Author: Larry Dierker

FRIDAY, MARCH 21 ● Kissimmee, vs Atlanta

This morning, we listened to a presentation by Major League Baseball Security. It was a slick, professional show, complete with video highlights and a talk by the nation’s foremost expert on stalking. I suppose I have been somewhat naive about the celebrity status of the modern professional athlete.

When I was playing, we didn’t rate with rock musicians or movie stars. I think the big money in sports and the emergence of sports-marketing giants like Nike has changed that. It has happened gradually, and because I have always been in the family of baseball, I have hardly noticed.

Now stalking is a real problem, and we were all advised to keep our private lives as private as possible.  We were also given a plastic card with numbers to call in each city, in case of a problem.

I bet Eddie Waitkus would have enjoyed this show. The defining event of his life was dramatized in The Natural. Though Eddie was not nearly as gifted as Roy Hobbs, he was stalked by a woman named Ruth Ann Steinhagen, and was shot nearly to death in his Chicago hotel room on June 15,1949.

Ruth reportedly said, “Look at him lying there, so handsome, so brave … ”            

Well, we heard some telephone tapes to athletes in modern times that were just as strange. It was an eye-opening way to start the day.

After the security meeting, I kept the team in the meeting room, and I finally had my say. It went something like this.

I have been doing this long enough now to have an idea what my style is going to be, and I am pretty sure I am not going to confront any of you guys in the dugout over a missed sign or a misplay. I am more likely to talk to a player the next day. Or to talk to a group of players, such as infielders or pitchers.

Today I want to talk to the whole team, because I have been seeing some things I don’t like. If I let these things slide, you may think I am not noticing them. If that happens, my ability to lead the team will be in serious question.

I know it has been hot, and I know a lot of guys have been nursing minor injuries. I also appreciate the fact that our hitters and pitchers have been coming though in the clutch, and that we have been winning a lot of ballgames. But you know as well as I do that it isn’t going to be so easy during the season, when we are facing top competition every day.

Before it is over, we will have hitting slumps and pitching slumps. To win a championship, we will have to win a fair number of games when we are not hitting or pitching our best. This means we will have to do a lot of little things right.

I would like to share with you a list of little things we have not done well this spring. I won’t mention any names, but I’m sure you will know if I am talking about you.

 

I proceeded to list a number of failings, and I saw some heads nodding in the crowd. I felt like I was getting through, and that the message was being accepted. I really did not know if I was being too hard or too soft, because I have never done this type of thing before.

At the end, I said that I felt we would get better over time:

 

We have a lot of new players, and a whole new staff. I don’t expect to have a perfect team on Opening Day. Just as many of you guys have made mistakes this spring, I have too. If we are going to win, we all have to get better.

But you know what? We will still make mistakes. Everyone makes them. The teams that win cover them up. If a guy doesn’t get the man home from third with no outs, the next man does. If the next man doesn’t, the third man gets a hit. That’s what winning teams do.

I expect you guys to cover up some of my mistakes this year, and I expect myself to get better as the season goes along. I expect all of you to get better, because I firmly believe that if you are not getting better, you are getting worse. It’s almost impossible to stay the same.

 

I asked for comments or questions, and there were none. As we adjourned, Ash came up and said, “That was great. Just right.” Boy, did that make me feel good. Later, several other coaches and a few players echoed the sentiment.

 

I was feeling fantastic until I saw Derek Bell putting his street clothes on before game time. I didn’t know quite what to make of it. He was not in the lineup for this game with the Braves, and I was thinking about telling him to take the rest of the day off, but I got entangled in a web of reporters and never got around to it. I wondered if I had shared my thoughts with one of the other coaches, and they had told him.

When I got to the coaches’ room, Bill and Mac were there. Neither of them had given permission. “Let me talk to him,” Bill said. “You don’t need to have a confrontation.”

Honestly, I wasn’t sure this was good advice. Bill can be kind of blunt. But he also has a lot more experience than I do in these matters.

A few minutes later, Bill came back. “He’s getting his uniform on,” he said. “He’ll be on the bench.”

Well, he was on the bench all right, but none too happy. I stopped by and sat down next to him.

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

“Listen,” I said, “nobody is trying to punish you. You’re an important guy around here. I want you to be happy.” I waited for a reply, then continued:

“You know I have to play Mouton this last week to get him ready. You’re swinging the bat great. I don’t think you need the ABs as much as some of the other guys. These guys are looking to you for an example. C’mon, give me a little smile or something.”

There was nothing like a smile to be seen. He just stared at the floor, silent. This was strange to me. Derek is an odd guy, but he is usually happy-go-lucky. This incident really had him brooding.

I decided to let it cool, and I went down to the other end of the bench. This wasn’t exactly what I had in mind after the pep talk.

What followed was worse.

 

Chris Holt got two quick outs in the first. Then Chipper Jones hit a hot shot to short. Luis Lopez stabbed at it, but it went off his glove an rolled into centerfield for an error. No one chased after it, and Jones raced into second base. David Justice followed with a high fly to deep center. Mouton went back and reeled under it on the warning track. He dropped it, and Justice went all the way to third.

The next batter was Javier López. The 1-2 and 2-2 pitches to López were curves. They both looked like strikes, but were called balls. Then Holt threw ball four.

Andruw Jones singled on the first pitch to make it 2-0. Holt got the third out, but we had failed to execute, failed to hustle, and got several bad breaks from the umpire.

In the bottom of the first, we got two on with two outs, and Luis González was called out on strikes. He thought the pitch was inside, and he started arguing with Jeff Kellogg. It looked like an innocent exchange, then all of a sudden Kellogg threw Gonzo out of the game. I rushed out for my first confrontation with an umpire.

“What happened?” I asked.

“He accused me of doing favors for the Braves.” Kellog said. “I can’t have my integrity questioned.”

“No, you can’t,” I said. “I’ll say something to Gonzo.”

When I got back to the dugout, Gonzo was gathering his gear.

“I’m sorry, he said. “I shouldn’t have done that. Especially in the first inning.”

Earlier in the spring, I told Cheo to help me get players out of arguments. “You’re faster than I am,” I said. You get to the player, and I’ll take care of the umpire.”

Well, Cheo had delivered, but a little late. I asked him what was said, and he pretty much verified what Kellogg said. Everyone agreed that Gonzo was wrong to argue, but right about the call.

Another bad play gave the Braves a run in the second. We were down 3-0. Holt was shaken, and the many Braves fans in attendance were hooting and hollering and taunting us with their Tomahawk Chop.

In the third, we got two runs on a triple by Sean Berry. In the fifth, it was still 3-2 when I went to Bell.

“If we get to the pitcher’s spot,” I told him, “you’ll pinch-hit.” We fell one short, and we failed to tie the game.

During the top of the sixth, I told Pat Listach that he would lead off in the bottom of the inning.

“What about me?” Bell asked.

“This is a leadoff situation, Dee,” I said. “I’ll use you when it’s an RBI situation.”

Derek mumbled something under his breath.

“Look, if you don’t want to be here, you can leave,” I said, hoping that the nature of the game, with the ejection and the Braves fans, would make him want to stay. Instead, he packed up his things and left, while the whole team watched.

I wasn’t really mad, or sad; I was just determined to try to win the game.

We got it tied in the seventh on an RBI grounder by López. In the eighth, Biggio hit a home run, and we were on top. Billy Wagner pitched the ninth and got them 1-2-3, thanks to two great plays by Biggio. It was a helluva game.

