Author: Larry Dierker

THURSDAY, APRIL 3 ● Houston, vs Atlanta

 I had to look back at the Willie Morris passage. Alan Truax of the Chronicle is starting to get under my skin — either out of ignorance or on purpose, it doesn’t really matter.

After the opening game, he had me saying that John Hudek would be used to set up Billy Wagner. I have studiously avoided saying that either of these guys would set up the other. Did he fabricate this line, or was he just not listening?

The next day, he told me that Bobby Cox said that Shane Reynolds was the most underrated pitcher in the league.

“He ought to know,” I said. “He left him off the All-Star team last year.” I knew this statement would sound inflammatory, so I continued, “Of course, that’s a no-win situation. No matter who you pick, you will have to leave somebody off who deserves to make the team.”

Naturally, the first part of the quote was in the paper; the qualifying sentence was not. I had to talk to Hudek to deny saying he was a setup man. Now I will have to track down Bobby Cox and explain the situation to him.

I saw Alan during batting practice today. It was tough to shake his hand and shoot the breeze without saying anything, but that’s what I did.

It’s like being asked if you are still beating your wife.

 

The final game with the Braves was a killer. Darryl Kile was more of an enigma to the Braves than to me. He carried a no-hit shutout into the seventh inning. The Braves’ first run came on their first hit: an opposite-field homer by Fred McGriff.

Tom Glavine was just about as tough. He was throwing 90 and 91 miles an hour, and throwing changeups to the outside corner with the touch of a safecracker.

We did manage to get two runs off him in the fifth. Listach got the big hit to start the rally. He has been a lot better at the plate than he was during spring training. James Mouton and Derek Bell picked up the RBIs.

The deciding runs scored in the eighth. Javy Lopez walked on a 3-2 pitch. Then one of the Braves’ best clutch players, little Mark Lemke, hit a hanging curve into the right-field corner for a double. Jeff Blauser hit a sacrifice fly to tie the game. Lemke moved to third. Keith Lockhart came up to pinch hit for Glavine, and he lofted another fly ball to right to give the Braves a 3-2 lead.

In the bottom of the eighth, Gonzo hit a two-out double off Mike Bielecki. Mark Wohlers came in, throwing 98 MPH.  He walked Tony Eusebio, then fanned pinch-hitter Thomas Howard on a nasty forkball. Biggio doubled with two outs in the ninth, and Bill Spiers, pinch hitting for James Mouton, got two good cuts at fastballs. Then he, too, went down on a forkball.

It was an exciting finish and a great ballgame, despite the loss.

After the game, I checked on Wohlers against righthanded and lefthanded hitters, on a hunch that he might be better against lefties. I was right: righthanded hitters didn’t exactly kill him last year, but they did fare a little better. That’s something to put in the memory bank; something I should have put there before the series.

           

After almost everyone had left, I invited Tommy McCraw into my office for a cold beer. Yes, I have managed to secret some brew into the locker room. I just can’t get used to a cold glass of milk after a tough game. Tommy is of the same persuasion, though a lot of our players and coaches are smarter than we are: they don’t drink at all.

Tommy and I had a great conversation about the series. He was as charged up as I.

“Three great games,” he said. “That’s what baseball is all about. Tough pitching, good fielding, a little strategy, and a few key hits. If you didn’t like this series, you just don’t like baseball.”

“People don’t realize how much work goes into playing baseball at this level,” I said. “It takes a helluva lot more than athletic ability to put on a show like this. Sometimes, I think the fans don’t appreciate the difficulty of the game. From afar, things seem slower. Get down on the field, and everything is split-second. I wish some of them could get down here, so they would know.”

“It’s a beautiful thing,” he said. “I say a word of thanks every day that I can make my living in this game.”

Our conversation was brief, but I could feel some bonding. Another series or two like this could really bring this team together.

It’s not going to be easy: Tony La Russa brings the Cardinals in tomorrow night, and they have lost three in a row. I know there will be fire in those Cardinal eyes.

           

We got a Labrador puppy yesterday. When I got home, she was crying. I went outside and smoked a cigar while I listened to Stan Getz and Oscar Peterson. The puppy settled down; so did I. It was a nice night, despite the loss.

 

TUESDAY, APRIL 1 ● Opening Day in Houston, vs Atlanta

I rolled out of bed at 9 a.m. — a civilized hour, in my book. This was to be the day. Perhaps the biggest day of my post-player life.

I started by going through mail and answering phone calls. Then I spent an hour updating this journal.

I called Cubby and asked if he wanted a ride to the ballpark. He did, and he asked when I was planning to leave. I said about 2 or 2:30, hoping it wouldn’t seem like I was overly anxious. He said that he might have to go separately, because he and Bill were going to go over scouting reports and plan a players meeting at 1:30.

“Fine,” I said. “We’ll leave at 1:00. No problem.”

The number of requests for tickets was surprisingly small. I left 10 or 12. That’s all.

