Author: Larry Dierker

TUESDAY, MARCH 11 ● Kissimmee, vs Cleveland

Well, we had a few meetings today, but I was not the keynote speaker in any of them. 

Mark Belanger of the Players Association came by the coaches’ room to explain the benefit plan and the distribution of licensing money. Cubby and Mac were especially interested in this information, because they have been active coaches throughout this decade.

During most of that time, each member of the plan was to receive a check for roughly $50,000 per season. It was more than that before the strike in 1994, and has been less since. Actually, members get substantially less in years leading up to a new labor agreement; the rest is set aside as a war chest.

Now that the new agreement has finally been signed, the money that was withheld is going to be distributed. This has income-tax ramifications, and that’s what Mark was trying to explain.

The other thing I learned was that only five coaches qualify for the pension plan. Alan Ashby is the odd-man-out in our group. Some teams apparently pool funds and share equally. This would be fine with me, but this possibility has not been discussed.

What really surprised me is that there is another designated coach who does not receive pension benefits, but who does qualify for licensing money. I didn’t know if we had designated a coach for this slot, but later found that Bill Virdon was our man because he is already taking his pension.

It’s hard to think of him as a 65-year-old man. He just doesn’t look or act that old.

           

When Belanger finished, he joined Donald Fehr, who was reporting on similar issues in a players meeting.

While this meeting was in progress, the coaching staff got together with Gerry and his assistants, Matt Galante, and Tim Purpura. Seems like there are some trade winds blowing, and Gerry wanted us to speak up on the shortstop situation.

Pat Listach has been disappointing, in the field and at the plate. He is not quite as fast as we thought he might be, and some of the guys, including myself, are getting a little worried. Pat was with the Brewers last year, and his manager was a friend of mine, Phil Garner.

Phil told me that Pat would probably look a little clumsy in the field, “but if you just let him play, he’ll do the job.” Well, he hasn’t done it yet. But he is bound to be a little rusty.

Should we try to cover ourselves, with Ricky Gutierrez out until May? Our schedule in April appears to be difficult. We don’t want to panic, but we don’t want to stumble out of the gate, either. 

Most of the coaches were concerned about Pat, but when we learned that it would cost one of our best prospects to get Manny Alexander from the Orioles, we were inclined to be a little more patient with Pat. Alexander is a great fielder, but he has never hit much.

Matt brought up Jay Bell, who is with the Royals now. They are interested in Derek Bell. But I am not interested in getting an old – granted, good, but still old — shortstop for a young outfielder with superstar tools.

I mentioned Walt Weiss, another old shortstop. His name didn’t seem to excite anyone.

About that time, someone came in to inform us that the players’ meeting was over. We adjourned without coming to any conclusion.

Later, Matt told me that he had called Garner, and that Gar said we should be patient with Pat. I agree. He may not be quite what we hoped he would be, but Ricky will be back with most of the season left. By then we will have a better feel for Pat, and we will not have to make a desperation trade and lose prospects in the bargain.

           

As the players split into batting-practice groups, Vern and I started the cutdown process.

The first guy we talked to was Mike Gardiner. Mike is a 31-year-old righthander who has had some big-league experience. Last year, he pitched for AAA Tidewater (Mets) and had a sensational year. His problem in our camp was that the numbers were against him.

After he signed, we made a trade with Detroit that brought us three pitching prospects. Then we drafted another pitcher in the Rule 5 draft. We then signed free agents Russ Springer and Tommy Greene.

All of these guys throw harder than Gardiner; that doesn’t necessarily mean they can pitch better, but there is certainly more upside when you have a good fastball.

The other number that got him was our scarcity of position players. After three or four guys got injured, we didn’t have enough bodies to play the three “B” games on our schedule. If we had played these games, Mike would have pitched at least three times. As it was, he pitched only once — coming in in the middle of a wildfire inning. He got burned in that frame, but he settled down and got ’em 1-2-3 in the next.

This guy was a starter last year, and he went 13-3 with a 3.21 ERA. It was not a fair way to judge him. We have seen him throw on the side, and we are somewhat aware of what it will take for him to succeed in the major leagues. I think he is a little short of stuff, but I cannot be certain.

We couldn’t see him getting any more chances to pitch in major-league camp, with our starters pitching more innings each time out. In minor-league camp, he could get ready for the season. If he continues to perform well, there is a chance we might need him.

But that’s not what he wanted to hear. All he wanted was a chance. He was led to believe he would get a taste of the action, but he didn’t even get a sniff.

Mike was a victim of circumstance. As he unburdened himself of a career of similar frustrations, all Vern and I could do was listen and agree. Mike said it was horseshit, and I have the feeling that blue language doesn’t often pass his lips.

Mike is dedicated, sincere, and a professional in every sense of the word. The word may not have come naturally to him, but it was the right word.

Horseshit!

