Author: Larry Dierker

RMJ 85 May 10

SATURDAY, MAY 10 ● Miami, vs Florida

I got up early today and went Rollerblading with Dave Labossiere.

Dave Labossiere

Dave is one of the most interesting guys I have met in baseball. He is a loner of sorts; he likes to go off by himself and pursue his hobbies: photography and skating and golf. I have the same hobbies, but I don’t run around with him much because he starts too early in the morning.

He is a sensitive and thoughtful guy, and I think we could become real close friends if he would just have a few beers at night and start out a little later in the morning. He cannot do this, however, because he is so conscientious. Just in case anyone needs treatment, he gets to the ballpark early. He’s usually the first to arrive.

This morning, I was a little slow on the Rollerblades, having enjoyed the grape while writing my journal. I was slow and cautious. I haven’t been on the blades much lately, and I don’t feel real good about urban maneuvering — especially quick stops.

When we got to the beachfront, we had clear sailing in gentle breezes. The passing parade of humanity was beautiful and strange. You can cover a lot of landscape in two hours on Rollerblades, even if you stop to rest occasionally. This sport is somewhat dangerous, but it beats jogging 10:1.

 

As usual, we arrived at the ballpark several hours before we had to be there. I am getting so fond of the camaraderie of our staff that it doesn’t bother me to hang around without much to do.

It is also a good sign, I think, that many of the players come out early.

One thing that bothers me is our reluctance to take chances on the bases. If the pitcher is quick to the plate, we don’t go. If the pitcher is slow, but the catcher throws well, we don’t go. I suppose there is always a reason not to go, but the worst of all reasons is the one I suspect:

I believe if I could get in the baserunners’ heads — Biggio, Bell, Mouton, or Listach — the thought process would be: We haven’t been getting many hits. We’re struggling to score. I can’t afford to be thrown out. It will kill the inning.

My process is: We’re not getting many hits, so we need to force the action. If we’re going to go down, let’s go down in flames.

I used these exact words on Sean Berry tonight. Sean is still trying to overcome his shoulder surgery and his groin pull. At the plate, he is tentative, swinging late on fastballs and trying to check his swing in vain on breaking pitches.

Last year, when he drove in 95 runs, he was aggressive — almost to a fault. After a couple of agonizing at-bats and a throw that almost got Biggio killed on what turned out to be a force play (but should have been a double play), I went to him in the dugout.

“Sean,” I said, “I don’t know this guy who is wearing your uniform. It’s not the guy I saw last year. You were aggressive. Now you’re tentative.

“I’m going to tell you right now that I don’t give a shit if you strike out. I want you to go for it. Don’t be afraid to fail. Fuck failing. We all fail in this game. But we cannot fear failure. We need to go for it. Go for the downs. Rip away.

“You’re a good hitter, and you know it. Trust yourself. Go for the ‘hero play’ at all times, on offense and on defense.

“I believe in you. I know you can do it. You have to fight your way out of this. You can’t feel your way out.”

This is the first time I have approached a player during the game. Until now, I have been reluctant to get into a guy’s head while he is performing. But tonight, I just felt I had to say something.

I also said something to Mouton and Listach:

Mouton

“If I send you in to pinch-run,” I said. “I want you to steal second. Except for Tony, the rest of the guys you might run for can go first-to-third on a single, and score from first on a double. The difference is that you guys can steal, and they can’t.

“When I bring you in, more often than not, I want you to steal. I know everyone in the ballpark is aware of that. I know the pitcher and the catcher and the opposing manager will try to stop you. But you can’t say, “well, I won’t go on this pitch, because I want to see his move. I won’t go on that pitch, because they might pitch out. I won’t go on this pitch if it’s a slide-step.

“There is always a reason not to go, but I want you to go. If you get thrown out, it’s my fault, not yours.”

Vern and I talked about this, and we are going to institute an informal baserunning drill. We will use two pitchers and two baserunners. One of the pitchers will be the first-baseman, and the runners will take their leads. The other pitcher will work on his routines for holding runners, while the runners work on their jumps.

I did this with Lou Brock my last year in St. Louis. It really helped me a lot to get his feedback. At the same time, he was working on his running game. He’s the one who asked me to do it.  How’s that for a superstar who plays every day — half of them in the St. Louis sun?

If we could get a couple of pitchers and a couple of baserunners doing this for ten minutes each day, we would improve in both areas.