           

When we got to the park, there was more than enough time. One of the reasons I didn’t plan to go to the Dome so early was that I didn’t want extra “worry time.” As it turned out, I never got worried; never felt really nervous.

I must have done thirty or forty interviews before the game. It got to be a little tiresome, but it helped to pass the time.

After batting practice, we had our meeting on the Braves. It didn’t take long; maybe 20 minutes.

We went over hitters’ tendencies and defensive positioning. Mac took some time to review John Smoltz with the hitters. Vern and I talked to the pitchers. Everyone knows you can’t beat the Braves with intelligence information, but maybe our planning helped some, as we were able to squeak out a 2-1 victory.

My most emotional moment came during the introductions, when my coaches were announced. Bill Virdon, José Cruz, and Alan Ashby got thunderous ovations, as did I. The crowd got up for Vern too — maybe not quite as much. Cubby and Mac got polite greetings.

I Iooked toward the seats where Judy, Ryan, and Julia were supposed to be sitting, but they weren’t there yet. Everyone was having trouble getting into the Dome, and the stadium was only half-full at game time. I finally spotted them, all in Hawaiian shirts, just before Shane Reynolds cut loose with ball one to Kenny Lofton.

The game was on. And what a game it was!

 

Reynolds struck out Lofton and Mark Lemke to open the proceedings. Then Chipper Jones singled and Fred McGriff doubled. Brad Ausmus looked over to see if I wanted to walk Ryan Klesko. I shook my head no, and Shane retired him on a soft ground ball.

In the bottom of the frame, Biggio singled and went to third on a hit-and-run looper by Listach. I did not give them a sign; they did it on their own.

We took the lead on Bagwell’s chopper, but Smoltz would yield no more.

The Braves tied the game on a Chipper Jones homer in the third. It came right after Ausmus threw Kenny Lofton out trying to steal.

I believe we have an offensive weapon in Ausmus’ arm. The break-even percentage for steals is 67. (You will score as many runs if you steal two out of three as you would if you had never stolen.  That’s a ballpark number. I lean one way or another, depending on the hitters coming up and the base runner.) Ausmus will throw out 50 percent if the pitchers give him half a chance.

Regrettably, Jones’ home-run ball was thrown back onto the field. This would have been a great show of home-team support, had it not led to a major disruption.

It seems the team had given commemorative baseballs to the first 30,000 fans through the turnstiles. A fusillade of baseballs rained down in the outfield, and play was delayed by 10 minutes.

Later, when Lofton robbed Luis González of extra bases by leaping high for a brilliant catch against the centerfield fence, balls came down again. One of them hit Lofton in the leg. The behavior was deplorable, but the decision to give out the souvenirs before the game, rather than after, was just about as bad.

At any rate, homeplate umpire Paul Runge didn’t seemed inclined to issue any warnings. This could be a disaster, I thought. Braves fans taunt us by throwing our souvenirs away, and in the process, give their team a win by forfeit. It never happened, but it could have.

I’m going to talk to [Astros executive] Jaime Hildreth, my old boss and running buddy, about passing out would-be missiles in the future.

           

We got our final run in the third on a single by Ausmus, a sacrifice bunt by Reynolds, a single by Biggio, and a sacrifice fly by Listach. Smoltz was throwing 93-96 MPH throughout the game, and we were lucky to get two runs. And it is ironic, I suppose, that the two guys we were worried about offensively — Listach and Ausmus — played key roles with their bats.

Listach looked better in the field as well, but he may have hurt his bad knee on a play behind second base in the ninth inning. Sean Berry aggravated his groin pull, and I had to put Billy Spiers in the game in the sixth. Spiers ended up making a couple of great defensive plays that Berry may not have been able to make, and Shane just kept making good pitches.

In the sixth, however, he got a few balls up, and his control faltered. Vern and I discussed a bridge pitcher to try to get the game to Billy Wagner and John Hudek. We settled on José Lima, and we got him started in the bullpen. Shane pitched out of trouble, but we were still concerned.

The Braves had six lefthanded hitters in the lineup, so we started Tom Martin alongside Lima. Shane weathered another storm in the seventh. The big pitch was right on Lofton’s hands for a called strike three.

I walked over to Shane and asked him about that pitch. He said it was a cutter, and he flashed a wide grin. The smile itself told me he had more to give.

I sent him out for the eighth, and I started Wagner at the same time. If Shane let a runner reach base, I was going to the bullpen. He did not know that, and he did not allow a runner. He finished his eight innings in style, as his 121st pitch of the game struck out Ryan Klesko. It was his seventh strikeout of the game.

In the bottom of the eighth, I pinch-hit for Shane with Thomas “Tank” Howard. Tank hit a pop-fly double to left, but we couldn’t get him home.

That brought the game to the ninth, still 2-1.  Andruw Jones pinch-hit for Michael Tucker, and he flied out on a powerful swing. Then Javy Lopez reached first on a hot smash off Listach’s glove.