We could only nod our heads. What could we say?

 

After that, it got a little easier; the other seven pitchers knew they would not make the first cut.

There were some positive things that came out of these discussions:

We were able to tell these guys what we thought of their ability, and what it would take for them to make it big. They seemed to appreciate the time we spent working with them, and the advice we were offering.

To be honest, I don’t think any of them will be impact pitchers in the major leagues. I have been wrong before, and I hope I am wrong again this time. When you only get to see a guy throw on the side a few times and pitch a few innings, it’s hard to render judgement. With the older players, it’s a little easier. Their track records speak volumes.

           

Darryl Kile pitched well today. Jeff Bagwell had a couple of doubles, and Derek Bell hit his fourth home run. Craig Biggio scored three runs. The Killer Bs were stinging the Indians, and we won easily 10-4 to go over .500 at 6-5.

Listach played better at short, and he contributed a two-run double. He also laid down a bunt, and it took a perfect play to nip him at first base.

It is nice to know that you don’t have to outsmart the other manager every day. Most of the time, it seems, the players will win or lose on their own. I might be able to finish .500 in absentia. Still, the best managers make $1 million a year or more. I guess it’s because the pennant can swing on those few games where the manager makes a difference.

I still don’t feel like a master strategist, but I am beginning to feel more like a leader — even without the pep talk. Perhaps all this winning has gone to my head.

           

I worked out after the game today, and I seem to be making some progress on my weight-loss-and-conditioning program. Afterward, I answered some mail and was just ready to leave the park at about six o’clock when Vern came in. He had been across the hall at a minor-league coaches’ meeting, helping them with their pitching evaluations.

“Let’s go get some dinner,” I said.

“Well, I was going to eat with Paul (one of our clubhouse helpers), but I can do that another night.”

“Bring him along,” I said. “Do you think I like to listen to you all the time?”

Vern laughed. He’s starting to get to know me, I guess.

“Let me take a shower and tell him to get ready, and we’ll go.”

Paul is from Canada. This is his spring avocation. When we decided on Mexican food, he went along. But when we got there, we found that he had never been exposed to the fine food from south of the border.

Vern asked me what my biggest surprise was, so far.

“You,” I said. “All of you guys. The staff. Minor- and major-league both. I’ve been away from the field for 18 years. Things have really changed — the dedication and professionalism. The long hours, the knowledge. That’s been the biggest surprise for me. And it has been a pleasant one.”

Paul ordered chicken with rice and beans, and he was somewhat surprised that it was hiding under salsa and cheese. He dug in and found it, however.

I guess the North American Free Trade Agreement is working, after all.

MONDAY, MARCH 10 ● St. Petersburg, vs St. Louis

I was still a little miffed when I woke up this morning.

On the way to St. Pete, I discussed the matter with Cubby again. He seemed to think that if I wanted to speak out on the lack of hustle, I should have my say.

“Better too soon than too late,” was his advice. I think I’ll take it.

Tomorrow is the last day in camp for eight of the pitchers. I might as well share my thoughts with everyone who has been in camp.

When we got to the ballpark, I discussed the issue with Bill, Ash, and Vern. Vern was a little surprised, but no one advised against speaking up.

 

Naturally, the game was one of those uplifting affairs that will be hard to follow with hard words.

It was obvious from the beginning that John Hirschbeck, the home plate umpire, was going to have

a large strike zone. If the pitchers could hit their spots, the hitters would have trouble hitting the pitches. That’s pretty much the way it went.

Donovan Osborne started for the Redbirds. Derek Bell homered off him in the first. After that, Osborne was practically flawless.

Donne Wall had first-inning problems too, but he escaped with one run. It stayed that way until the top of the tenth.

In the interim, I learned a valuable lesson about counting the extra men.

Because this is a relatively long trip, I brought a skeleton squad, and could have come up a man short. By the seventh inning, I was out of players, except for pitchers. If someone got hurt, I was going to have to play a pitcher in the field. Luckily, no one was injured.

In the top of the tenth, Ken Ramos led off with a walk. When Hidalgo popped up, Billy Wagner had to hit, though he was not going to pitch any more.

I put the bunt sign on. After one failed attempt, he put down a good one, and the third-baseman threw the ball away down the rightfield line. Ramos came around to score the lead run, and Wagner made it to third.

On the second pitch to Eric Christopherson, I signaled for the squeeze play. Cubby did a double-take, then relayed the sign. Eric acknowledged, and all systems were GO. The pitch came in high-and-tight, and Eric did a miraculous job of getting the bunt down. The players on the bench leapt to their feet with joy.

It was a real charge, but in the midst of it, I had a sickening feeling.

I had sniffed out a good situation, but I forgot who was running at third. I can ill-afford to lose Wagner, and this is a play where the runner can get hurt. The chances for injury are not great if the hitter acknowledges the sign, but still, there is some risk.