           

Afterward, I talked to the coaches and Gerry about the Bell situation. The coaches were pretty much behind Bill and me, but Gerry had another perspective.

“So you guys are telling me I should move him,” he said.

“Not necessarily,” I said. “But if you could get a good shortstop and a setup man, I would consider it.”

“Let me tell you what I think,” he said. “I think Derek is going to have a monster year.” I saw some of the coaches nodding their heads in assent.

“I think we have to find a way to get him on board,” he continued. “If you want to know the truth,” he said, “I think this is what separates the great managers from the rest. I think you need to talk to him.”

As usual, there was a lot of wisdom in his words. I have often expressed the opinion that you cannot trade a player every time he becomes a problem. I also asked that nobody let the incident out to the media.

“If they ask about it,” I said, “have them talk to me.” I wasn’t sure what I was going to say. Fortunately, no one asked about it.

I suppose there are some benefits to being in a small market; this scene could not have gone unnoticed in New York.

           

When we finally got out of the locker room, I had just enough time to come home, change clothes, get Judy, and return to the ballpark for a media dinner. We all made speeches, and at the end, Tal Smith floored me by saying that he and his wife, Johnnie, were going to The Big Bamboo to check it out.

Tal and Johnnie are proper people, and though I have great confidence in touting my favorite tavern, I wasn’t sure it was right for them. Between the dirt parking lot and the toilet-paper coaster, I thought they might question my sanity. Oh well, you never know.

Judy and I met our friends from Jersey Village (a Houston suburb), who had driven all day to get to the game. A couple of the guys showed great endurance by accompanying us to The Boo.

We were all sitting around, smoking cigars, when the Smiths came in. Johnnie is an elegant lady; perhaps the most elegant ever to grace this humble watering hole.

Once again, The Boo worked its magic. The artifacts, the big-band music, and the convivial atmosphere won them over. They laughed a lot, and they had a good time.

 

THURSDAY, MARCH 20 ● Kissimmee, vs Dodgers

When I awoke today, I was having a dream about a fancy penthouse party where I was the guest of honor, along with Marilyn Monroe. There was no sexual content; everyone was fully dressed.

I returned to the reality of the waking state when I eyed the suppository on my bedside dresser.

I took the plunge challenge and came downstairs to wait for an hour before my appointment. To keep my mind off the moment, I wrote in my journal, catching up from yesterday.

The kidney and bladder X-ray procedure took about an hour. The nurse told me that one in 40,000 patients suffer cardiac arrest and die during the procedure. Then she gave me a release to sign. I suppose we take chances like that every day on the road, but it was still unsettling.

Laying on my back, I felt my heart speed up as the iodine entered my vein. Nothing happened. Does this mean I am not going to die, or is the dangerous part still to come? I wondered. Nothing happened. I was a little dizzy when I stepped back to my feet.

The doctor told me that my bladder was retaining urine, and that I should have the Roto-Rooter test.

I was a little discouraged as I drove to the ballpark, but Ryan was waiting for me there, and I had to get up for it. Everyone would know that I had been taking an exam, and it was important that I come breezing in as if it were a tea party.

I guess I pulled it off, and I was glad to get some food in me and have Ryan at my side. Still, I had to get ready for the Dodgers in a hurry, and I barely made it.

Actually, I didn’t. I put their lineup in my hat, instead of ours.

 

The only good thing about the game was that Ryan got to be batboy. Biggio and Bagwell remembered him from last year. And we got to play a little catch in front of the dugout.

When the game got underway, it was all Dodgers. They shelled Donne Wall and cruised to an easy win.

What made it worse was that some of our marketing executives were there, with a group of radio and TV reporters. I talked to some of them after the game. It wasn’t too tough, but I still wasn’t feeling that great — about the team or myself.

I have been having some lightheadedness when I stand up after sitting for a while. I don’t know if it’s the infection or the lack of sustenance, but I don’t like it. 

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19 ● at Lakeland, vs Detroit

Tomorrow the isotopes take to the highways-and-byways of my body. That means today is the day to clear the roads. I am allowed a small, fat-free breakfast, so I eat two heaping bowls of Raisin Bran. So maybe I fudged a little. I rationalized by telling myself, you can’t cut guys from a big-league team with an empty stomach.

Russ Johnson was one of the cuts. Last fall, at our organizational meetings, AA manager Dave Engle said that Richard Hidalgo and Russ Johnson were the best two players and the two hardest workers, with the two best attitudes on his team.

Johnson has been a sensation with the glove and bat this spring, and the attitude shone through this morning.

“What can I say,” Gerry said. “You’ve done everything we hoped, and more. You have a bright future in the major leagues, but we’re going to send you down.”

Russ didn’t bat an eye.

“You know why we brought you down here?” Gerry continued. “If Sean Berry had a setback and you played well, you had a chance. Otherwise, you were destined for AAA from the start. I know this is disappointing, and I know you believe you can play in the big leagues, and we believe it too. It could still happen, by the way, if someone gets hurt. Otherwise, it’s best for you and for us that you play every day.”

“I understand.” Russ said,

“It’s not that you aren’t ready,” I said. “And I’d really like to have you on the ballclub. But as I project my lineups into the season, I just don’t see how I can get you much playing time. Sure, I could play you once a week at short or third. But how are you going to stay sharp and improve your skills for the day when you become an everyday player?”

“I understand,” he said again. “I’m no good at sitting, anyway. I’m not a sitter. Really, I don’t know if you would want me around if I had to sit. I’d probably drive everyone crazy.”

At that point we went into the routine about taking a day off and reporting to Jim Duquette.

“I don’t want a day off,” he said.

We asked if he would help us by going on the trip, because we needed an extra infielder.

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

This might be the first time in the history of baseball that a guy who played like an all-star in the spring seemed eager to stay up, go down, do anything — as long as it meant playing the game.

As Russ walked out, we just shook our heads and smiled.

 

Eric Christopherson was next. This was tough in a different way.

At 27 years old, Eric is at a crossroads. He has been in AAA for several years. Four years ago, he had a brief stint with the Giants. Last year, he was our backup AAA catcher. Toward the end of the year, he moved up to Number 1. During the winter, we traded for Brad Ausmus. That makes it unlikely that Randy Knorr will make the club, and likely that Eric will be the backup in New Orleans. Gerry is a little more direct than me, and he told him this straight out.

After all the drudgery of catching at spring training, this news had to be deflating. I tried to soften it, and luckily Gerry supported me.

“Look,” I said. “Randy is a veteran. He doesn’t need to catch every day to stay sharp. It’s not like you won’t be playing much at all. It’ll be more like our situation here. Brad is Number One, but Tony is better than a backup. I don’t plan to wear Brad out. Instead, I am going to play both of them a lot. I think Swish will do the same thing with you two guys.”

“In fact,” Gerry said, “there is still an outside chance we will keep three catchers, which would make you Number 1. I was very impressed with your work this spring, and you played well the end of last year. In my mind, you have revived yourself as a big-league prospect. I won’t hold you here if you want to move on, but I hope you will stay and improve.”

Eric is a soft-spoken, sensitive guy. It was hard to read what was going through his head. “I don’t want to leave,” he said softly. “I like it here. I like it better than with the Giants.”

“That really makes me feel good that you said that,” Gerry said. You keep plugging away, and your time will come.”

