Author: Larry Dierker

SATURDAY, APRIL 19 ● Los Angeles, vs Dodgers

I woke up at 10 a.m. It always amazes me how easily I can adapt to the night-owl schedule. It took me forever to get used to the 7 a.m. wakeups at Kissimmee.

Breakfast with Mom and Dad was a delight. They had already read the paper, and they filled me in on the coverage. I had no appetite for news.

A double serving of sourdough toast with homemade plum jelly, with some strong, steaming French roast coffee, got my spirits stoked in a hurry. 

Mom took me on a tour of her famous rose garden. I hope I have her energy when I am her age.

Dad is another story. A stroke and a hip replacement have taken his physical vitality. He still has his wits about him, and he enjoys the hubbub when the family comes home, but he doesn’t move around much anymore. Ten laps around the pool after his morning stretching exercises gets his blood going. He spends the rest of the day reading and watching sports and business news on television.

We took the cover off the swimming pool in anticipation of my sister’s arrival with her three daughters. Mom swam 20 laps, and I did 100. It felt good to get a workout after laying off running with the calf injury.

Laura Lynn arrived about 1:00, along with her husband John and daughters Katie, Ashley, and Lily. I didn’t have time for much more than a light lunch and a short visit, because we were going to have extra hitting at 2:40.

 

Today was a different type of day at the park — by a long shot.

Revised copies of the matchups were on my desk, and they looked pretty good against Hideo Nomo. For some reason, we have hit him pretty hard, so I had a lot of candidates for the lineup.

The press came in waves today and took a great deal of my time; I didn’t even see extra batting practice.

I had a lot of trouble filling out the lineup card too. Derek Bell was about the only guy who had trouble with Nomo; he was 1-for-10. Thomas Howard was swinging the bat well, so I put him in center and hit him second. I knew this might bother Derek, especially if I played Bagwell the next day against his nemesis Ismael Valdez.

I thought I would catch Ausmus, because both catchers were about equal versus Nomo, but Tony Eusebio had the edge against Valdez.

I wrote down the lineup, and then I had reservations. I didn’t want Bell moping on the bench, and I remembered that Tony had caught all three of Darryl’s starts. I wasn’t sure if the favorable hitting matchups were worth the potential psychological hazards.

I went looking for Vern to talk about D.K. and Tony. I found him in the bullpen catching Shane. He said he was almost finished, but Shane wasn’t happy with his curve, and he threw a little longer than usual.

As Vern and I walked back to the clubhouse, he suggested that I ask D.K. if he preferred one catcher to the other. I wasn’t sure this was the best advice, because I didn’t necessarily want D.K. to think about this issue. If he became attached to Tony and then Tony got hurt, then where would we be?

My problem was solved when I found him in the lunchroom playing cards. There was no way I was going to talk about this in front of everyone, and no way I was going to make such a big deal of it as to call him into my office.

When I got to my office, I found that Cubby had been busy as a beaver. He had found my lineup card and transferred it onto the dugout card, the home team’s card, and the card we put on the dugout wall. At this point, I was leaning toward playing Bell, but that would have changed several other spots in the lineup.

I ended up saying an internal “what the hell” and leaving the lineup in its original form.

 

The game was a beauty; a real nail-biter. It took three hours and fifteen minutes to play, and we won 2-1.

Nomo was brilliant; we couldn’t touch him. But we did manage to get one run when Ausmus hit a hanging split into the leftfield corner, scoring Spiers from first. This happened about two seconds after Bill Virdon said, “A ball down the leftfield line would go good here.” That tied the game at 1.

D.K. and Brad were working beautifully together. They survived several threats, and going into the top of the eighth, it was still tied.

Bobby Abreu got a hit with one out, stole second, and went to third on a wild pitch. The Dodgers brought the infield in, and Spiers smacked a hot grounder to the left of shortstop Greg Gagne. Gagne went to his left, stabbed it and whirled to throw home. It was a great play, and I thought it would get Bobby, but it was slightly off target and Bobby had a great jump. He scored easily.