I doubt I would have signaled for the play if I had considered this possibility. It was just another example of how lucky you can get if you are aggressive.

 

After the game, Vern told me that there was to be a Players Association meeting at 9:30 in the morning. That made me think twice about my meeting with the players.

I called our equipment manager, Dennis Liborio, when I got home and confirmed the meeting. We had asked them to hold it at 9 a.m. so we could start our practice on time. I guess they either ignored our request or denied it. I wouldn’t be surprised either way.

Now the question is: Do I have my meeting anyway, and miss even more of the workout? Or do I save it for later? I will make that decision tomorrow. But I will record my thoughts now, so that I am prepared.

           

Those of you who are with the club this year will find that I am not big on meetings. But a few things have been bothering me lately, and I would like to bring them to the surface now, before they become habits.

My biggest concern is that we are losing our vital energy. I know it has been hot. We haven’t had any rain days to let the body recover. But all of you know it will be hot this summer too, and if it doesn’t rain, we will have to go through a stretch like this again.

So far, Bill Virdon is the only one who has called anyone on lack of hustle. The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was day-before-yesterday in Winter Haven. After the game, the remaining players were told to jog up and sprint back six times. Some did, but some didn’t. A few guys, including some rookies, just jogged up and back.

Bill said that we would keep running until we ran hard. Still, several players slacked off. I know the guys who were running hard didn’t appreciate their lazy teammates one bit that day. I was really pissed when I heard about it.         

But it’s not just the things I have heard, but also some things I have seen. Bill is the only one who has been outspoken, but I have talked to the other coaches, and they have all seen things they don’t like regarding teamwork and hustle.

Let me go over the list, without mentioning any names. I’m sure you will know if I am talking about you.

1. We have players who don’t do their stretching and warmup running before practice. This is especially destructive when it is veteran players. What do you think the guys who are in big-league camp for the first time think when they see this? I’ll tell you: They think that this is what you do if you’re a big-league ballplayer. You defy authority, because you are bigger than the team.
2. I have seen a guy make a sensational play to get a pitcher out of trouble, and I have seen that pitcher walk right by that guy without shaking his hand or patting him on the back. I have also seen a guy who made an error fail to acknowledge a pitcher who saved the unearned runs from scoring. This is a team, in case you haven’t noticed. If you don’t care about your teammates, maybe you better take up another sport — because you will not be welcome here.
3. I have seen players beg off from running, because of injuries. Then when I asked the trainers about it, they have told me that the player is healthy enough to run.
4. I have seen guys struggle with their fielding or bunting, but when I asked the coaches if they are doing any extra work, they tell me “no.” Still, we have guys who want extra hitting.

It seems to me that a lot of guys are only interested in the individual things that will make them money. They are not too keen on team plays that don’t show up on the stat sheet. Everyone pays lip service to The Ring, but no one wants to sacrifice for it. We go through the motions on fundamental drills and bunting practice, even though these little things can be the difference between first and second place. We have already won two games this spring by putting down bunts. The little things count for The Ring, even if they don’t count on your paycheck.

5. I have seen veteran players fail to advance an extra base when it would have been easy. I know the same players would advance during the year. Why not now? What do the young guys who will be playing in Tucson and Jackson think when they see this? Is this the kind of baseball we want to play in our system? Or do we think we can just turn it on when the bell rings? Well, let me tell you a little story:

I was a very young pitcher when I won 20 games. The next spring, I was on top of the world. I thought I could just coast through spring training, playing golf and having fun. Well, I started off 0-4 in April, and it took me the whole season to turn my record around, even though I started bearing down in May (exaggeration for emphasis). Luckily, we didn’t finish a game or two out of first that season. Think how I would have felt if we did.

When I was a player, the Red Sox were known as a “country club” team. They had lots of privileges, and short work days. I believe we can have short work days, if they are intense. I believe we can have lots of privileges if we earn them.

So far, no one has been shy about asking to drive to and from the road games. No one has volunteered to stay for the whole game after they have been excused. To tell the truth, it is a long season, and I don’t expect a lot of false hustle. I’m happy to give you guys a little slack.

But it’s about time you give me, your coaches, and your teammates, the best you have to offer when you are on the field. I’m going to tell you this right now — and if I fail to live up to it, I want you to call me on it:

I will never criticize you in the media. What I have said here, stays here. If we are to be a good team, we have to pull together like a family. We may have our disagreements, but when it comes down to it, it’s us against the world.

I think we have a chance to win this year. And it’s likely to take most everyone in this room to get it done. Some of you may start in the minors, and come up to help us win. That’s why it is important that we establish our commitment to excellence here at spring training — even though the games don’t count.

I am not managing to win, but I am trying my best to get myself and the team ready. That is my commitment. I’m expecting you to help me by doing your part. 

Are there any questions?