 

Tonight’s game was another nail-biter. We won 4-2. The Marlins have a great lineup, and they will score a lot of runs this year. I believe we will too. But both clubs have been struggling to score, playing a lot of close games.

Larry Vanover

Last night I had my first confrontation with an umpire: Larry Vanover. It came after Bagwell hit a ball into deep right-center. From my vantage point, it looked like the ball hit the top of the wall and came back. That’s the way Vanover called it. But our dugout came alive in protest.

“Get out there,” I heard someone say. And I knew this was the time.

When I got out to second base I said, “What did you see?”

“I saw the ball hit the top of the fence and come back,” he said.

“That’s what I saw too,” I said. “I’m not really pissed, but I know the guys wanted me to come out and argue. This is my first argument with an umpire. I really don’t know what else to say.”

“Well, I called it the way I saw it,” he said. “And that’s the way it’s going to be.”

I sort of waved my arms around for effect. And then I said. “Fine, that’s the way it is, and the way it will be.”

Tonight was a different story. With two outs and the pitcher at bat in the fourth inning of a 1-0 game, Bill Spiers broke from third as if he was going to steal home. Rick Helling stepped off awkwardly, and third-base umpire Jim Quick called a balk.

I was really pumped. What a great play by Spiers! Jimmy Leyland was fired up, too. He came out to argue, even though it is illegal, and grounds for immediate ejection, to argue a balk call.

“They’re going to run him,” I told Bill.       

But then a most unexpected thing happened: Quick reversed his call before Leyland got to him. When he motioned Spiers back to third, I shot out of the dugout without thinking. The last thing I considered was that I might get kicked out.

I ranted and raved. I did imitations of Helling’s move. I showed him how he couldn’t have stepped off properly from the position he was in.

When it comes to balks, I know what I’m talking about. After all, I was a pitcher.  And I know I was right.

One thing I have to say for Quick, though: he didn’t run me. He let me have my say. And I said a lot. He didn’t get mad; he just kept saying. “He stepped back with his right foot, and I missed it. I made the mistake, and I have to correct it. I know how you feel. But I can’t consider feelings. It’s not easy for me to change my call in front of all these people, but I feel like I have to get the call right, no matter what.”

His logic and his tone were disarming. What more could I say? I finally quit arguing and went back to the dugout.

Naturally, we failed to get Spiers home.

 

The Marlins took advantage of the situation immediately, but it could have been worse.

With the bases loaded and only one out, Bobby Bonilla hit a sinking liner down the first-base line. Jeff Bagwell made a great play to get a glove on it, and it rolled into shallow right field.

Moises Alou held for a moment, to make sure Bagwell didn’t catch the ball on the fly. He was late getting started to second, and Bagwell chased the ball down, threw across his body on the run, and nailed Alou at second. It was the kind of play where you don’t believe it, even after you’ve seen it.

If the ball had gotten by, it would have been two or three runs in and only one out. As it was, it was two outs with men on first and third. Chris Holt got the third out, and the Marlins had to settle for one run and a tie game.

 

In the fifth, we got the bases loaded with one out, and Leyland brought Dennis Cook in to pitch to Billy Spiers. Normally I don’t like to start using bench players early in the game, but with the sacks dripping, I felt like I had to fire one of my bullets. Ricky Gutierrez came through with a two-run single.

In the bottom of the fifth, Holt survived another uprising. A looping line-drive hit, two infield hits, and a weak ground-ball out gave the Marlins a run in and two runners on, with only one out. Holt got Jim Eisenreich to hit into a double play.

I’ll say this for Holt: he is a workhorse. He never shows any emotion; he just keeps plodding along.  Just when you think he is about to be knocked out, he makes a great pitch and gets out of trouble. 

In the seventh inning, the Marlins threatened again, and Holt was starting to lose velocity. I brought Russ Springer into the game, and he retired the side.

In the eighth inning, they led off with John Cangelosi. Cangy was with us last year, so I know his game. Before Russ even left the dugout, I told him, “Look, Cangelosi is going to try for a walk. Go after him with fastballs.

“If he gets on, he’ll take a big lead, to make you think you can pick him off. Don’t try. His game is to disrupt you. He’s not that fast. Make him stop. Brad can throw him out if he tries to steal.”

Well, sure enough, Russ walked him, Cangy took a big lead, and Russ tried to pick him off. He threw the ball by Bagwell and down the right-field line. Biggio raced over from his second-base position and ran the ball down. In one motion, he slid by the ball, picking it up with his bare hand, and popped up to his feet, firing to third. The throw was perfect, and Cangelosi was out.