With one out and a man of first in the bottom of the eighth, Todd Hollandsworth hit a smash to Biggio — a sure double play. But Bidge booted it, and he couldn’t pick it back up. All hands were safe.

This was especially distressing to Biggio, because he had already failed in an RBI situation and had vented his rage by smashing his bat in the runway between the dugout and the clubhouse.

Vern and I had a debate about whether to bring Billy Wagner in at that point to face Todd Zeile. Kile had thrown more than 100 pitches, and he was clearly near the end of his psychological rope. But he was still throwing hard and getting ground balls.  We wavered back and forth, and finally Vern said, “Why don’t you go and talk to him?”

This was the perfect advice, because if Vern had gone out, he would have been forced to decide himself. If he came back, Kile would have to face Zeile. If Kile gave him a mixed signal, he would have had to go to the bullpen without my consent. (Usually the first trip is the made by the pitching coach, and the second by the manager. But this was an exceptional case.)

When I got to the mound, Biggio and Ausmus were already there. “How do you feel?” I asked.

“I feel fine?” Darryl said. “No problem.”

“How is he throwing?” I asked Brad.

“He’s still throwing well,” he replied.

“OK,” I said. “It’s your game, D.K. Go after him, and don’t worry about a thing. Billy is ready. Even if he gets a hit, we’re still going to win this fucking ballgame.”

“Pick me up, D.K.,” Bidge said. “You can do it.”

On the second pitch to Zeile, he did it. The ground ball went to Spiers at short. It was a tough pickup, but he made it and we got the double play.

The bench erupted in affirmation for the move, and the results. Billy and Darryl got heroes’ welcomes.

 

Then came the ninth. We didn’t score, and I brought Wagner in to finish. I also made a double-switch in case they tied the game. Bogar came in at short; Bell went to center; and Mouton moved to left, with Gonzalez coming out. This gave us sure hands in the infield and strong arms in the outfield.

When I made the substitutions, I told home plate umpire Dana DeMuth, “This is my fanciest move of the year.” These guys know I’m a rookie, and he returned my smile.  

The smile was wiped from my face when Gagne greeted Wagner with a solid single to center. Tom Prince came off the bench and bunted Gagne to second. At least we had an out.

We played Brett Butler shallow in the outfield so we would have a play at the plate. Wagner got ahead in the count, and Butler hit a slow grounder to short, moving Gagne to third with two outs. Wilton Guererro was the scheduled hitter, and I feared him because of his speed; he could beat out a hit in a heartbeat.

But Bill Russell decided to go all-or-nothing. He brought power-hitter Billy Ashley off the bench to pinch-hit. Ashley had homered off Wagner to beat him last year.

Though I was as nervous as I have been so far, I felt good about Wagner’s chances. He is a strikeout pitcher, and Ashley strikes out a lot. This time Wagner won the duel, but it was scary.

Ashley hit a towering fly ball to right, and Abreu caught it just in front of the warning track.

It was, in my estimation, the biggest win so far. The whole team spilled out onto the field for a congratulatory gauntlet of high-fives. As I returned to the dugout, I saw Laura and John, the girls and my mom, waving their hands and smiling. I waved back and headed for the locker room, high as a kite.

There was a tremendous feeling of community in the locker room.  The only downside for me was Bell’s attitude: he walked out to center field in the ninth and lobbed the ball one time to get his arm ready. Somehow I am going to have to get him involved in the spirit of the team.

When I got home, everyone was waiting up — even Dad. We shared a couple bottles of wine and then it was bedtime. No rest for the weary; the battle would be rejoined tomorrow, less than twelve hours away. I still had to pack, sleep, and drive to the ballpark — which would allow only six hours for sleep.

I didn’t think this would be a problem, however, the way I was feeling.

FRIDAY, APRIL 18 ● Los Angeles, vs Dodgers

It was a pleasant day in the Valley. Had a nice visit with Mom and Dad, talking about old and new times. They showed me all of the articles that their friends around the country had sent.

One that they saved was not about me at all; it was a cover story from the fashion section of the LA Times, titled Untucked and it featured the Hawaiian shirt. I guess Hawaiian shirts are coming back in style.