 

I don’t know that it will come out quite like that, but that is the gist of it.

I have been thinking of it for two days now. It only took me five minutes to write it.

SUNDAY, MARCH 9 ● Winter Haven, vs Cleveland

I can’t tell one day from the other down here. Every day starts at 6:30 or 7:00 a.m. for me. That, in itself, is a body blow. I have no time for a leisurely reading of the newspaper. I have no time for the pleasure of ruminating while eliminating. In other words, this schedule has me constipated.

I’ll be glad when we start playing night games.

In recent years, I have found that my body clock is slowing down. Frequently, we have a day game on the last day of a road trip. We call this getaway day. This is when I find myself rushing around to get packed and checked out of the hotel. I get to the ballpark and have many things to do. Before I can get really comfortable, it’s showtime. Sometimes I don’t get around to my daily duty until after we get back to Houston that night.

This spring, every day is like getaway day. I suppose I could get up an hour earlier, but that is not my style.

So tonight at 10 p.m. I am writing, and still waiting for nature’s call. In another hour I have to go down to the lobby to tape an interview for Channel 2 in Houston. Tommorow I will pick Cubby up at 8:00 for a trip to St. Petersburg.

I suppose I’ll get around to it sometime. At least it’s not critical to the team’s success.

           

What is critical is our preparation for the opening of the season. And in that regard, I am unhappy tonight.

Earlier, I was just plain pissed. I jogged four miles when we got back from Winter Haven instead of my normal two or three. 

The source of my discontent is the effort of our athletes. I realize that it has been hot, and we have not had any “rain days” to let the bodies recover. But I still can’t condone laziness.

The disturbing thing is that today it was Bagwell and Biggio again. And Listach.

Pat has been having a little trouble catching ground balls lately. Today he had a tough time, and instead of taking more work, he took less. The other guys were having some difficulty on the hard infield at Chain O’Lakes Park too, but they stayed in there and got their work done.

Pat has been a disappointment so far. He is not as fast as was advertised. And he is not hitting or bunting very well.

           

Still, I thought it would be a good day. I wore one of my Hawaiian shirts to lift my spirits — and our

record above the .500 mark. And I asked José “Cheo” Cruz to take the lineup card out, for good luck.

At first, it seemed a good move. Biggio opened the game with what should have been an easy double, but he stopped at first. That didn’t bother me too much.

Listach got a bunt down, then Bagwell singled Biggio home. The throw went through to the plate, and Jeff should have gone to second, but he stopped at first. Gonzalez doubled down the leftfield line, and Bagwell stopped at third and was stranded there. If he had moved up on the throw home, we would have scored two runs instead of one.

I know Biggio and Bagwell will make those plays during the season, but what does their lack of hustle say to the other players?

Rookie Bobby Abreu was sullen when he didn’t get in the game until the seventh inning. When it came time to run sprints after the game, some of the players — including Abreu — went through the motions.

Oscar Henriquez, a supremely talented 21-year-old pitcher, had some problems, loading the bases, but was saved by Russ Johnson’s spectacular play. Henriquez never even acknowledged Johnson. He acted like he was mad that he didn’t strike everyone out.

Later, when it was time to run, Oscar was signing autographs. When I confronted him, he said he had to change his shoes. Then why was he signing autographs?

Bill Virdon made the team run extra laps until everyone ran hard. This created a rift between the guys who were running hard all along and those, including Abreu, who were loafing.

I was talking with reporters at the time, and when I heard about it, I was really fried.

When I was taking a shower, Johnson, a rookie who has played his ass off this spring, asked if he could ride home with his wife. Tommy Gregg and Mike Gardiner came up with the same request. I let them all go, but that’s about all I can let go for now. When the whole squad is together again, day after tomorrow, I’ll have my say.

I hate to do this so early in the spring, because I know that you can’t play the “mad card” too often. It loses impact. But I believe the players need to know what the staff is seeing. And the staff needs to know that I will take a stand.

I have been preparing my speech all night long, and I will probably write it in these pages tomorrow. So far, the hours have taken the hard edge off what I plan to say. I hope that the one-day interlude will soften it a little more. But I can’t keep watching this and not say anything.

If I were a veteran manager, I might let it slide. But the credibility of our staff is at stake this spring. And the message we send the minor-leaguers who will disperse to other clubs next week is also important. 

SATURDAY, MARCH 8 ● Kissimmee, vs Cleveland

This morning, while the team was stretching, Vern and Alan Ashby were playing catch. “Check this out, Dierk,” Ashby said. As I walked over, I saw Vern cut loose a throw that sailed about six inches.

“Sign him up,” I said, as Ash flipped me the ball.

The telltale evidence was inside the “horseshoe” side of the stitching: the hide of the ball had been dimpled by an abrasive surface. It was the notorious scuff ball.