“At this stage of my career, I just want to play somewhere,” he said, perhaps underestimating his value or perhaps worried that he couldn’t catch on elsewhere if he decided to leave.

I felt it was time to pump him up.

“Look, man,” I said, “you got some clutch hits for us this spring. Your defense was excellent. I talked to some of the pitchers, and they like to throw to you.”

I was leafing through the media guide.

“Look, you’re only 27 years old. That’s about the age where a catcher should start to hit. Catchers and middle-infielders have such important defensive roles that they often are late-bloomers with the bat. We’ve got expansion next year. You’re a good ballplayer, and you will play in the majors. Don’t give up.”

“No, I won’t,” he said. “I’ll keep going. But I wondered if I could ask one favor.”

“Sure.”

“Well, some of the guys say that you can take the next day off if you get cut. And, well, my wife is here, and it’s her last day. It’ll be a long time before I see her again. I wondered if I could have today off.”

Once again, I’m almost in tears. “Of course, you can. You go spend the day with your wife.”

Because Eric was scheduled to make the trip, and we were going to ask him to stay with us one more day, I had to make an adjustment. I found Randy Knorr by his locker, and I explained the situation.

“Hell yes, I’ll make the trip,” he said. “No problem.”

I was beginning to feel pretty good about the character of our team — major and minor. Attitude is something you cannot coach. And in this important, intangible area, were have been blessed with some natural players.

           

As I drove to Lakeland with Cubby, I warned him that he might want to consider getting a ride back with someone else.

“I’m not allowed to eat anything today. And I have to take something they call a bowel evacuator later on. I don’t know what the ride back is going to be like, but it might not be pleasant.”

“They still got bathrooms in service stations, don’t they?” he said. “I’m with you all the way.”

Our trainer, Rex Jones, had my medical instructions. When to drink eight ounces of clear liquid. When to drink a cup of clear broth and eat Jell-o. And, of course, when to suck down the evacuant.

The players were beginning to pick up on my situation, so I decided to have some fun with it when everyone came in for lunch after batting practice.

“Yessir, there’s nothing like a steaming cup of broth on a hot day,” I said loudly, so everyone could hear. “It’ll really stick to your ribs.”

“Hey, Dierk,” Gonzo said, “don’t drink too much all at once. You might get bloated.”

           

I figured that our five-game winning streak would come to an end this day. We had a skeleton squad in Lakeland, and the Tigers were playing their opening lineup.

Honestly, I didn’t much care; I was mostly thinking about what I would eat for lunch the next day. Just to give myself the feeling of eating, I chewed some tobacco. Being a perfectly good patient is difficult for me.

Once again, our bats rung out in the first inning. But Darryl “The Enigma” Kile had a rough time holding a four-run lead. His control was off, and his temperament was worse. After one pitch he yelled “fuck!” which is as good as telling the other team, beat me, I can’t pitch. He finally left in the fifth inning, with a 6-5 lead. In the spring that qualifies him for the win if we hold on, and we did.

I would be happy with any kind of win during the season. Fact is, I would feel like a thief with the crown jewels in my pocket with a win like this.

Sadly, Darryl expects more of himself than is reasonable, and he almost always finds a reason to beat himself up over his performance. In this case, he had more than one reason:

 

• He got behind most hitters.
• He threw a lot of pitches into the hitting zone.
• He couldn’t finish hitters off when he got ahead in the count.
• He did not control his emotions.

 

I need to talk with Vern about this. Darryl has been regarded as a fragile child over the years. He spouts some unusual pitching theories, but most of the time, pitching coaches have left him alone — afraid that they would mess him up more if they criticized him. Maybe they’re right, but I had a tough time watching him as an announcer, and now I’m responsible for him.

I’m not going to watch this much longer without saying something.

 

After the game, I grabbed some apple juice and headed out with the intrepid Cubby.

I made it back, and I found Judy and Ryan waiting for me. It was great to see them.

We decided to go to the mall, so they could shop and I could get a haircut — and not think about fasting.

In the middle of my haircut, I felt some rumbling in my gut. The vile brown evacuant was making its presence felt. I hoped I could make it through without embarrassing myself.

At first, I thought I was in luck; the hairdresser finished in about ten minutes.

“Is this all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s all wet,” I said.

“A blow dry is $15,” she said.

I wanted to leave, but I suspected my hair was still too long.

“Go ahead, dry it,” I said, crossing my fingers.

My fears grew as the internal gases shifted the load around. When my hair was dry and I realized it was still too long, I had to make a decision.

Playing the body lottery, I said, “I think it needs to be a little shorter.”

While Yolanda recut my hair, I felt some more shifting and painful cramping. This is going down to the wire, I thought. It did, and I barely made the finish line. I was actually jogging as I reached the restroom.

How about that? Playing Russian Roulette with my bowels in public!

If I have that kind of nerve in the dugout, I’ll be a riverboat manager.

We had to stop again on the way home, and I continued apace through the night. It was an effective weight-loss program, but I wouldn’t recommend it.

TUESDAY, MARCH 18 ● Kissimmee, vs Montreal

Today was my lucky day. It started with some typical ballpark humor. I announced my infirmity to the coaching staff, asking Bill to handle the managing chores if I failed to return from my Roto-Rooting in time — or in the event I returned in a daze.

I was filling out the lineup when I heard Ash, in the adjoining coaches’ room, explain to Cheo in a too-loud voice, “Dierk was supposed to have his dick reamed out yesterday, but they didn’t have an instrument long enough.”

“Yeah, they had to overnight one from San Pedro, where you grew up,” I yelled back.

“Not me,” Ash said. “They could do me with a toothpick.”

Everyone had the giggles, which helped me immensely.

“You can’t play this game with a tight asshole,” Cheo added. “Not with a tight dick, either. You better tell that doctor to fix it right, so we can win.”

“The hell with you guys,” I said. “I’m going to tell him to fix it right, because Judy is coming in tomorrow.”

“Oh boy, you think you’re hurting now,” Ash said. “You’re going to be dead meat on Thursday.”

The chatter continued in this vein until I left with Dave at 9:30. After filling out a medical biography and waiting for a while, I finally got to see the urologist, Dr. Fisher. Interesting name for a man who goes spelunking in the dark, malodorous caves of the human anatomy.

I was hoping he wouldn’t catch anything but a foul whiff from me.

 

As it turned out, he did not feel compelled to root me out from the bottom. He guessed that it was merely an insidious infection, possibly hiding from the medicine behind the wall of some sort of obstruction — perhaps scar tissue, possibly a stone or two. 

“We can check that out from above,” he said. “Are you allergic to shellfish or iodine?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. I’ll set you up for a test where you drink some dye and we X-ray it as it travels through your system.”

This did not seem like a whole lot of fun, but it sure beat the alternative.

“We’ll keep you on the antibiotics for a couple of weeks, and that should take care of it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, and by the way: no alcohol — especially beer.”

Damn! I knew there had to be a catch.

 

Back at the ballpark, I talked to Gerry. Yesterday, while Vern and I were playing golf, he consummated a deal with the Padres that would bring us Luis Lopez for a minor-league pitcher. Lopez was already in our camp, and Gerry wanted to cut the squad a little closer to the meat and bone.

“With Lopez in camp, there’s no need for Russ Johnson to stay on this side,” he said. “If we need him, we can still call him up on a moment’s notice. But if not, he needs to play every day.”