It was a one-in-a-million play.

Springer then retired Renteria, and he had a long battle with Gary Sheffield before Sheff finally singled to left. With Alou coming up, I went to Wagner.

When I got back to the dugout, Springer said, “Is Wags going to hit for himself?” My shoulders slumped as I realized that I should have made a double-switch with Bogar for Berry. This would have given us better defense, and allowed Wagner a chance to rest on the bench. Wags struck out Alou on a 3-2 pitch, and we went to the ninth — with Billy scheduled to bat second.

I walked down the dugout in front of the players and said, “I fucked up. I should have double-switched. Now we have to do it the hard way. Pick me up, guys.” At this stage, I wasn’t going to take Wagner out of the game.

He just about gave me a heart attack when he tried to bunt for a hit and went sprinting down the line. It was a close play, and when he got back to the dugout, he was out of breath. Luckily, he hadn’t pulled a leg muscle.

Biggio was the next hitter, and I called him back from the on-deck circle.

“Waste as much time as you can,” I said. “Billy needs a breather.” When Biggio finally finished pine-tarring his bat and walked back to the plate, Leyland did a wonderful thing: he went to the mound to talk to his pitcher, Mark Hutton.

“What could he be telling him?” I asked Bill.

“Probably that Biggio is going to take a pitch, and that he should throw it in there for strike one,” he said. 

It had to be more than that. Leyland stayed out there until the umpire came out to make him leave. It looked like he was stalling, and I was delighted. By the time he left the mound, Billy was composed and ready to pitch.

But Biggio wasn’t finished yet. He worked the count to 2-2, then hit a home run to give us a 4-2 lead. This was a huge hit, because the Marlins had home-run hitters coming up in the bottom of the ninth.

 As it turned out, Billy didn’t need the cushion. Bonilla popped out on the first pitch, then Billy went to the whip and struck out the last two hitters. His last pitch was 99 mph.

The victory snapped an 11-game losing streak for us in Miami. The clubhouse was alive with jubilation.

RMJ 84 May 9

FRIDAY, MAY 9 ● Miami, vs Florida

Today we start a campaign on foreign territory. We are four games above .500. I said at the beginning that I would be satisfied with a .500 record at the end of May. Well, I would still be satisfied, even though we only have three weeks left to protect our first-place standing.

During the next three weeks, we will play only two games at home.

The next four games are with the Marlins — a great-looking team that has not hit well yet, and is still over .500 with Jimmy Leyland calling the shots. This is a major test.

To prepare for it, Bill, Vern, Cubby, and I played golf. It was a fine day in south Florida, and we had a better go of it this time: Cubby shot 78, and the rest of us shot in the 80s.

Bill won all the money; he is the high-handicapper in our group, and he played the back nine well. Vern and I broke even, and Cubby lost $12. It’s nice to have a low handicap, but it can be costly.

 

Carlos Ledezma runs a good visitors’ clubhouse. With the snacks, the television, the Ping Pong® table, and the music, it is a fine place to kick back.

When we arrived at 2:15, there were already six or seven players there. The mood was good. But everyone knew that the rematch between Darryl Kile and Kevin Brown was close at hand.

I had Cheo take the lineup card out, because he had such great success on the West Coast. Bobby Bonilla carried the card out for the Marlins. I thought Jimmy showed some class by taking the card out himself in Houston; it legitimized me, in a way.

I know that he is a tough opponent, and I admire him — not only for his accomplishments, but also for his honest devotion to the game. 

Jimmy spent most of his life in the minors as a good-field, bad-hit catcher. He spent many years managing in the minors and coaching in the majors before he got the big job with the Pirates. He also interviewed for the Astros job that year, but it went to Hal Lanier. If the Astros had offered him the job, he might still be here, and we might have been to the World Series. I would still be announcing, and we would be golfing buddies. Instead, we go toe-to-toe.

I do not subscribe to the La Russa/Leyland brand of managing. I’m more in the Bobby Cox/Jim Fregosi mold. I like my pitchers to go deep into the games, and I don’t mind letting my lefthanded hitters bat against lefthanded pitchers.

I like to save my ammunition; Jimmy sometimes spends his. His track record is unassailable; mine is embryonic. Still, I must follow my instincts, as he follows his.           