The theory of the scuff ball is that one side of the ball will have more air resistance than the other. Therefore, the ball will move away from the scuff. You can sail it or sink it, and it is equally effective either way.

The next Ruhle delivery sank about six inches. “Sign him up,” I said again.

I tried my hand at it, having never thrown the scuffer before. I couldn’t throw the ball hard enough to make it work – which, upon reflection, was quite humorous.

You see, my maternal grandfather, “Big Al” Keller, was one of my biggest fans when I was growing up. Al had played a lot of semipro ball, and when I was about 12, he told me that he would teach me the “emery ball” when I was able to throw hard enough. But he never did teach me the pitch.

When I was in the big leagues, I once asked him about it, and he just laughed. “You don’t need it now, kid,” he said.

“The emery ball required little or no skill on the part of the pitcher. An outfielder with good control and fair speed could have come in and pitched the emery ball. To be sure, a proper use of the ball demanded training, as in any other delivery, but at the same time a person did not have to be a good pitcher to use it. It really discouraged pitching as much as it did batting, for it required nothing else from a man than the ability to roughen a part of the surface of the ball and control the ball when he pitched it.”– Pitcher Walter Johnson

Later, after I retired, several people asked me if I had ever thrown spitters or scuffers. “No,” I replied. “I went from a point where I didn’t need to cheat, to where it wouldn’t help me, so fast that I never had a chance.” And that is the truth.

I didn’t have anything against it. The great tradition of the sport has always been, “if you can get away with it, do it.” There are plenty of corked bats around. But you still have to hit the ball squarely. Most of the players who hit home runs don’t need cork, and most who need it don’t hit the ball hard often enough to get the playing time.

Vern had had so much fun with the scuffed ball that he brought it over to the mound when Darryl Kile was doing his side work between starts. After Kile got up to speed, Vern said, “Here, try this one.”

Darryl threw a few pitches that sailed and sank, and he was having a great time, which is exactly what Vern wanted. Sometimes D.K. is a little hard on himself. Vern wanted to loosen him up.

I thought it was a great idea, but it came right back and hit us in the face during lunch break.

Vern and I were sitting in my office, and Darryl stuck his head inside. He was smiling, as if to show that he was only kidding.

“Hey, what was that scuffed ball about?” he asked. “Are you trying to say that my regular stuff isn’t good enough?”

I thought he was kidding, but Vern wasn’t so sure. “We were just having some fun. You know, watching the ball move. Sometimes it’s good to see how the ball can move.”

“Are you trying to say my ball doesn’t move?”

“No,” I interjected. “We were just screwing around. Don’t read something into it that isn’t there. It’s just for fun.”

The conversation went on for a while, and maybe he was satisfied — but then again, maybe he wasn’t. That’s Darryl “The Enigma” Kile.

When Darryl finally made his exit, I told Vern: “He’s your project, not mine.” 

As I was talking to Vern, Ash came in and said, “Come out here for a minute, Dierk. You gotta see this.”

When I got out to the locker room, I saw Vern’s uniform — shoes, cap, and all — spread out on the floor, with white wrapping tape surrounding the body like you would see at the scene of a murder.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“Vern took a header coming off the field earlier today,” Ash said, suppressing laughter.

“Who did this?” I asked, admiring the work.

“Derek,” Ash said. “Nice job, huh?”

It was, indeed, a nice job. Before long everyone, including the trainers and team doctors, was standing around gawking and laughing.

If we can keep this kind of spirit going, we will have some fun this summer.

 

The game was a beauty.  Shane Reynolds started, and he gave up only a solo homer to Kevin Mitchell in four innings. Charles Nagy was even better for the Indians. They added three in the fifth on Cory Snyder’s home run off Tom Martin.

In the seventh, we got a rally started with two outs. I didn’t expect it to keep going, so I penciled in my double-switch to bring in José Lima. But then we kept getting hits and walks, and I had to keep readjusting my lineup. By the time we tied the score, the lineup card in the dugout looked like the bathroom in a neighborhood bar. The scorecard had been scratched out and scribbled over so many times that it appeared to be a work of original urban art.

I showed it to Vern, to make sure I hadn’t messed up the switches, and he told me that I should just wait until the inning was over, then put the pitcher in his place and adjust for the rest of the changes.

“I know,” I said, “but I’m afraid it will take me so long to figure it out that I’ll be called for delay of game.”

“You’ll be all right,” he said.

And I think I will. But that inning was certainly instructive.

Richard Hidalgo led off in the bottom of the tenth. Catcher Jeff Tackett was on deck. Virdon asked him if he ever bunted.

“Sure,” he said.

Hidalgo reached on an error, and Virdon gave Tackett the bunt sign. Jeff laid down a soft bunt, but it went foul.

I said, “Take the bunt off.”

“I don’t know,” Bill said. “I like my chances in scoring position with two tries.”