I know everyone will be disappointed in that decision, but it is clearly in the best interest of the team. If someone gets hurt and it looks like Russ is the everyday replacement, fine. If not, he needs to play.

One problem we may have is with Luis Rivera. Luis has played well this spring. He’s a good fielder and is hitting .280. Though he and Lopez are countrymen, there is likely only one spot on our team for a utility infielder from Puerto Rico.

“I’ve already talked with Rivera,” Gerry said. “I told him that he was still in the running to make the team. “You know what his reaction was?”

“I don’t imagine he was too pleased,” I said.     

“He told me that his best position is short, and that we only played him at second and third.”

“Interesting,” I said. “He’s probably right, but we know he can play short.”

“He also told me it was because of Cubby.”

“Boy, he sure hit that one on the head.” I said. In our last evaluation meeting, everyone thought Rivera was an acceptable short-term substitute for Ricky Gutierrez. Everyone but Cubby.

“I know what you guys are seeing now, but believe me,” Cubby said, “this guy will cough it up during the season. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Mac, who was also with the Mets at the time, nodded his head.

Baseball can be cruel. Rivera had a bad run with the Mets, and Cubby and Mac just happened to be there then, and here now.

Matt said Rivera was fine in the Puerto Rican Winter League.

Ash said, “he’s the best shortstop in camp.”

If Cubby’s and Rivera’s paths had not crossed at this point in time, we may not have made the trade. But Cubby’s strong opinion, as an ex-infielder and infield coach, carries a lot of weight.

In the world of fringe players, each day is another step along the tightrope. Sooner or later, all of them fall.

 

Today, I substituted Lopez at second base and Rivera at short, hoping to ease the pain. I doubt it did much good. The two infielders were talking to one another all morning. They are friends, but this is survival. It’s a tough situation.

Bill Spiers made it a little easier. Bill came into the game midway through. I brought Luis Gonzalez for Bagwell at the same time. Spiers happened to notice that he was playing infield with three guys named Luis.

“Hey, Looie!” he yelled. All three looked at him, and he laughed. Later in the inning, he did it again. He pulled it three times and went three-for-three. They were all laughing when they got back to the dugout.

 

We won the game 4-2. Mike Hampton was especially sharp, striking out nine in five innings.

When the game was over, we met with Gerry and his staff to discuss the cuts. Everyone signed off on two camp favorites: Russ Johnson and Richard Hidalgo. There was some discussion about Tommy Gregg, and I was the only one to stick up for him.

“He hit the ball hard early, but had horseshit luck,” I said. “Then he started pressing, and now he’s in a slump.”

We all saw it happen. Everyone knows he can hit better than he has lately. But his old bones don’t look so good rumbling around the bases, and he is anything but nimble at first base.

Because Bobby Abreu is making the grade, we will already have two lefthanded bats on the bench; if Lopez looks good, we’ll have three. So Gregg gets the axe, maybe for the last time in his career.

This won’t be easy.

One thing I have learned this spring is that there is compassion behind the axe.

“I think the Mets might have some interest in Tommy,” Jim Duquette said. Jim came over from New York with Gerry, to run the minor-league operation. 

“Let’s hold off on Gregg until we make a phone call,” Gerry said.  “Maybe we can get him something.”

One of the reasons we are doing this now is to concentrate on the nucleus of our team for the rest of the spring; the other is to give guys like Gregg and Tommy Greene a chance to hook on with another ballclub.

After a thorough discussion of Greene, the verdict was that he could not help us in the bullpen right away. He does seem to get a little better each time out, but it takes him a long time to warm up. Invariably, he gets into trouble and then starts throwing better.

I have seen this many times with pitchers who have had arm problems. Even the knowledge that their career is on the line cannot overcome their hesitation to really let the ball fly. Only under the duress of a game situation, with adrenaline flowing fiercely, do they find that little extra zip that they need.

We would like to keep Tommy, and use him as a starting pitcher at New Orleans. But we cannot make him go, and really don’t want him to go if his heart isn’t in it. At the start of the spring, he was told that we had no interest in him if he couldn’t help us this year. After watching him work, we are not ready to write him off. But we don’t want to string him along, either.

I hope he will go to AAA, but if his agent can find a better deal for him, Gerry will let him go. Doing it now gives him some time. 

 

We were able to talk to Hidalgo after the meeting. He was still at the park. So was Greene. They are both among the early arrivers and late leavers, which speaks to their dedication and love for the sport.

Richard was sad when we told him he was going back. He had a great spring. Everyone is excited about him. But, like Johnson, he needs to play every day. I could see the tears welling in his big, brown eyes, but they never spilled over. In his heart, he had to be asking What more do I have to do? We tried to tell him that it just wasn’t his time yet; he’s only 21 years old.

I was so proud of the way he handled himself. He didn’t get mad; didn’t even say much, though he speaks English well.

“Your ability is in the top three of all the outfielders we have,” I told him. “But right now, I couldn’t play you every day. Your time will come, and it may come soon. If you keep playing the way you have been, we will make room for you.”         

I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my place. But I didn’t see Gerry objecting. He only nodded his head.

“You can take the day off tomorrow,” Gerry said, “and then report to Jim Duquette.”        

Richard nodded.

“Do you have him listed for the trip to Lakeland tomorrow?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you want to make the trip?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” Richard nodded.

“You know I can’t play you the whole game, like I did earlier,” I told him. “We have to get more innings for James Mouton and Thomas Howard now. I can probably play you two or three innings.”

“Is there a AAA game?” he asked.

“A AAA game here in camp?” I said, “I don’t know.”

“Yes, there is a game here,” Gerry said. “What are you getting at?”

I thought I knew.

“Do you want to play nine innings in the AAA game, instead of going to Lakeland or taking a day off?” I asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

Now I was almost crying.

MONDAY, MARCH 17 ● off day in Kissimmee

I was a pitiful soul last night. Up every 15 minutes, my body entreating me to do something it could not help me do.

In the morning, I called the golf course and canceled. Then I lay back down and got two hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I decided to get a haircut and go to the ballpark to watch El Sid and Darryl Kile throw on the side, and Shane Reynolds pitch in a minor-league game.

Naturally, the hair salon was closed. I checked with Labossiere when I arrived at the ballpark, and he called Dr. Link. He happened to be working nearby, so I went in for a prostate plunge and urine sample.

The plunge was easier than the piss.

He checked things out and said, “The good news is that the medicine is working on the infection, and the prostate seems fine. The bad news is that you may have an obstruction. The only way to tell is to go in there. I’ll get you some medicine to stop the burning, and I’ll set you up with a urologist.”

Just what I wanted to hear on my one day off.

Still, I found it possible to enjoy the workout; all three pitchers looked good. If we can keep Sid healthy and D.K. in some kind of reasonable groove, we have a chance to do well.

 

I couldn’t eat last night, and I was famished. I wolfed down two bowls of cereal, an apple, and a banana, and I felt much better.

As it turned out, Vern was free to play golf afterward, and we hooked up with Matt Galante and a mutual friend at the course. The play was slow, as usual in a resort destination. Seems like we’re about the only out-of-towners working in the area. Everyone else is playing golf.

I wish they’d go fishing.

The Perfessor was busting the ball pretty good. Though he is normally among the peaceful members of the planet, he did manage to hit into the group ahead of us twice. The second time, he rolled one up onto the green from the tee box on a par-four. How could anyone complain about that? It was a career shot: more than 300 yards.