As a catcher, Jimmy was used to telling pitchers what to do — or at least suggesting what they do — on every pitch. This is reflected in his managing, and I think it is terrible for baseball.

Each time we get a runner on base, he has his pitcher step off, throw over, step off, throw over, hold the ball, slide-step, and on and on ad nauseam. At one point in tonight’s game, we saw three pitches in five minutes.

As an announcer, I was upset about this. I thought this type of micromanagement was jeopardizing the appeal of the game. One night I said something like, “When chess becomes the number-one spectator sport, that’s when this type of baseball will really be popular. I love baseball, and I can hardly stand to watch this. It’s just too slow.”

Well, it is too slow. But winning is the bottom line, and Leyland beat us with his tactics tonight. It was a great game; another pitcher’s duel.

Kile had Brown down 2-1 after seven innings, but neither pitcher was as sharp as he was in Houston. We went with Hudek to start the eighth. I thought he could get through it, and that it would build his confidence against a team that he had trouble with in Houston. Billy Wagner was ready to close the door. 

Bobby Bonilla intervened with an RBI double to right-center, and we went to the ninth tied. Leyland went with his ace, Robb Nen. He double-switched so that Nen could pitch two innings if necessary.

I had Wagner ready, and Hudek could have pitched another frame, but I didn’t want to spend both of my closers in a game that could go on and on.

I sent José Lima, persona non grata a week ago but pitcher on the move now, out to pitch the ninth. This is the difference between playing on the road, compared to playing at home.

At home, you are not afraid to use your closer, because if you stop them, all you need is one run and they are desperate to stop you. On the road, you may score a run in the ninth, and bring in your closer.

But what if you don’t score? Do you let him pitch another inning? Do you risk everything on this win, when the other team has the last at-bat?

I have felt this way before as a pitcher: in 1966 in New York, when I had a perfect game going in the ninth; and once in Atlanta in 1969 when I had a no-hitter in the ninth. On both occasions the score was 0-0. I knew that if I pitched a no-hitter, it really wouldn’t be a no-hitter, because I still had to pitch the tenth. 

At Shea, I lost the game in the ninth on two hits that our fielders got gloves on, but couldn’t catch.

In Atlanta, I lost the no-hitter on an infield hit with two outs, and we lost the game in the 13th after I had pitched 12 shutout innings.

Those games obviously made an impression on me. I know how hard it is to beat the home team in the end.

 

Tonight it was déjá vu all over again, as Yogi says.

The Marlins’ first batter, Alex Arias, hit a wicked shot at Biggio. It bounced in front of him, got under his glove, and went for a two-base error. I knew that they would try to bunt Arias to third, and I had many choices:

 

  • I could try a slider pitchout, with the catcher trying to pick the runner off second.
  • I could let rookie Ralph Milliard bunt and take the out at first, then walk the slumping Edgar Renteria and try for the double play on Jim Eisenreich.
  • I could try a “wheel” play, where the shortstop covers third and the first- and third-basemen charge in to get the play at third. This is ordinarily done when there are runners at first and second, and it is a force at third. But it can be done on a tag play, if it is executed well.

 

Tim Bogar

I didn’t think Arias would be alert to this possibility, and with the hitters they had coming up, I decided to risk the wheel play. If it worked, they would have a runner at first with one out. And I felt my chances for success were better, because I had inserted Tim Bogar to play third in place of Sean Berry.

The play worked perfectly, except for one thing: Bogar dropped the ball as he went to throw it, and both runners were safe. 

We pitched to Renteria; we really had no other choice. He grounded out, with Milliard moving to second.

This presented me with my most difficult decision to date:

Jim Eisenreich is a great contact hitter, and he has performed well against the Astros. Gary Sheffield is another story; he is one of the best hitters in the game. Like Bagwell, he not only hits in the clutch, he walks in the clutch. If I intentionally walked Eisenreich, I would have to depend on Lima throwing strikes to Sheffield – a frightening thought in itself. But I had no better options, so we walked Eisenreich.

Lima went 3-1 on Sheffield. José then made one of the best pitches of his life: a changeup that Sheffield bounced weakly to third. Bogar came in, right next to the bag, and then was blinded by the lights. He stuck his glove up, hoping the ball would find it, but it missed by several inches, going over him and down the line. If Bogey had been able to see the ball, it would have been an easy double play. As it was, we lost 3-2.