“But I don’t like Tackett hitting with two strikes in the count if he fails,” I said.

“It’s your call,” he said. “You have to do what you think is best.”

Well, I had never seen Tackett bunt. His first attempt looked pretty good. But there was a young pitcher on the mound, and sometimes young pitchers just throw the ball in there if they think someone is bunting.

We took the bunt off, and Tackett promptly singled to right, sending Hidalgo to third.

“That’s why you have to go with your own thoughts,” Bill said.

Tommy Gregg came up. He has been hitting the ball real well all spring, but with no luck. His luck didn’t change; he hit a bullet to right, and the right-fielder charged and caught it. The runner at third could not score.

“Now you could pull the squeeze with Listach,” Bill said.

I liked the idea. Not that I thought it was our best bet, but sometimes in spring training you have priorities other than winning. We have been encouraging Listach to bunt since he got here, but he hasn’t gotten a single bunt down.

“It’s ‘make it or break it’ now,” I said. “Put it on.”

Well, we haven’t squeezed all spring, and I couldn’t even remember the sign. I knew it was one ear, and Bill wasn’t sure either. He gave Cubby about every sign we have, then wiped them all off.

“I can’t remember the sign,” he admitted.

“That’s okay,” I said. “Neither can I.”

I knew Listach had to be at least as confused as Cubby. He tried to bunt for a hit, but the pitch almost hit him. Luckily, the runner didn’t break. If we had squeezed, we’d have been dead. As it was, Listach chopped a ground ball to second and beat the rap on the double play. We won 5-4.

           

After the game, Gerry came by my office. “Well, that’s about it for Martin,” he said. “He doesn’t have the track record. We can’t expect him to be ready this year, and it’s a good thing it showed up early.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, not really agreeing. “But he did come back nicely after the home run.”

“A lot of guys do well when the horse is already out of the barn,” he said.

I hoped we would get a few more looks at Tom Martin. He may not have the track record, but he has better stuff than the other lefthanders who are in the running. It may be a long shot, but I’d like to keep trying.

I talked to Vern after Gerry left. He wants to see more of Martin too.

FRIDAY, MARCH 7 ● at Plant City, vs Cincinnati

 I’ve known a lot of players who hate to lose at anything. In baseball, it is important to be able to accept a loss and move on. The guys who can’t abide a loss often become lonely, bitter, angry, insecure, unfriendly. If you want to make your living in baseball, you better get used to losing, because the best teams get beat 40 percent of the time.

Somehow, my old broadcast partner, Milo Hamilton, has not been able to figure this out in his 43 years in the game. He takes each loss personally — doesn’t take the blame for it, mind you — but it eats away at him and spills out like venom.

He’s a tough guy to be around when the team is in a losing streak. Naturally, the reverse is also true: when we win, he is full of vim and vigor, and everything is hunky-dory.

Sometime around the seventh inning of today’s game with the Reds, I turned to Vern Ruhle and said, “Milo’s not going to like this.” The Perfessor gave me that inquisitive look, so I explained:

“He can’t stand losing, and here we are, two games under .500 and without a single hit against a bunch of mediocre pitchers.”

“Doesn’t he know that this is spring training?” Vern asked.

“Yes, he knows. In his mind, he knows. But it’s still eating his heart out. When we get two or three games under, he starts looking at the schedule and trying to figure out how we can get back to even. Well, tomorrow and the next day, we play the Indians. He’s pretty upset, I guarantee it.”

Vern just shook his head. “Well, maybe we’ll get a hit for him and win the game,” he said.

 

At this juncture, we were in a scoreless game. I was pleased that our pitchers were throwing hard and pitching well. And I wasn’t too upset about our lack of hitting, because the Reds’ hurlers were throwing well too. And I didn’t have my big guns on the trip.

Still, I was hoping that we would win. I am better-equipped to take a loss than Milo, but I also understand the importance of winning these “unimportant” games. You see, we have built a considerable amount of enthusiasm in Houston with our offseason moves. But fans are fickle; they don’t like losing, either, and many don’t even want to be associated with a loser.

Winning these games isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is certainly better for early-season ticket sales. In our camp, with all the new people, it is also important for our esprit de corps. That’s why this game was such a lift.

After ten innings, it was still scoreless, and we still had nary a hit. But in the 11th, Bobby Abreu hit a double and Russ Johnson scored him with a single up the middle. We held on and won the game 1-0.

Afterward, I asked the media, “Who needs Bagwell and Biggio?” 

Spirits were high in the locker room, and I know Milo was feeling a lot better up in the booth.

           

On the way home, I had another frank discussion with Cubby. He talked about his interviews with the Angels in a matter-of-fact tone. I know he had to be disappointed when he didn’t get the job, but you would never know it, talking to him. He’s a real pro.