Earlier, Matt hit a drive that struck a Sand Hill Crane flush in the feathers. The big bird released a stream of juices that made me envious.

“Hey, Matty,” I said, “how ’bout hitting me in the side with one of those drives?”

The Perfessor could not resist the temptation to lecture at this point:

“A bird like that has only one hole,” he said. “The pee and the poop come out together.”

“Yeah, you really knocked the shit out of that one, Matty,” I said. “By the way, did you know that the Sand Hill Crane is an endangered species? The Sierra Club is going to come down hard on you when they hear about this.”

A couple of us were smoking cigars as we played. If the stogie industry thinks these are boom times, wait ’til Garagiola gets finished with his tour; everyone will have a humidor and a clip. And they will display their Cigar Aficionado magazines right next to their Wine Spectators.         

 

Had a nice dinner out tonight. Reading deeper into Beach Music now. Getting to the part about the Holocaust. Listening to Dixit Dominus as I write, and I’m praying for His help in the morning.

SUNDAY, MARCH 16 ● Kissimmee, vs Detroit

I felt pretty good this morning, despite the restive night. I still had the desire, but not the ability, to pee. There is nothing like shared pain to strike the collective funny bone, unless it is the relief of shared pain. In this case, our “relief pitcher” was last year’s AA shortstop, Russ Johnson.

Russ is one of those guys who everyone likes. He is not long on speed or power, but as batting coach Tom McCraw said after watching him play five games in the Puerto Rican Winter League, “that little sonuvabitch is in the middle of every rally. He’s a guy you can win with.”

Little did Mac know how true his words really were.

Russ was on a championship team in high school; a championship team at LSU; and on the Texas League championship team, the Jackson Generals, last summer. His winter-league team finished first, but then lost in the playoffs.

This spring he has played mostly third base, because it is thought that he doesn’t have the range for shortstop. As a third-baseman, he has made all the routine plays and most of the spectacular ones. I would like to play him some at second, and then keep him as a utility player; Gerry wants him to play every day at AAA.

All of the Houston writers are impressed with him, and they want to know what his chances are. Well, he improved them yesterday after the cars had gone and the lame bus waited for a replacement.

As soon as the car caravan left Plant City, Russ slid under the bus, determined what was wrong with it, and fixed it. The bus got back to our Kissimmee complex just 20 minutes behind the cars.

How’s that for a utility man?

When Bagwell got to the ballpark, I told him about the bus breaking down. “Guess who got underneath and fixed it?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “Russ Johnson?”

“You got it,” I said.

Bagwell shook his head and laughed. The story spread through the clubhouse, and before long everyone was laughing.

 

My pecker pain and the clubhouse fun came to an end at 8:30. That’s when we listened to a presentation on the evils of spit tobacco, by Joe Garagiola and Bill Tuttle. Garagiola is on a crusade, and his message is especially effective with ballplayers, as Joe was a player himself. And he chewed, like most of us.

Bill Tuttle chewed too, perhaps a little more than the average guy. There can be no denying he paid a higher price for his habit: fully half of his face was eaten away by cancer. After five bouts with the surgeon, he has no feeling on the left side of his face.

His story was even more gruesome than his appearance, and they brought photographs along so we could see him in post-op condition.

Many players prefer tobacco to sunflower seeds and gum. Now there are some new products that mimic tobacco with herbs and mint. I saw a lot of chewing and dipping today, but little-if-any tobacco.

Perhaps the most important thing Joe said was that if you make the choice to dip, don’t advertise it. The circular swell in a player’s back uniform or jeans hip pocket says it all.

“Do it if you must,” Joe said. “But don’t send the message to the young fans of America.”

 

This morning I felt like I was about to kick the dick pain. I had an interview with CNN, and I was even a little glib. Let’s see now, where does this put me on the media chart? CNN, New York Times, Sports Illustrated, Baseball Weekly cover. ESPN, Fox Sports. I could get one of the great stubbed toes in the history of sports if we fail. Fortunately, we have a pretty good team. 

 

Our team is a little smaller now. After batting practice, Gerry and I sent a few more players back to minor-league camp.

This cut wasn’t so tough. There were no veterans like Mike Gardiner in the group.

It was a tough cut for Blas Minor, however. He has a couple of years’ experience in the major leagues, and he has pitched well this spring. He was a victim of the system as much as anything else, and Gerry was upfront with him:

“We have some guys who are out of options, and a Rule 5 pitcher,” he said. “You know what that means: if we don’t keep them, we lose them. Since you have a minor-league contract, you are the odd man out. I want you to know, though, that I believe you can pitch in the big leagues, and that we are not going to keep these guys all year if they aren’t getting the job done.

“If you go down and pitch in New Orleans, you may end up in Houston before the end of the year. But if you want out, I don’t blame you, and I’ll try to find a spot for you on another club.”

“These guys have not outpitched you,” I added. “But they haven’t exactly been big-league stars in the past. I know you don’t throw quite as hard as some of them, but I believe that getting outs is more important that throwing for the radar gun.

“I have watched you with the Pirates and Mets, and I know you are a good competitor. If you were on my staff, I would not be afraid to use you.”

Blas wasn’t exactly glad of these tidings, but he is well-enough-aware of the option rules, and Rule 5. He took the news quietly, stoically. He impresses me as a very solid young man, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he supplants one of the others who has a “clerical advantage” over him now.

           

We beat the Tigers 4-1, with Chris Holt pitching marvelous baseball for five innings, and the relievers held fast.  

Gonzo was the hitting star. When I removed him from the game in the sixth, I had to apologize for aborting his “cycle bid.” Still, a double and a triple, two RBI and two runs scored, isn’t bad for two at-bats.

I pulled a double-switch with five players in the sixth inning, and once again I confused myself. This time I figured it out while I was walking to the plate to show umpire Rich Rieker.

“I’m not sure this all adds up,” I said. “But I think it does.”

“It’s all right down here,” he said. “We don’t keep track, and it doesn’t matter. But remember, during the season you need to check with us before you go to the mound and signal for a new pitcher.”

When I got back to the dugout, I reviewed the changes, and they were correct. But I sure appreciated a word of friendly advice from the umpire. So far, these guys have been rather civil. Of course, they don’t get much flak down here.

           

As the game wore on, I felt the need to pee. When I finally submitted to the urge, it hurt but I could not go. This painful impotency was starting to disturb me. Even though I have been told that my constipation has nothing to do with my infection, I asked for something to get things moving out the backside.

After I got home, I watched Stanford beat Wake Forest in the NCAA basketball tournament. The Metamucil started to work, but the infection roared like a lion. I was paining and straining, with no results, about every 5 or 10 minutes.

It was like dry heaves of the dick. I began to wonder if it was an obstruction, not an infection.

I called Dave Labossiere, and he told me to suffer through it.

“You should be better by tomorrow.” he said.

Yesterday, they told me I should be better by today.

Oh well, after the Bill Tuttle story, I found myself running low on self-pity. It is now 10 p.m. and things are starting to move both ways. Maybe I will be able to play golf on the off-day tomorrow morning with the coaches as planned, without looking for a tree to water.

We are playing a links course. There will be no trees.

SATURDAY, MARCH 15 ● Plant City, vs Cincinnati

Today we went to Plant City one way and came back another. It was a good day on the ballfield, but another tough day in the dugout. Actually, the manager and coaches usually sit on folding chairs outside the dugout on the home-plate side. This is done to accommodate the extra players at spring training, where most of the dugouts are rather small.