 

It was a great game. I had no regrets about my role in defeat. And of course, I had to respect Leyland for his role in stopping our running game and getting the run when he needed it.

I went immediately to Lima in the clubhouse, to congratulate him on making a great pitch.

Then I went to Hudek, who had his stool scooted up and was hanging his head in his locker. I grabbed him on the shoulder and tried to get him to look up, but he would not. He wanted to pitch the ninth, and maybe I should have let him. I didn’t, because we are on the road and they have the last at-bat. I thought we could hold them in the ninth with Lima, and keep Hudie available for tomorrow’s game. I didn’t want to use my closers unless we had the lead.

Anyway, he was distraught.

“Hey, man, it’s a long season. Get your head up,” I said. “That’s not the first double Bobby Bonilla has ever hit. And you’re still ready to get him tomorrow.”

These words of consolation were not acknowledged, but they were heard. I will have to back them up with my actions to get him back on track.

This can be a career-ending inning for a fringe player.

The last and most-important contact was with Bogar. I put him in for one inning to play defense and he becomes the goat. This can be a career-ending inning for a fringe player; that’s how precarious his life can be.

I know I can do something else if I don’t keep managing. I’m sure he doesn’t know what he will do when he can’t play good defense. The first play he failed to make was not easy, but it was makeable. The second was impossible.

“Forget it, Bogey,” I said. It’s one game, and it’s over. If I need you to play defense tomorrow, you’re in there. This doesn’t change a thing.”

 

It did change one thing, however: the Pirates beat the Braves tonight, and we are now in second place. I am not worried about the Pirates, but I am still concerned with the next three weeks. 

 

RMJ 83 May 8

THURSDAY, MAY 8 ● Houston, vs Mets

When I got to the park today, I penciled Bill Spiers in at short, hitting second. A few minutes later, Dave told me that Billy had come in with a bad case of stomach flu and couldn’t play. My new lineup featured Derek hitting second, in front of Bagwell.

Tim McCarver

Tim McCarver came in before the game. He was all smiles. I guess this booth-to-dugout story is particularly interesting to former players like Tim, who are now in the booth.

“I got an idea, Timmy,” I said. “Why don’t you manage this game, and I’ll take your place in the booth?”

“No, thanks,” he said. “I know my place, and I’m happy right where I am.”

I’m sure he meant it, but I had to wonder what he would do if the Mets offered him the job. I bet he would take it.

 As we talked, I said something that surprised him.

“A lot of decisions are loaded with pluses and minuses on both sides,” I said. “Sometimes I am convinced that I know what to do; other times, it seems like a coin toss. It’s just a blind guess. In the booth, I was almost always decisive in my thinking. But now that I’m down here, it’s not so easy.”

“That’s refreshing,” he said. “I’ve always thought that it must be that way at times, but I’ve never heard a manager say that he felt indecisive.”

“They may not say it,” I said. “And I know I’m no expert on managing. But I have to believe that all of these guys are unsure of themselves at times.”

The nice thing about baseball is that you must make the decision — whether you want to or not. Sure, you can stall by sending the pitching coach to the mound or calling the hitter over for a conference. But there is a limit to how long you can vacillate.

One thing is sure: baseball moves a lot faster for the manager than for the fans. I completely lose track of time during the game.

 

Today, Biggio bounced out off Rick Reed on a 3-2 pitch to open the game. Derek hit the next pitch into the centerfield seats for his first home run of the year.

Talk about instant results.

Derek had a smile as big as Broadway when he got back to the dugout. He gave me the high-five, but he didn’t say anything.

Later, he drove in a run with a double. That time, he said, “See, I told you I’d get some pitches to hit with Baggy behind me.”

 
Pitching IP H R ER BB SO HR ERA BF Pit Str
Mike Hampton, W (2-3) 7 7 2 2 1 5 0 5.44 27 76 56
Russ Springer, H (3) 1 1 0 0 0 2 0 1.72 4 22 16
Billy Wagner, S (7) 1 0 0 0 0 3 0 0.48 3 15 11
Team Totals 9 8 2 2 1 10 0 2.00 34 113 83

I am excited about getting his bat going again, just as I am excited about getting my lefthanded starter, Mike Hampton, back in the groove. Mike pitched seven innings of two-run baseball, and Russ Springer and Billy Wagner finished up a 4-2 win with some high-velocity relief work.

It was a great feeling to finish the homestand 5-4, with all of the road games coming up.

