Author: Larry Dierker

TUESDAY, APRIL 15 ● in Houston, vs Montreal

Today is Tax Day. Once again, I am filing an extension. It’s hard to get it done when you are out of town in March and April. 

I wish they would go to a consumption tax. It would certainly make things a lot easier, and it would capture a lot of money that is currently passing under the table. It would also encourage savings, which would be a boon to the government down the line, because they tax you more for dying than for working.

Rodger Brulotte

A bottle of champagne greeted me when I got to the ballpark. It came with a card from Rodger Brulotte, the Expos’ French announcer. I think about how much the Expos have struggled to stay in the league, usually coming up a little short of first place, a little short on paid admissions. I think the announcers do pretty well there. But the franchise seems in constant jeopardy, which must be disconcerting to a French announcer.

Still, Rodger seems as sunny a man as I have ever met. You might say hale fellow well met but he is so small that hale seems too large. I know he doesn’t get his pleasant disposition from the Montreal weather; perhaps he gets it from a higher source. When I saw him later, I thanked him and told him I would drink it in October.

After batting practice, I spoke with our team doctor, Bill Bryan, about Sid Fernandez.   I had forgotten that my son, Ryan, had seen him too.

Dr. Bryan told me that Ryan had a bone separation that was attributed to growth plates.

“It would be better if he didn’t play this summer.” he said. “He should be fine next year.”

The news on El Sid was inconclusive. He still has a lot of pain, and he cannot throw. But it seems like it is muscular, rather than nerve damage. This was good news, in a way: the muscles might recover rather quickly, but nerve damage likely would have ended his season — and his career.

The game with the Expos was relaxing — in the wrong sort of way.

Henry Rodriguez

Chris Holt was greeted by a pop-fly double that should have been caught. He made matters worse by trying to get the out at third on a bunt, failing miserably. After a strikeout, he yielded a single. Henry Rodriguez then hit an opposite-field homer to make it 4-0.

When he hit the ball, it sounded like his bat was made of cardboard — or maybe filled with cork. There is no way a sound like that is associated with an off-field homer in the Dome.

I looked at Bill Virdon and said, “That didn’t sound right.”

He agreed, but we let it slide. We were down 4-0, and when Pedro Martínez came out the mound, he was throwing 95 MPH. It looked like a loss in the making, but we still had a long way to go.

Holt tightened up and held them scoreless until the seventh. In the meantime, Russ Johnson hit his first big-league homer to make it 4-1.

In the seventh, Holt tired. He gave up a double to Shane Andrews, and a one-out RBI single to pinch-hitter Doug Strange. I came out to get Holt and brought in José Lima, who has been no mystery to National League batters in the early going. Lima gave up a triple to F.P. Santangelo and sacrifice fly to Mike Lansing. Now it was 7-1.

We got a run back in the seventh off Dave Veres on a triple by Gonzo and an RBI grounder.

In the eighth, we threatened again, and Felipé Alou went to this closer, Ugeth Urbina — the first double-U player in big-league history. With one out, Biggio and Abreu singled and then Bagwell hit a three-run homer on a 3-0 pitch.

Now it was 7-5, and I wished that I had brought Russ Springer into the game instead of Lima. Still, if Lima is going to be on the staff, we need for him to pitch enough to stay sharp; get sharp might be a better expression.

He doesn’t walk batters, but he sure throws a lot of pitches down the middle.

Springer pitched the top of the ninth, and Russ Johnson walked with one out in the bottom of the frame. I brought Thomas Howard up to hit for Listach, hoping for an extra-base hit. James Mouton would then hit for the pitcher, and then we would be at the top of the lineup with a chance to win.

It didn’t work out that way. Howard hit a check-swing grounder to short, and the game ended in a double play.

Afterward, Biggio came into my office, complaining about Rodriguez’ bat. “They got a guy that plugs them up there,” he said. “I know they’re cheating. No way he hit that ball good enough to leave in left field. We ought to get all his bats out of there tonight and have them X-rayed before the game tomorrow.”

I told him I would check on it, and I got out the rule book. As I read it, Rodriguez could be kicked out, fined, and suspended if caught. But I’m not sure this would help us. We can’t get the game back, because we did not protest at the time. And if we catch him tomorrow, his punishment will come when he is playing another team.

At any rate, I’m going to review a tape of the game to see what I can tell.

SUNDAY, APRIL 13 ● St. Louis, vs Cardinals

On Saturday night, St. Louis was vibrant; Sunday morning was cold and clear. The streets were deserted. I didn’t even see a bird as I walked through the park out in front of the Gateway Arch.

I was looking for two things: a haircut and a cigar. It didn’t take long to realize I wouldn’t find either. Downtown St. Louis was about as exciting as an intentional walk.

I took an intentional walk to the ballpark about 2:00, out of sheer boredom. ESPN invented the Sunday-night game to give the sports junkie one last fix before he must return to the workday world. I enjoy Sunday Night Football in the winter, but I don’t care much for Sunday Night Baseball. After Tiger Woods, our game with the Redbirds seemed rather insignificant.