“I think the thing that hurt me was that they wanted me to keep some of the coaches and let some of them go,” he said. “I was in agreement on that issue, but we differed on which should stay and go. There were a couple of guys I really wanted. One was Larry Haney. We never came to a meeting of the minds on coaches.”

It occurred to me that I had been lucky on that issue. Gerry and Tal made suggestions, but they also made it clear that they would not force me to take a coach I didn’t want. As a result, we seem to have a good staff. They all work hard and get along.

THURSDAY, MARCH 6 ● Kissimmee, vs Dodgers

Today, the Dodgers came calling. I have had the most intimate relations with this team; they were my childhood favorites. Vin Scully was the narrator of my secret dreams.

Growing up in LA, I became accustomed to championships: the Dodgers, the Lakers, USC in football — and especially, UCLA in basketball. Even the Rams made the playoffs most of the time.

When I got to Houston, I found that championships were not traditional. And for most of my baseball life, I have looked up at the Dodgers, rather than look up to them.

In my pitching prime, it was the Dodgers or the Reds who were favored every year. We knew we couldn’t beat them when we got to spring training. The Reds were a blue-collar outfit, but the Dodgers were strictly Hollywood.

I hated them.

When the Astros finally got to the playoffs in 1980, it was by beating the Dodgers in their own stadium in the 163rd — and final — game of the year. That was sweet redemption. I have not felt such keen animosity for them since. But that doesn’t mean I like them.

Would I like to have been one of them? Maybe so. But going against them was always emotional for me.

I beat Sandy Koufax 3-0 in 1966. After that, I never beat them in my home town, though I beat them a few times in the Dome.

Now Tommy Lasorda has given way to a contemporary of mine: Bill Russell. Russell is a class act. It’s hard to get really mad at the Dodgers now. But it would still be sweet to beat them — even in an exhibition game.

Unfortunately, this one ended in a 12-inning tie.

 

Before the game, Bagwell, Biggio, and I got together for a photo shoot. It was for the cover of Baseball Weekly. Wow! I had made the big time. The photographer must have taken more than 100 shots. Hope he got one right.

I wasn’t in my most smiling mood, because while we were walking over to the shoot, Jeff told me that Derek Bell was once again talking about how he didn’t want to play center field.

“If he doesn’t want to play it, he’s not going to play it well,” he said. I had to agree.

When I got back to the clubhouse, I called Gerry about the situation. Gerry came down to talk it over with Derek, and then came by to visit with me.

“He’s feeling a lot of pressure, for whatever reason,” Gerry said.  “He told me if we would just leave him alone and let him play, he would be all right.”         

I sensed this was an indirect attack on Bill Virdon, and I suggested that we all get together and talk about it after the game.

In the meantime, Doug Supernaw, the country-and-western singer, had entered the locker room. Apparently he is friendly with some of our players. Biggio introduced me to him, and he asked if Doug could sit on the bench for the game.

I was getting a little testy, but I didn’t let it show. “Let me check with Gerry,” I said.

Earlier, I had noticed that Bagwell, Bell, and Biggio were not doing the stretching and running that precede each of our workouts. They were just standing around and talking, while all the other players were participating in the program.

When I called Gerry, I said, “These guys are just like little kids. They’re always testing you. First, they want to drive their own cars to the road games. They get permission once, because they say that they want to leave early and work out with weights. I give them permission the first time, and the second time they don’t ask; they just do it.”

I have no doubt that they actually will lift weights, but I have my doubts as to whether they will serve the team better by building big biceps or by being around to set an example for the younger players. So this is the moment I chose to make a small stand.

I called Bagwell and Biggio into my office and said, “I talked to Gerry, and Doug can sit in the dugout for a few innings. But we can’t start letting everyone’s friends suit up for the game. I hope you understand.

“On another subject, I have noticed that you guys don’t like to do the stretching and running at the beginning of practice. This bothers me.

“It’s not so much that I think you are lazy, or that I am afraid you won’t be ready for the season. I know both of you will play your asses off all year long for me. But what you are doing now undermines my authority.

“Put yourself in my shoes. You’re a rookie manager, and you’re trying to establish the authority of your leadership. The three biggest stars on the team don’t participate in group exercises. The guys who were on the team last year know what kind of effort you give all year long; but what about the new guys — the rookies, the minor-leaguers, the guys who came over in trades? What do they think?”

Biggio broke out in a big smile. “You got me there,” he said. “Guilty as charged. I see what you’re saying. It won’t happen again.”

“Is that all it is?” Bagwell asked.

“That’s it,” I said.

“Okay, you got it. Fair is fair.”

“I hope you guys understand,” I said. “I can do a lot of things to make spring training easier for you, because I am fully aware of the toll the regular season will take. But I really feel that my credibility and the credibility of the new staff is critical this year.

“We all want the same thing. And we’re not going to get it if we’re not all together.”

I felt better as they left. I think they did too.