I do have one concern, however: I know that Derek won’t want to hit second if he gets hot. Hitting behind Bagwell gives him a lot more runners to drive in. I have a hunch his hitting-third-in-front-of-Bagwell plan has not been abandoned.

Honestly, I don’t want him to hit second all year, even if he hits well. But I don’t want him to hit third, either. Bagwell walks more than 100 times each year; Bell averages about 30 walks. Even when he hits over .300, which he has done twice, his on-base percentage is still about average in this league. That’s not the profile of a three hitter, in my book.

Who knows what the future will bring?

 

Jay Bell 

We are heading for Miami to play Jimmy Leyland and the Marlins. Jimmy used to bat Jay Bell second with the Pirates. It never made any sense to me, because Jay, like Derek, hits with power but strikes out a lot and does not walk much.

There is one critical difference: Derek can’t bunt, and Jay can.

I always thought Jay was miscast as a two hitter. But I couldn’t make a very good case, because the Pirates were winning their division each year.

I hope we get the same result with Derek. 

One thing was proven beyond doubt this afternoon is the importance of confidence. Derek was a completely different hitter, thinking he was going to get a good pitch to hit each time up. I doubt this will be an ongoing trend.

Actually, the best thing that could happen for us would be for Gonzo to get hot, so that Derek would feel the same way about hitting in front of him as he does hitting in front of Bagwell. 

 

The flight to Miami was smooth, except for one small thing: I lost my meal money. Barry Waters hands out the money at the start of each trip. Normally, I put it right in my wallet. This time, I was sort of drowsy, and I don’t know what I did with it. It’s not in my wallet or in my briefcase, I know that. And this is the longest trip of the year.

This little gaffe will cost me more than $700. If things weren’t going so good, I would probably be mad, or sad. As it is, I am more embarrassed than anything.

RMJ 82 May 7

WEDNESDAY, MAY 7 ● Houston, vs Mets

Dick Hite

I went by Norton Ditto to pick up two suits, and Dick Hite asked me if I needed anything else.

“Well, a couple pair of casual pants would come in handy for this next road trip,” I said. Ten minutes later, I had the pants and was on my way to the Dome to meet the Mets. I could get used to this bigshot status: suites in all the hotels; a car to drive; and clothing to wear just for acting as a spokesman.

The trick is to win enough ballgames to keep your job.

 

I have often said that I would never bet on a baseball game. The reason is simple: the more you know about baseball, the less-confident you feel predicting what will happen.

I happen to think we have a pretty fair team, and a good staff, but I don’t know if we will finish 90-72 or 72-90. Right now, the former looks like the better guess. But we have a long way to go, and anything can happen. Still, I felt we would win this game.

Armando Reynoso

Shane Reynolds was going against Armando Reynoso; and a guy who killed us last year, Mets centerfielder Lance Johnson, was on the disabled list. I had a complete menu of players who have hit Reynoso well at my disposal. And Shane has been in a great groove.

As I filled out my lineup card, I hesitated in left field. Thomas Howard was 8-for-18 off Reynoso, and Luis González was just 4-16. Luis was hot, and Thomas was cooling off after a hot start. Which way to go? The numbers said Howard, but my instinct said Gonzo. Reynoso is a breaking-ball pitcher, and that is right up Gonzo’s alley.

I chose Howard.

Before the game, Mac told me that Gonzo was upset and that Derek was still lobbying to hit third in the lineup. I tried to catch Gonzo in a private moment, but I couldn’t do it.

As for Derek, I was almost desperate enough to get him started hitting to consider his request. Maybe if he thought he was going to get good pitches to hit, he would hit some of them.

The truth is that he has had plenty of good pitches to hit in the four- and five-spots in the order. And I was a little peeved that he would persist with this line of thinking, when it was clear to me that his best spot for the game would be on the bench. If I moved him anywhere, it should be down to seventh or eighth.

One thing I was not going to do is move Bagwell. He is doing just fine hitting third. He gets on base almost twice as often as Bell, and he runs the bases well. Why on earth would I want to move him?

The first inning was a case in point.  Bagwell hit a home run, then Derek struck out to end the inning. The Mets scored a run in the fourth to tie the game. After that, it was the Land of Missed Opportunities for us.

To be fair, the Mets had Shane in a lot of trouble too. Both pitchers were tough when they had to be.

It was still 1-1 in the ninth when I brought Tom Martin in to pitch. Tom has not allowed an earned run this year. That streak came to an end when Butch Huskey hit a two-run pinch-homer. We lost the game 4-1.