This is definitely the first time I’ve been on the cutting edge of fashion. Maybe it’s my year.

           

Maybe not. When I got to Dodger Stadium, things weren’t so groovy.

I noticed that our computer-generated stats on batter/pitcher matchups were wrong. These stats had Luis González hitting 14 times against Scott Radinsky, even though the two players have been in different leagues throughout their careers.

It had Craig Biggio and González never batting against Pedro Astacio, even though I knew that they have both faced him a lot.

When I saw that, I didn’t trust the other numbers. I used another source to get the real numbers, and that put me behind by half an hour.

We had our meeting regarding the Dodgers before batting practice, because there is not enough time after BP.

When the pitchers broke off to discuss the hitters, one point I made was that Mike Piazza had killed us (.547) last year, and that we should not give him a pitch to hit. “Don’t let him beat you,” is the way I phrased it.

A couple hours later after Piazza had singled and scored, then hit a three-run homer, Vern and I discussed this phrasing. We are sensitive to how things are said these days, and I do think we could have said it better.

When you say “don’t do (something)” it seems to become a self-fulfilling prophecy. It would have been better to say, “jam him off the plate, and make him chase breaking balls outside.” This is simply another way of saying don’t let him beat you, but it sounds positive instead of negative. Still, don’t let him beat you is a stock phrase in baseball. It doesn’t always have to work the way it did tonight.

 

The writers met me in the dugout during batting practice, and I was able to get the interviews done in one sitting. Sometimes they come in waves, and I have to answer the same question over and over again.

One of the things I mentioned – and Bob Nightengale ended up using in his game story for the Times — was that I never had much luck in Dodger Stadium. I beat Sandy Koufax 3-0 in 1966, then never won another game here. My parents even stopped coming to the games, it got so bad.

And the worst of it was the luck. A lot of the games were 3-2 and 2-1, where a bad bounce or a bad call made the difference. I feel snakebit here.

 

I took the lineup card out to meet the umpires: Gary Darling, Charles Reliford, Dana DeMuth, and Jerry Meals. I will continue this process until I have met them all.

Gary Darling is an umpire who rubs me wrong. He even got to me when I was in the broadcast booth. Gary was behind the plate tonight, and he really pissed me off in the eighth inning.

We had already lost one run on a call by Meals on a Bagwell double down the leftfield line. Abreu was running on the play, and probably would have scored if a fan had not interfered by reaching over the railing and deflecting the ball. This is a judgment call; Meals made Abreu come back to third, and he did not end up scoring.

In the eighth, we were down 5-2 with Ausmus on second and a 3-2 count on pinch-hitter James Mouton. Ausmus broke on the pitch, which was so high and wide that Piazza had to stretch up and out to get it. His throw went into the leftfield corner. Ausmus got up and scored.

In the excitement of the play, few people realized that Darling had called the pitch strike three. According to my Dad, Dodgers announcer Vin Scully called the pitch ball four on the radio. I heard the call from the beginning, and I was really mad.

I didn’t say anything, because I am a rookie. But when the rest of the team saw Mouton coming back to the dugout instead of going to first, they didn’t know what was up. When they heard, they stared screaming at Darling, and he looked over.

I just gave him the palms-up shrug. What more can you do?

It turned out that Biggio walked, and Abreu tapped weakly to the mound. We would have had Bagwell up with two men on; as it was, Bagwell led off the ninth, and we were still down two runs.

Darling rang him up on a pitch that looked outside. A review of the videotape showed it to be about six inches wide.

I guess Gary can make mistakes, just like the rest of us. But he sure made a couple of them at crunch time.

 

When I got back to the Valley, my folks were in bed. I am sitting out in the yard now, in a lounge chair by the pool, smoking a cigar and drinking a glass of red wine under a canopy blue-black sky.

It’s not so much fun to write about the losses. But then again, it’s not all bad.

THURSDAY, APRIL 17 ● travel to LA

Today was an off-day — meaning we don’t have a game, but we do have to travel.