This day, I sat in the dugout because my antibiotic medicine specified that I stay out of the sun. I’ve had plenty of sun this spring, anyway. Since I was still feeling pekid, I opted for shade.

 

Just before the game, Barry Waters called to ask if I would like to join Drayton for dinner, and bring the coaches along. I told him I didn’t know; “I’ll be happy to go if I feel better,” I said. “But right now, I’m not feeling too swift.”

The game took me up and down. We took an early lead, gave it up, and then got it back and held it. About halfway through, I motioned for Drayton to come down, and I declined the invitation. 

Our AAA catcher, Eric Christopherson, got the big comeback hit, a two-run homer. I was really happy for him, because he has done an awful lot of catching this spring without getting many innings in the games. Brad Ausmus has done most of the work, because he needs to learn our pitching staff. Tony Eusebio has caught most of the rest of the innings, because he needs to get his mitt and bat ready for the big-league season.

And Randy Knorr, who was with us in the second half last year and served well, has done the rest of the work behind the plate. We dropped Randy off the roster this fall. I know it was a blow to him, but he has still returned with a good attitude, and he gives us great catching insurance. Though he has never hit a lot, his defense is excellent.          

           

One of the things the catchers find curious this spring is the lack of signs from the dugout. On most teams, the catcher gets a sign on every pitch; I expect them to think for themselves.

If I want the pitcher to hold a particular runner, I point at the runner. If I want a pitchout, I use one sign; if I want to pitch up, I use another. If the pitcher wants to hold a runner on his own, he can. If the catcher wants the pitcher to throw to a base, he can give him a signal on his own. We have no five-step program for holding runners.

I guess I’m just an old-fashioned guy.

The pitch up is a new idea, however, and I have been unable to communicate what I want on this pitch. Basically, it is a pitchout that the batter might swing at: letter-high, right down the middle. This type of pitch gives the catcher a good shot at throwing out a base-stealer. And because many hitters look for a fastball when a larcenous runner is on base, it also gives the pitcher a chance for a one-pitch out. When a decent four-seam fastball is letter-high, it is difficult to hit it anywhere but straight up in the air.

In this game, Russ Springer threw a fastball down-and-in when he got the sign. The runner had a running lead on the pitch. Even if we had pitched out, the runner would have been safe without sliding. When you are pitching out, you must stop the runner and deliver the pitch to the catcher quickly. Russ should have learned this in high school.

On the next pitch, he threw a letter-high fastball and the hitter swung and missed. We probably would have thrown the runner out if he had pitched up to begin with.

Later on, Trever Miller threw a pitch up so high that the catcher had to jump to catch it.

To me, this is a simple concept, and it should be easy to execute. It has been just the opposite.

             

After the game, we learned that our bus driver had backed into a pole at the stadium as he was positioning for the trip home. This maneuver rendered the bus inoperable. I offered to take two of the coaches who came over on the bus, and I called the press box to see if any writers or broadcasters were still around. Luckily there were, and I arranged rides for seven players. I wasn’t about to choose which players should stay and which should go.

“You’re on your own,” I said. The new bus would come from Orlando, and it would be an hour-and-a-half wait.

 

When I got home, I wasn’t feeling good at all. I lay in bed and read my book, Beach Music, hoping to fall asleep. I awakened to the telephone, and it was Judy. She and Ryan were in Fort Worth, and his team had won its first two games in a tournament.

Ryan’s excitement rang though the phone lines as he gave me the play-by-play account. He didn’t pitch, but he was on base four times in six at-bats. Tomorrow, he will toe the mound.

Judy was excited and distressed. She was up for the team, but down for our Rottweiler, Zeus. Zeus had taken to snarling and snapping, and he even bit one of our neighbors who was feeding him while we were spending Christmas with my parents in Los Angeles.

Our daughter Julia brought Zeus home one day. We didn’t really want a Rottweiler, but he was cute and Ryan loved him. We all grew fond of him, but he had grown to be a powerful adult dog.

We took him to several places for evaluation. The verdict went against him, and she had to put him down.

“I feel a lot better because Dr. Sean told me we had done all we could,” she said. “He made me stay with him, so I could see that it was painless, but it was still sad.” 

 

I felt enough better after the phone call to go out for dinner. I went to sleep early, but I woke up often for piss call. Didn’t do much leaking, but I sure felt the urge a lot.

FRIDAY, MARCH 14 ● Kissimmee and Winter Haven

This was not one of my better days, though it will likely be the one I remember the most.

For several days, I have been experiencing painful urination. Our trainer, Dave Labossiere, put me

in touch with our internist here in Florida. Dr. Link told me to wait another day and if the symptoms didn’t go away, he would prescribe an antibiotic.

Today was that day, and I should have been better prepared; it was also a day when we would play a split doubleheader: one game in Winter Haven and another in Kissimmee. I didn’t have much time to fill a prescription when I got to the ballpark, so as I left for Winter Haven, I asked Dave to get in touch with Dr. Link and call it in for me.

I was in serious discomfort the entire day. And to make matters worse, our starting pitcher, Donne Wall, didn’t have a thing working. The Indians hammered him for 10 runs in 1-1/3 innings. Fans were yelling at me, “Hey, Dierker, show some mercy! Get him out of there.”

When he finally hit the 60-pitch mark, just 15 below his target for innings, I headed for the mound.

“I bet you thought I’d never get here,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was embarrassing. I didn’t have good stuff, and my control was worse.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve endured many ass-kickings at spring training. It happens almost every year, and it has happened to me more than once in this very ballpark.” The Red Sox were in Winter Haven when I was pitching, and they did knock me around a few times.

Even though the game moved swiftly after Wall’s exit, it was still a long afternoon because the first part of the game took so long. I tried to hold my bladder, but the increasing pressure finally got to me in the eighth inning. I had to rush down to the end of the dugout. No telling what the players thought; it looked like I was deserting them.    

I felt a little drowsy and a little dizzy as I drove back to Kissimmee with The Perfessor. We talked about our pitching prospects, which don’t look too promising at this juncture. We both agreed that the starters would have to eat up a lot of innings if we were to be successful.

           

When we arrived at Osceola County Stadium, it was twilight, and the western sky was saturated with clouds bleeding red with the passage of the storm.

A photographer from Sports Illustrated rushed up to me and asked if I had time to do a shoot for the golf section of their magazine.

“Sure,” I said. “Just give me a chance to take a leak, and I’ll be right with you.”

I headed for the training room, hoping the pills would be there. They were not.

“I’ve paged Dr. Link, but he hasn’t returned the call,” Dave said. “Here, let me call him again.”

“Let me know when you get him,” I said. “This situation is on the verge of becoming an emergency.”

“We can take you to the emergency room right now,” Dave offered.

“Naw, that’s all right,” I replied. “Only kidding.”

I made a few grunting sounds as I tried to squeeze out a trickle of urine.

“Are you all right?” Bill Virdon asked, as I headed for the shoot.

“Not really,” I admitted. But I’ll live.”

The thing that prompted this new wave of publicity was my advice to Darryl Kile that he work on his golf game to improve his pitching. I stood on the mound in various poses, holding a sand wedge next to a box of baseballs.

“This is a great sky,” the photographer said.

I looked around and was reminded of my own plight. The bloody hues were seeping down toward the horizon. “If you have any blood in your urine, or deposits on your shorts, come in right away,” Dr Link had advised me. So far, no blood or guts for me, but it was beginning to feel that way.