           

During this contest, I was especially irritable. I was yelling shit and damn it throughout the game. Finally, Bill looked at me like, “what’s wrong with you tonight?” I got the message.

“I don’t know what it is,” I said. “But I don’t have any patience tonight. Maybe it’s because I thought we would get to this guy, and we haven’t been able to.”

“That happens sometimes,” Bill said. “You can’t really count on winning a game, no matter who is pitching.”

I knew this to be true. This is why I wouldn’t bet on baseball.

“I just hate to let this one get away, with Hamp pitching tomorrow. This could turn out to be a lousy homestand. And with 15 of our next 17 games on the road, we can’t afford that.”

“I hear what you’re saying,” he said. “But you can’t do much about it.”

 

 

One thing you can do is go for the win at all costs when you get to the ninth inning tied. I could have used Wagner or Hudek, but I called on Martin. The way he has been pitching, I wasn’t second-guessed. But I made a mental note to consider all these decisions and feelings, and to get better control of my emotions.      

After the game, I was calm with the writers. I’ll know I’ve lost it if I get angry and say something that I will regret when it gets in the paper. Tomorrow we have a day game, so I won’t have time to stew on this one.

Just get home and pack, and get back to the Dome for Getaway Day.

 

RMJ 81 May 6

TUESDAY, MAY 6 ● Houston, vs Philadelphia

Golf is great … if you don’t care about your score. This outing was a humbling experience for Bill, The Perfessor, and me. Cubby shot a respectable 81. We couldn’t blame the weather; it was near-perfect. We couldn’t blame the course; it was in great shape, especially the greens. Our host, Charley Epps, bought us lunch afterward.

I mentioned that if our baseball game went anything like our golf game, we had better send Cubby to the Dome and the rest of us should just go home and lie down.

           

Curt Schilling

We didn’t exactly lie down, but Curt Schilling put us down. He was dominating, throwing a 95 MPH fastball on the corners throughout the game. The Phillies got five runs off Ramón Garcia in the first three innings and beat us 5-1.

The upside was that José Lima, Russ Springer, and John Hudek held them scoreless the rest of the way. And we got Ricky Gutierrez back.

I had my talk with Pat before the game, and it went well. He admitted that he has been playing a little tight. More importantly, he bought into my plan to mix-and-match infielders on the left side until we see how Ricky is doing.

“Until the big guys start hitting, I’m going to have to look for favorable matchups at short,” I said. “You’ll get enough playing time to keep working on your stroke, but it won’t be a regular situation, at least for the next few weeks.”

 

Later, I called all of the left-side infielders in for a meeting. I told them that we obviously had a crowd on the left side, and that nobody would get to play as much as they would like.

I said that Sean Berry would play most of the time because of his bat, and that Tim Bogar would come in for late-inning defense. I mentioned that Billy Spiers would probably play some at both positions — especially now, because he has a hot bat. I told Pat and Ricky that they would both get starts.

“This is kind of like spring training during the regular season,” I said. “I just don’t know how else to do it but to mix-and-match until we can evaluate our best combination, and go with it. I don’t know how long this will take.”

Cubby was in the meeting, because he is the infield coach. I told the guys to get with him if they needed more ground balls.

“I know a lot of guys come out for extra hitting,” I said. “Some of you guys might need extra fielding work. Don’t be afraid to ask for it. Are there any questions?”

“Well, it’s not really a question, so much as a comment,” Billy Spiers said. “Most of the time we can get all the ground balls we need during batting practice. But sometimes when Cubby is throwing BP, we only have two fungo hitters. Seems like we could use three, if it’s possible.”

This was a great comment. I would have never noticed. Cubby nodded assent, and I told the guys we would find a way to have three fungo hitters at all times.

          

Ed Rapuano

Just before I took the lineup card out to home plate, I reached down to make sure my fly was up.

It’s a nervous habit, and I’m sure a lot of guys have it — especially when they appear before a crowd. Well, when I got to home plate, I asked umpire Ed Rapuano if he checked his fly before coming out on the field. He laughed and said that he checked it every game.

“It’s funny,” he said. “I know it’s up, but I always check it anyway.”

Maybe we should have yelled at Schilling that his fly was down. Maybe it would have unnerved him, and we would have gone on to win the game. Maybe Pat would have hit a home run off him.

Maybe not.

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