The last few years, traveling secretary Barry Waters has been scheduling the flights later and later. It’s a good idea. Why not spend most of the open date at home?

Today we left for Los Angeles at 7:30 p.m., and I needed the whole day to work off my loan of a Chevy Tahoe for a year.

At first, the deal was that I would cut several radio spots, and one for television. Then it was that I would cut two TV spots — one at the start of the season and one midway through.

What we ended up doing today was four TV spots. I don’t have a big problem with working one whole day for a year’s use of a car, but I would like to know what I’m getting into in advance.

My old broadcast partner, Milo Hamilton, has been trying to get off TV for at least five years. He likes to give direction, rather than take it. In TV, the announcers are functionaries: guys who help guide the audience from one chart or graph to another. There is not a lot of time for developing a theme or telling a story. Instead, there are a lot of sponsored segments and game action in between.

The play-by-play announcer on television is like a master of ceremonies. Milo likes to be a master of ceremonies, but he also likes to be part of the ceremony. He likes to do it his way. In the world of video, this is impossible.

I gained a great deal of respect for Milo’s position today. Making four commercials took seven hours. My part probably took no more than one of those hours. The other elements — the set, the lighting, the sound, the extras, the camera angles, the script changes — took the rest.

I didn’t really mind so much, except that I was supposed to spend the late afternoon with Judy and Julia. I haven’t seen much of Julia since I left for spring training. When it became clear that I couldn’t finish the commercials in time to drive home and pack my bags and get back to the Dome in rush-hour traffic, I told the crew I would have to leave in midafternoon and come back to finish. If I didn’t get caught in traffic, I might be able to finish the shoot before we departed.

Unfortunately, Calvin Murphy of the Rockets was scheduled to do one spot with me at 2:30. I didn’t get back until 4:00, and Calvin was good about it, but I could tell he wasn’t happy. I didn’t blame him, or myself. That’s just the way it goes in TV. Because Calvin is a TV guy these days, I think he understands.

           

The one thing I was happy about was the creative work of the agency. I was a little hesitant to do a car commercial, but since Julia cracked up her car, a car deal became hard to refuse. Even so, I was not about to bang my hand down on a hood and come on like an auto evangelist.

Luckily, these spots were funny. They contained some nuts-and-bolts information, but it was done in a way that did not embarrass me, and it could actually help me get more commercial work. In the last one, I had to swing a golf club and hit balls while I was pitching the dealership. This was quite challenging, because four extras in Astros uniforms were standing about fifty yards away from me, trying to catch my wedge shots with baseball gloves. Ordinarily, the fifty-yard wedge shot is about the weakest part of my game. I usually tighten up at the bottom of the swing and hit the ball poorly, with little touch.

Oddly enough, I was able to lob these wedges to the fielders with considerable accuracy, while talking about volume selling and customer satisfaction. Most of my concentration was on the script; almost none on the shots. This leads me to believe that if I can just suspend thinking on this type of shot when we play at Torrey Pines on Monday, I will solve my most persistent problem in golf.

This is a pipe dream, I know. It’s like Milo thinking he can either take himself off TV or take control of it. Neither of these things is likely to happen.

 

Luckily for me, Julia was home when I got there. We had 15 minutes to share. Not much, but better than nothing. When we arrived in Los Angeles, I took a taxi to my folks’ house in the Valley. My brother Rick and his wife Susan were there to greet me. We kept Mom and Dad up until 1:30 (3:30 body time) and had a great visit.

I finished my book, The Last Picture Show, before falling off to sleep. The book was better than the movie, and I have decided that it is better to see the movie first — at least five years in advance.

WEDNESDAY, APRIL 16 ● Houston, vs Montreal

Well, the video was inconclusive. It looked like Rodriguez hit the ball pretty well. The next time up, he went out on the second pitch, and it was impossible to see if he used a different bat.

Riding to the park with Cubby, I asked how to handle a bat challenge, because the rulebook was not clear on procedure and remedies. What he told me made so much sense, I don’t know how I failed to think of it:

You simply ask the umpire to confiscate the bat and have it checked. At the same time, you protest the game on a rule violation. If the bat is corked, you win and get to start over from that point on. If it is not, you drop your protest.