As soon as I finished the shoot, Gerry came up and pulled me aside.

“Sid complained about his elbow today.” he said. “We have to get our stories straight, and we may have to do some damage control.

“Where is it bothering him?” I asked.

“Right here, just above the elbow on the outside,” he said, pointing to an area above the joint in the meaty part of the outer bicep.

“I can’t imagine that being very serious,” I said. “If it were in the joint,” I’d worry.”

“Well, the problem is that he had this last year. They took some chips out of the joint this fall. But this may be the injury that prevented him from pitching all along.”

We consulted with our team arm doctor, Bill Bryan. Bill said it was an unusual injury for a pitcher, that the muscle involved was not ordinarily a muscle used in throwing.

“Yeah, but Sid doesn’t throw like most people,” Gerry reminded us, and I have to agree on that. His throwing motion is unique. Somehow he manages to throw overhand from way down low. I don’t think his motion could be taught; that’s how unorthodox it is.

“So, what do we say?” I asked.

Bill shot us a long medical definition, half in jest. 

“No, c’mon,” Gerry said, getting impatient.

“Why don’t we just say he is sore above his elbow, on the outside.” I suggested. “I can honestly say, I’ve never known a pitcher to have pain there, and I am not concerned that it is serious.”

“That’s fine,” Gerry said. “But we still have to deal with this quickly. In a few days we will go past the day that we can cut a guy loose without paying his full salary.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, it’s not my job to think about contracts. But now that he mentioned it, I could see where it might apply to some of our other players. It’s something we have talked about, but we haven’t discussed yet.

 

This game went a lot better than the afternoon affair. I wasn’t feeling too chipper, but Sean Berry was. He hit a double and a triple, and we won by one run. Our middle-inning relief candidates — Ramón Garcia, Russ Springer, and José Lima — were a bit shaky. But Billy Wagner and John Hudek pitched well.

Hudek retired the side on just eight pitches. Then he volunteered to pitch tomorrow in Plant City. I have talked to him several times about limiting his appearances and innings, hoping to get him through the whole year without an injury. But he just keeps pushing, in a steady but nonabrasive way.

He wants to be designated the closer, and that’s why he is a good one: he wants the ball when the chips are down. I love that attitude, but I am also aware of his tendency to get hurt. He pitches his heart out, and his arm off.

I talked to the writers briefly, and it was about 10:30. I was just about to get in the shower when Bagwell came in with a beer. I could tell he wanted to talk, so I asked Dennis if he had another cool one. Naturally, he did. 

I think Bagwell and Biggio want this team to win a pennant as badly as I do — and that’s pretty bad. It’s also admirable, because they will make millions, win or lose.

There comes a time in a player’s life when The Ring is the thing. It’s not about hitting .300 or winning 20 games; it’s not about making an All-Star team or making top dollar. There is only one thing an individual player cannot do alone: win a championship.

Jeff wanted to talk about Pat Listach. He doesn’t think the bunt-for-a-hit routine will work for him.

“They play so shallow, he doesn’t have a chance,” he said. “So Bidge ends up on second with one out. We might as well sacrifice. But in this day and age, with all the high scores, how can we sacrifice in the first inning.?”

“I agree,” I said. “If he isn’t able to get himself on a fair percentage of the time, it’s not a good idea for him to bunt. And I’m not committed to him bunting no-matter-what. If he keeps getting thrown out and doesn’t hit better, I’ll have to move him down in the lineup.”

“Gonzo could hit second,” he offered.

“Then who will protect Derek Bell in the lineup?” I asked.

About this time, Biggio came in. This is the type of interplay I am looking for, but I know it is dangerous. If you allow your players to make suggestions, you better accept some of them; otherwise, they will lose confidence in you. But it’s tricky, because some of their ideas will probably be good, and some not-so-appealing.

There are a lot of ways to organize a lineup, and according to Pete Palmer, none of them make a significant difference. What Bagwell and Biggio are concerned about is Biggio getting to second with one out, with Bagwell coming up.

“They just pitch around him or walk him.” Bidge said.

It’s a good point. If you add on-base percentage to slugging percentage, you come pretty close to the total offensive value of a player. An intentional walk yields no slugging, but a 1.000 on-base average. In order to beat this, Bagwell has to go over 1.000 with his OB + SLG, or OPS as it’s now called.

Well, you know what? He has done that for a full season, and parts of several other seasons. But what does that say about Derek Bell, Gonzalez, and Berry?

If Biggio is saying what I think he is saying, it’s that he trusts Bagwell to drive in runs, but not Bell. Bagwell is better, but Bell knocked in 113 runs last year, and Berry drove in 95. If we are going to have a good offense, it can’t be based on just two guys.

These are the things I tried to tell them, in a diplomatic way. I’m not sure I succeeded, any more than I did when I told Hudek I wanted to limit his work to get him through the season. The modern athlete doesn’t accept his role on the team without asking why? I don’t mind explaining why, but I am learning that explanations may not be well-received.

We went on to discuss other options for shortstop and center field. Neither of them thinks Bell can play center. They could be right, but Bill still thinks Derek has a chance to play the position well. I have to go with Bill at this stage.

Bidge suggested that we go after John Valentin of the Red Sox. They are entertaining offers, if you believe what you read. But Valentin is a better hitter than fielder. He is not fast enough to be above-average on AstroTurf. Plus, he makes $3.5 million a year, which would blow our budget to smithereens.

 

I finally got into the shower at 11:30. Boy, was I beat. I’m glad these two guys care so much about the team, but I can see that their desire could be a problem.

THURSDAY, MARCH 13 ● Kissimmee vs Mets

Today the long string of sunny days was broken. We were delayed by rain for half an hour, then played four innings before a downpour washed the game away.

In a way, this complicates things, because we still have 19 pitchers in camp, and some of them haven’t worked many innings. We need to give them a chance to prove themselves, but we also need to get our starting pitchers ready for the season.

With a gloomy forecast for tomorrow, The Perfessor is getting a little worried. He watches over his pupils like a mother hen with her chicks.

In another way, the rain was welcome. We have had a lot of long, hot days on the diamond, and I think some of the guys needed a break.

We have a day off on Monday. Between the rain and the schedule, we should be fresh for the last two weeks of training.

           

Drayton McLane came in today. I knew he would be at the game, so I decided not to take my chewing tobacco out to the dugout. Instead, I put a slug in my mouth during the ten minutes between lunch and game time. Naturally, that’s when Drayton burst into my office.

Vern was there with me at the time, and he seemed even more uncomfortable than I was.

It’s not that Drayton is really intimidating or demanding; it’s his energy. He asks a question and hardly stops long enough to get the whole answer.

I have noticed that most team owners are energetic people. I suppose it goes with the territory. I have become accustomed to being with Drayton, and I enjoy his company.

But not with tobacco in my mouth.

I’ve only got two more days to chew, anyway. It is not really a habit for me, although I have gone through a few packs down here. I suppose it’s something about being down on the field.

When I was pitching, I didn’t chew, but lots of guys did. More than half the guys on the team smoked cigarettes when I first joined the Colt .45s. I jumped right in there, wanting to do everything the big guys were doing. From that day until this one, I have waged war with tobacco — winning mostly, but never conquering. I guess it will be that way the rest of my life.