Going in, I thought we had a real good shot at beating them. Alan Benes beat us a couple times last year, but I thought he was hittable. On our side, Mike Hampton had a better lifetime record against the Cardinals than any other team.

I don’t know if we were just as dead as the city, or whether Benes killed us. I think it was probably a little of both. 

Benes pitched shutout ball for the first seven innings, and Hampton ran into double trouble in the fifth, giving up four runs on four consecutive doubles, a ground ball, and a sacrifice fly. Four consecutive doubles ties a major-league record. Remarkably, they came on four consecutive pitches. The Cardinals took Benes out after seven, and we made a token comeback. We ended up losing the game 7-2.

Afterward, a few guys stayed around to commiserate. If there wasn’t anything to do on Sunday morning in St. Louis, there wasn’t going to be much on Sunday night.

The last two players in the clubhouse were Biggio and Bagwell. The Perfessor and I had just finished reviewing tape of Hampton’s double jeopardy, and we were on the way out when I noticed the right side of my infield.

“I’m going to stick around a little longer,” I told Vern.

This was an opportunity I’ve been looking for since our third game in Atlanta, when Lemke and Klesko pulled balls through the right side of the infield in double-play situations. I believe Biggio needs to play farther off the second-base bag and cut off part of the hole against lefthanded hitters. But this is a sensitive area. He is an infielder and an All-Star. He thinks he knows where to play, and he plays there for one reason: to win.

“If I were pitching with the second-baseman that close to the bag, I’d try for a fly ball or a strikeout,” I told him. “I’d try to keep him from hitting that hole, but that defeats the purpose of trying to get a double play.”

His contention is that the hole is going to be there anyway, as long as the first-baseman is holding the runner. This is clearly correct. What I am talking about is a matter of degree: the size of the hole.

“Look,” I said, pulling out a legal pad and a pencil. “Let’s pretend this is the infield and instead of running counterclockwise, we run to third first, and so on. 

“Now you are a righthanded batter. What would you try to do if the third-baseman was standing next to the bag and the shortstop was ten feet away from second?”

“I’d pull the ball through the hole,” he said. “That’s why lefthanded hitters have such an advantage.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But if we don’t cheat for the double play on the pull side, we close off part of the

hole.

“I know what you’re saying,” he said. “But if the ball is hit to short with me way off the bag, I can’t get there in time to make the double play.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “As a pitcher, I am happy to get an out and keep the runner on first. I have no problem with the force play. What bothers me is runners on first and third, without getting anyone out.”

“Hey, if that’s the way you want it, you’re the manager. We’ll play it the way you want it. It’s just that I’ve always been told that you have to get the double play when you have the chance.”

This process was beginning to track like the seams of the ball: round and round with artful curves, but never going anywhere.

Bagwell joined in at various intervals and added his insight, but he didn’t really change anything. The only conclusion we came to was that no matter where we played, there would be holes in the defense.

I asked Bidge to consider moving a little, to at least present a less-inviting image to the hitter.

“We’ll sort of keep track mentally and see how it goes,” I said.

The conversation then turned to the number-two-hitter spot. Biggio and Bagwell are concerned about this spot, because they hit first and third, respectively. 

Several times when we have rallied, the opposing team has pitched around Biggio because a weaker hitter — say, Pat Listach or Brad Ausmus — has been behind him. This dilemma is similar to the one I just mentioned to Biggio: you have to give up something to get something better.

If I move a stronger hitter to the two-spot, the end of the lineup is weak, and the opposing pitcher has a chance to have some easy innings.

I have been toying with the idea of putting Bobby Abreu up there. He is fast, has a good eye, he can bunt, and he hits the ball with authority. Actually, I have had this idea for some time, but Bobby is a rookie. I wanted to get him started at the end of the lineup, where there is not so much pressure.

If he hits second and Eusebio plays, we still have some clout down at the bottom. But then we give up our leadership behind the plate.

It is not an easy question to answer.

FRIDAY, APRIL 11 ● St. Louis, vs Cardinals

I was not so quotable tonight, though the day started á la bon vivant. Gerry and I went to lunch with John Rollins, the editor-in-chief of The Sporting News, at Harry’s in St. Louis. It was a fine meal all around: good food, good conversation. 

The only thing missing was the red wine and a fine Maduro cigar, but then, this was lunch, not dinner — and that is precisely why I don’t often “do” lunch.

The most interesting subject of discourse was baseball’s conspicuous lack of leadership. John mentioned that Paul Beeston of the Blue Jays has been rumored to become the Chief Operating Officer of baseball. That led to talk about commissioners.  A COO is fine, but it is clearly an advocate position.

The players have Don Fehr as Executive Director of the Players’ Association; why shouldn’t the owners have their man? 

Until a few years ago, the owners did have a commissioner on the payroll. But because the job was created in the aftermath of the Black Sox scandal for the purpose of restoring integrity to the game, it was thought to be a politically-neutral position.

