presentation for tomorrow’s memorial service.

MONDAY MAY 26 ● San Francisco, vs Giants

Up and at ’em again. One o’clock game. Headed for the park by taxi at 9:00.

I felt good about our chances for a sweep in this series. One of the Giants’ few power hitters, Glenallen Hill, is in a terrible slump. Superstar Barry Bonds has not been hitting well, either. Their pitchers — Kirk Rueter today and Mark Gardner tomorrow — are average at best. And they don’t have much team speed.

The fact that the Giants are in first place is a tribute to manager Dusty Baker, and it is living proof of the efficacy of the marathon schedule we play.

There is no way the Giants are a championship team. But for a couple of months, they can be as good as anyone. The proof is in their record.

I would like to think that for two months, a championship team can play average baseball — because that is exactly what we have done. I am satisfied to be one game over .500, but not happy with it.