The reason I am stopping on Sunday is that Joe Garagiola is coming through with his spit-tobacco show. Joe is a persuasive guy, and he uses an ex-ballplayer named Bill Tuttle to hammer his point home.

Tuttle picked up the habit as a youngster, and he kept chomping full-force after his playing days were over. As a result, he has lost a good part of his throat to cancer.           

The Brett Butler throat-cancer surgery convinced me to forego my occasional chew around the batting cage last summer, so I figure Sunday will be the end of it.

I knew I would have to quit before the season started, anyway. With so many games on TV and so many shots of the manager in the dugout, I knew when I took my first chew in February that it would have to be a spring fling. I don’t want to look like a slob on television, and I certainly don’t want kids to think chewing is cool.

Jeff Bagwell was a heavy chewer when he first came up. He gave it up because he was getting mail about being a role model. He quit cold-turkey, and so can I. It’s much easier than quitting cigarettes.

I still enjoy an occasional cigar. It seems that this is a socially-correct tobacco habit these days. But I can’t smoke a stogie in the dugout. Sunflower seeds and gum are less satisfying, but they will have to do.

I don’t expect it to be too difficult to quit. The nervousness associated with getting started is gone now. Of course, the regular season will bring new pressures. Why do so many of life’s little pleasures cause pain in the end? I don’t know. But since I am not looking forward to the end yet, I must cease.

           

Bill Worrell, the sports director for Prime Sports in Houston, came into camp today. I accused him of bringing the rain with him. Judy told me that we got four inches of rain in Houston yesterday.

I met Bill when I was 18 years old. I used to go out to the University of Houston, looking for girls, my rookie year. Bill was a broadcast major back then, and we have had some great fun together.

John Barleycorn got the best of him several years ago. With the help of Betty Ford, he has kicked that habit and is really doing well.

Bill covers the Astros and the Rockets. We talked basketball while I was on the Stairmaster. He still thinks they can win the title if they get everyone healthy for the playoffs.

Unlike some of my associates with the Astros, I hope they do win. It was such a wonderful thing for the city when they won their first title.

The economy wasn’t so good in Houston at the time. Things had been tough for a lot of people for a lot of years. It seemed to me that Houstonians, known for their braggadocio, were beginning to lose their spirit. The Rockets brought the spirit back, then multiplied it by winning two NBA championships in a row.

Some baseball people feel that we are competing for a slice of the entertainment-dollar pie; I feel that one team can feed off the other and make the pie larger.

I’ve been waiting 30 years for Houston to become a real sports town; I think it will take more than one team winning to make it happen. Bill thinks we are going to win, too, and that’s a nice thing to say. His slant is that I wasn’t meant to win in the booth; that it is more fitting that I win in the dugout. Sounds like Hollywood to me.

But then, I was born in Hollywood, so why not?

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12 ● Port St. Lucie, vs Mets 

For various reasons, I took almost all of our key position players to Port St. Lucie. 

I took Sean Berry, because it was his coming-out party. He finally got the go-ahead to play third base and make the necessary throws.

I took Pat Listach, because I think he needs more innings in the field to get his shortstopping down after a long layoff at that position.

I brought Biggio and Bagwell because that gave us the chance to have our whole starting infield in the game for the first time.

I took Derek Bell, because he did not make the trip to Winter Haven.

I took Thomas Howard, because his sore arm put him a little behind the other guys in at-bats.

I took Brad Ausmus, because he needs at-bats and needs to learn our pitching staff.

And I took Luis González, who has been on virtually every trip, because I didn’t want him to be lonely in Kissimmee and because I wanted him to play a little first base.

Tommy Gregg is just about worn out from caddying for Bagwell. Tommy’s not complaining, because he’s trying to make the team. But his ankles are aching as if they didn’t have any feet attached.

When we arrived at the clubhouse this morning, it looked like Opening Day. The bus was ready to go, but the players were grumbling.

Gonzo broke the ice.

“What is this, the great grudge match with the Mets?” he yelled. “Cubby, did you sleep in your uniform? You’re the one who’s behind this, I know. You and Mac. Going back to your old stomping grounds, and you want to kick ass. I just figured it out.”

“I didn’t make out the list. He did,” Cubby said, pointing at me.

“I just did it the way you told me,” I said, hamming an innocent expression.

“Where’s Mac?” Gonzo asked. “He’s not getting out of this one.”

“He’s already down there,” I said. “He can’t wait to get at ’em.”

 “All I know is, this is horseshit,” Gonzo said. “Making everyone take a long trip just so you can show off for your friends.”

The guys were getting a pretty good laugh. Once again, I was grateful to have Luis, the live wire, on our team again. We lost more than a ballplayer when he went to the Cubs; we lost a whole clubhouse atmosphere.

Gonzo gets along with everyone. Because he speaks Spanish, he is great at getting the Latin guys involved. He fits right in with the Blacks and Whites as well.

How the Cubs could let him go, I don’t know. We got him for a million dollars, which in this market is a bargain. He drove in 79 runs for the Cubs last year, even though he was platooned much of the time. He has midrange power, and he walks more than he strikes out. If he hits the same way on our club, he’ll drive in 100 runs.

           

Derek Bell continued his hot hitting, driving home a pair with a single in the first inning. Everyone hit pretty well today, and the pitchers — Shane Reynolds, Billy Wagner, and Chris Holt — performed admirably. We won the game 6-3, and had some fun doing it.

When Bagwell came to bat in the fifth, I told him it would be his last inning. “If you get on,” I said. “I’m going to pinch-run with Gonzo.”

“Wait a minute,” Gonzo said. “I’m not loose yet.”

 “You better get loose, because I’m getting on,” Bagwell said, laughing as he went to the on-deck circle.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Gonzo said in a pleading tone.

 “No, I’m not,” I said.

 Bagwell made a bid, but Carl Everett caught his fly ball near the right-field line.

As it turned out, Berry didn’t get any plays at third, but Gonzo showed well at first.

Also in the fifth, I told Ausmus to “hit and get,” meaning he could shower and skedaddle.

“I’ll hit, but I can’t get,” he said. “I rode over with Gonzo.”

The whole bench got a kick out of that.

The way it works is that the proven players get certain privileges, like driving their own cars, that the rookies either don’t think they deserve or are afraid to ask for. In this case, Billy Spiers got caught in the double-switch as well. He rode over with Biggio, Bagwell, and Berry. Those three players came out after the fifth inning. I told them they could leave.

“Do you have a car at the complex?” I asked Billy.

“Yeah, but I came over with Bags, Bidge, and Sean.”

“I guess it’s your turn in the barrel,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride if you need it.” 

“That’s all right,” he said.

 As Billy ran out to third base, I saw Bagwell walking up the runway toward the clubhouse. “Do you want to wait until we come up to tell Billy, ‘hang with ‘em,’ or do you want me to tell him for you?”

“Tell him for me,” Bagwell said. “I’ll feel sorry for him if you don’t tell him to hang in there.”

It is difficult to get this kind of camaraderie going when you are losing. And I know there will be times when we will scuffle this year. But it is great to get a little banter going early, in the spring.

I noticed that Thomas “Tank” Howard was grinning aver the antics. He hasn’t really assimilated into the group yet. But a few more days like this (he went 3-for-4 with a couple of RBI and two runs scored) and he will fit right in.

They say it isn’t important to win games in the spring. And it isn’t, in any tangible way. But when you have as many new players as we do, and a whole new staff to boot, it doesn’t hurt to win.