The Braves pinch-ran with Tony Graffanino, but I wasn’t worried about him stealing. It wouldn’t have mattered if he had, because Wagner struck out Jeff Blauser and Mike Mordecai to put a lid on our first win.

The giveaway balls had a printed message about my four Opening Day starts — all wins. I saved the ball that was the last out of the game, and the scorecards from our dugout and theirs.

This makes me 5-0 in openers, but I have no delusions of grandeur. We never won the pennant when I won on Opening Day as a pitcher, and this win doesn’t assure us of anything, except that we don’t start the year with a losing streak. Tomorrow night it will be Mike Hampton against Greg Maddux. 

 

After the game I was beseiged by reporters. I didn’t get out of the locker room for at least an hour. My daughter Ashley and her new husband Craig, along with her Aunt Sharon and Uncle Chris, waited all that time for me, which was a pleasant surprise. I was especially surprised that they all wore Hawaiian shirts — even the fashion-conscious Sharon.

“This was a big sacrifice I made for you, she said. “I feel absolutely awful in this shirt.”

To tell the truth, she looked pretty bad. Normally she is sleek and chic; with a frumpy Hawaiian shirt, she looked kind of goofy.

We all joined Solly Hemus and several other friends at Carrabba’s restaurant, where many toasts were offered and many libations quaffed. I was still flying when I got home. Didn’t get to sleep until 3 a.m.

MONDAY, MARCH 31 ● Off-day in Houston

It sure was nice to sleep in my own bed. The only problem was, I didn’t get to sleep long enough. I had an 8 a.m. appointment with a urologist, so I had to leave the house at 7.

After reviewing the records of my examination in Florida, and talking with me about it, the doctor surmised that I had prostatitis.

Just to make sure, he gave me the old finger probe. The only difference was that this time he jammed and twisted for about twenty seconds to induce a secretion.

He almost induced a primal scream.

After he scoped the evidence, he said that there was some minor trace of infection, and that my prostate was not swollen. Because my symptoms were all but gone, he decided against the up-the-dick photography session, and he prescribed some pills that I will need to take for the next six weeks.

I skipped out of the office on the pixie feet of reprieve, and I headed for a workout at the Dome.

 

The workout went well: short and sweet. I knocked out all of the interviews during batting practice, and afterward we had a team meeting.

Part of the meeting was the obligatory reading of Rule 21 regarding gambling. Gerry’s assistant, Tim Purpura, handled this chore. Then I went over the rest of the team rules, emphasizing a few points, such as fraternization and umpire relations.

I told the guys that I would not tolerate the typical grab-ass relations that normally take place around the batting cage before the game.

“I know you guys have friends on other teams,” I said. “But it looks like shit when you are cutting up with the enemy. And they are the enemy, as long as we are on the field.

“Think how this must look to the fans. How it looks to me. You might have to throw at a guy or take him out on a double play.

“There’s plenty of time to talk to your friends after the game. If you have to do it at the ballpark, go under the stands, where no one can see you.”

This is one belief I have in common with Tony La Russa. Most managers tolerate fraternization. I may find that I can’t stop it, but I am going to try.

The other thing that I can’t abide is antagonizing umpires.

“You guys already know that the umpires have declared war after the Alomar incident,” I said. “And these umpires are going to treat me like a rookie, like it or not. So don’t stand out there and yell at them.

“I know you are wrapped up in the game, and will react passionately from time to time. What I want you to do is catch yourself before you get tossed, and get the hell out of there. If you get yourself crosswise with the umpires, it can affect the whole team.

“I’m not saying you should just accept a bad call; just that you should have your say and get out. If he chases you and tries to bait you, I’ll be there for you. I will not stand for an umpire chasing you across the field.

“But if you carry on too long, you have two problems: him and me. Does everybody understand?” 

They seemed to. Time will tell.

           

After the workout, I went to a Chevy dealer to pick up a Tahoe utility vehicle. I am going to do some commercials for this dealership. It is one of the many perks of this job.

Later, we went to dinner at one of the finest restaurants in Houston for a celebration of Milo and Arlene Hamilton’s 45th wedding anniversary.

Milo has a flair for the dramatic. He invited 45 people, and he had 45 roses on display. He introduced everyone, mixing in his typical humor and wit.

We got home about 10:30, just in time to see Arizona beat Kentucky in the NCAA college basketball tournament.

 

I went to bed early with the book North Toward Home by Willie Morris. I have been thinking about a passage from this book, about how the conservative Texas politicians handled critical publicity in Morris’ publication The Texas Observer:

 

“They went through the hectic round of the city’s political parties in a genial and aimless inebriation, and bear-hugged their liberal foes as if politics were a happy sport among friends … The only obstacle that troubled us was that we did not hate, we rather loved, our enemies, who rather liked us.”

 

This is a passage I want to show Gerry. Coming from New York, he is supersensitive to the press. But the point is, they are going to write what their editors want them to write. If you are friendly with them, they may not cut you quite as deep.