The checking process takes time. It is not free. Before I go out and make another team mad by taking one of their bats, I’ll have to be pretty sure I’m right. It might never happen.

 

Tonight’s game was a laugher. We won 10-2, with Shane Reynolds going the distance on a three-hit, 10-strikeout masterpiece. He even hit a two-run double. We scored six runs in the third inning, and never looked back.

I was feeling carefree about midway through, and I let my guard down when there were still issues that demanded attention.

The first was whether or not to try for more runs. That may seem a silly question, but with Shane out there striking everyone out, the Expos may have gotten the impression that we were rubbing their noses in it, which is a sore spot for most managers.

My feeling was that as long as we had a six-run lead, we would play conservatively: no stealing, no hitting-and-running, no bunting for hits.

When Reynolds gave up two runs in the fifth, I was suddenly in a losable game again. Wagner was out of action for the night with elbow pain, and I was still three innings away from Hudek. Reynolds settled down in the sixth, and we scored another run in the bottom of the frame.

Even the extra run struck momentary fear into my heart, as Bagwell came roaring around third base; when he went to slide at home, Bell’s bat was laying right in front of the plate, like a land mine. Jeff switched from a feet-first slide to a forward leap and sidelong tumble that allowed him to touch the plate with his hand.

He landed so hard that I thought he might be hurt. Fortunately, he smiled and gave Luis González a palms-up, why-didn’t-you-clear-the-bat-away gesture.

I was relieved, but the crash landing made me think about the time he has missed with broken bones in his hand. He easily could have broken a bone with that slide, and probably would have been better off to go feet-first, over the bat.

 

In the bottom of the seventh, we had a five-run lead. Spiers and Ausmus walked to open the inning. Reynolds was up, and I called for the bunt. Spiers kept dancing off second, like he wanted to steal third. Because we were way ahead, the Expos weren’t trying to hold him.

On the 2-1 pitch, I put on the steal sign, and Spiers did a double-take and asked to see the sign again. There wasn’t time, and he didn’t go, and Reynolds fouled it off trying to bunt.

Reynolds got his third and last try at bunting 2-2, and he struck out on a foul ball. Biggio and Bagwell followed with doubles, and we scored three runs to put the game out of reach.

I thought I had learned a valuable lesson about not getting overconfident and letting my mind wander; little did I know there would be more ponderables after the game.

The first came when Biggio asked me what I was thinking about when I had Shane bunting with two strikes. He didn’t know at that time that Spiers was supposed to steal and didn’t. Biggio felt like we were rubbing it in.

But I felt like Shane needed to bunt, because there will come a game where his bunt could be the difference between winning and losing. There is no better way to practice than to do it in the game. If the Expos were surprised, it didn’t show; third-baseman Shane Andrews charged hard on every attempt.

After Biggio came Spiers. He asked if the bunt was on — not in a critical way, but just to know. I think these guys today like to know what your theory is. They really analyze the game, and that is good. I do think, however, that they feel we have a team put away before the manager or coaching staff feels that way.

“The way I look at it, Billy, is that they are inviting you to steal by spreading their middle infielders,” I said. “I could tell by the way you were moving that you could get a great jump.

“Now, I also could have put the ‘don’t run’ sign on, to be a gentleman. But would Felipé Alou move his middle infielders in close, to guard against the steal, and thereby give our hitters a better chance to get a hit? No way.

“If he’s not going to hold runners, I am going to run. If he wants to hold the runner, I’ll shut down the running game. It’s that simple.

“Maybe if we had a 10-run lead with two innings left, I’d just quit. But I’ve seen this team lose a nine-run lead with three innings left. You gotta get the wins when you can, and get in the habit of taking what the other team gives you.”

Billy seemed satisfied with my explanation — and so did Biggio, for that matter. I think these guys appreciate being able to come up and talk to me about these things. And I am glad they are doing it.

We will get where we want to go faster if we go together.