There was only one small problem: the commish was paid only by the owners. Naturally, they have always considered him their man.

Fay Vincent

Over the years, baseball commissioners have thought themselves to be above and beyond politics; they have been guardians of the game as they see it. On more than a few occasions, commissioners from Kenesaw Mountain Landis to Fay Vincent have invoked the “best interests of baseball” clause in decisions that have had punishing effects on many owners.

Until Fay Vincent’s dismissal, the position has been respected by the owners because those punished have been in the minority. Now that the business of baseball is more complex, the owners want the man they pay to be an advocate, and that is fine. But they still need a commissioner, and so do the players.   

The logical solution to the problem is to have the players and owners agree on a commissioner, and to share the expenses of his office. The players would probably go for this idea, because they have been seeking a partnership role in the sport for many years. The owners, however, are generally immune to groupthink. They are mavericks who would never understand the concept of giving up control in order to gain it. And so, they will likely go on with no commissioner, and maintain an adversarial position with the players for the foreseeable future.   

Gerry has been with a big-market team and with a small-market team. He has seen both sides, and his opinion is that the industry will not find sanity on this side of Armageddon. I happen to agree with him. John Rollins does too.

It’s sad that so many people see the crash coming, but not enough of them are owners, to steer clear. That’s precisely why you need wine and cigars when you speak of these things. Then you can just go to sleep, and wake up in a new day. At lunch, you don’t have that option.

I should have known this would not be the best day when I pulled a calf muscle running across the street from the hotel to the ballpark in the rain. This is the third time I have felt this little burn in my left leg, and the third time was not a charm.

Cardinals shortstop Royce Clayton was having a different type of day. It started with a home run on Shane Reynolds’ first pitch.

I was a little disturbed when The Perfessor told me that Shane had his worst pregame warmup of the year. I could see that he wasn’t too fast, but I had faith that he could keep us in the game long enough to give us a chance to win.

The Redbirds are a M*A*S*H outfit these days. Many of their key players are wounded. If we could just hit Donovan Osborne like we did in Houston, we would still have a good chance to win.

Shane pitched out of the first with no further difficulty. In the third, the Cardinals scored another run. A Clayton double was the big blow.

We had a chance to tie the game or even take the lead in the second, but Clayton made two incredible plays to deny us even a single marker.

Later, we had the bases loaded with no outs and Biggio hit a long fly ball to center.  John Mabry, who usually plays right because of his ordinary speed, had enough dash to get there, and then made a spectacular catch. We had to settle for two runs when we could have had at least four.

Going into the bottom of the eighth, the game was tied at 2. Shane had thrown 102 pitches, and he seemed at least as good, if not better, than he was earlier.

He got Clayton out, then walked Mark Sweeney. Dimitri Young followed with a smash to Bagwell. Jeff threw the ball wide to Tim Bogar at short, and the relay back was a millisecond late. That brought Ron Gant to the plate.

I turned to Vern and said, “This guy has hit Shane well. But he’s not swinging that good now, and I don’t think Shane will make a mistake.”

Vern did not seem inclined to visit he mound; I really didn’t think he needed to. I was confident Shane wouldn’t give Gant a pitch to hit.

But he did.

Gant swung and missed at a split, and Ausmus called for another. Later, in the locker room, Shane told me, “You know how you said this spring that sometimes you don’t have a good feeling about a pitch that the catcher calls, and you throw it anyway? Well, that was the pitch. I knew he was looking for it, and I threw it anyway. I didn’t need anybody to come to the mound to tell me that. I just blew it.”

You may have guessed that Gant hit the pitch out of the ballpark. He did, and that was that. But I still thought we had a chance, even though Dennis Eckersley was coming into the game, looking for his first save of the year.

I had Pat Listach, Bill Spiers, and Thomas Howard ready, and they were a combined 10 for 14 off Eck. If two of them could get on, I had the top of the lineup due with Biggio, Mouton, and Bagwell.

Well, we never got to the top, because Eck struck out the side. It was a stunning blow to me, as I just assumed we would win the game. Even with the Cardinals’ great defense and the clutch pitching of Osborne, I thought we would win on health and ability alone. It was a good lesson, I think.

I felt relaxed during the game. Perhaps I should have been more vigilant. I don’t know if it would have changed anything, but it couldn’t have hurt.

We’re 6-4 now. If we play this well all season long, we’ll win our division. And we are bound to start hitting better. But can this great pitching hold up, or have we wasted the opportunity to have a really good winning streak?

The last day in Atlanta, Biggio asked me why I hadn’t been staying in the locker room after the bus left, to have a few beers with the boys. It was a good question. If we are going to develop the camaraderie we need to win a championship, I will have to be part of it.

This loss to the Cardinals was tough to take. I decided I should stick around and do a little commiserating. There wasn’t much to talk about, though. Ten or fifteen guys stayed late, but no one said much. There wasn’t much to say.