One thing I learned with my second daughter, Julia, is that sometimes the ones who resist discipline the most are the ones who need to have the boundaries and limits the most. 

This is a hard thing for me, because it’s not my nature to give advice to people who can pretty well take care of themselves.

Derek Bell is a different story. I decided that while I was hot, I would try my hand with him too. I found him in the training room.

 “Hey, D,” I said. “I just talked with Bags and Bidge about the stretching. They told me that they were holding you up in a rap session when you were wanting to do the work. Don’t let them pull that shit on you anymore. You just be your own man.”

Derek gave me a quizzical look. “What d’you mean,” he asked.

Just then it occurred to me that they were probably talking about center field.

 “I’m kidding,” I said. “But I did talk to them about the stretching and running. You know, all the young guys look up to you guys, and they probably think when they get to the big leagues they don’t have to do the work anymore.

“I know how hard you play, but these guys don’t. Anyway, they said they’d give me a little better effort, and I hope you will too.”

Derek laughed. “You saw what we were doing?” he said.

“I saw it.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “Okay, I see what you mean.”

It wasn’t really such a big confrontation, but it was my first attempt to mold the team by working on the stars. I thought they all took it well, and I felt pretty good about it. But I still didn’t know if I have a centerfielder.

           

After the game, that very subject was addressed. Bill and Gerry joined me in my office.

Gerry was upfront and direct, as usual. He said that Derek told him he could play center if everyone (meaning Bill) would just leave him alone and let him play. He told me that when he was in San Diego, he was fine in center. Nobody bothered him, and he just did his job.

I was thinking that if he had done his job so well in San Diego, he wouldn’t be playing for us.

Bill said, “Nobody has been bothering him, as far as I know. I do insist that he does his work, but that hasn’t been a problem. He works hard. I haven’t even said anything to him about the plays he’s messed up. In fact, I have gone out of my way to compliment him on his good plays.”

“Well, maybe there’s something else behind it. Maybe he wants his buddy Thomas Howard to play center; I don’t know. It has to be something other than what he’s been saying. I mean, for him to say he’s uncomfortable? I’ve never known anyone more comfortable than he is. Easy come, easy go, you know what I mean?”

“I know, but I also know my daughter Julia,” I said. She wakes up in a new world every day. And I think Derek is a lot like that. He can’t put his mind to a long-term task and stick with it. He has a different impulse every day. And he’s completely impulsive. One day it’s this thing; one day it’s that.

“He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not a dedicated guy, either. I think we have to keep pumping him up. I mean, let’s face it: if he plays center, we have all sorts of other options. If he goes back to right, we’re somewhat limited as to what we can do with the rest of the outfielders. And we still don’t have a pure centerfielder. What do you think, Bill?”

“The only two guys I see with the ability to play center are Derek and Richard [Hidalgo],” Bill said. “I still think he can do it, but he has to want to do it.”

 “Well, let’s stay the course,” Gerry said. “If we all keep encouraging him, it might work. If it doesn’t, he can always play right.”

 

I left a little drained; it had been a long day. But I wasn’t finished yet.

A group of 21 men from our church in Houston were at the game. They wanted to have dinner, and I had already agreed to join them. As it turned out, this was an island of calm in a sea of trouble. We laughed a lot, and we took many photographs.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 5 ● Lakeland, vs Detroit

I didn’t ride the bus to Lakeland today. Instead, I picked up Cubby and we had a good discussion about managing.

I told him that I was not feeling very adept in the dugout yet. I talked about the process of relaying the signs, and about my problems with the lineup card.

“It’s frustrating,” I said. “Up in the booth, I would pencil a double-switch onto my scoresheet without hardly looking down. Now, I look at that card in the dugout as if it were a Rubik’s Cube. It can’t be as tough as I’m making it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he said. “It’ll start coming to you as you go along. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I was really feeling good about this guy. He seemed to have no ego problem; no bitterness. After five championships in eight minor-league seasons, he has had three interviews for big-league jobs. The last time he was a finalist, and the Astros’ old skipper, Terry Collins, beat him out.

Terry has an electric personality; Cubby is low-key. All he needs is a situation where a team is looking for a steady hand. But the Angels wanted to jack their team up — to add a little spark to their leadership. That’s what the Astros wanted when they hired Terry. When they hired me, they wanted to settle things down.

One of these days, Cubby will be in the right place at the right time. I think he will do a good job. One thing that might hurt him in interviews is that he isn’t big; isn’t fiery; isn’t glib. He’s just a regular guy.

I think many teams are looking for a media star, and he doesn’t fit the description. That’s too bad for him, but it could be just right for me. With all of his credentials, he could undermine me without feeling guilty. But I don’t think he will do that. I think he is a very solid guy.

 

I threw the baseball for the first time before the game today. Just played catch with Alan Ashby. It sure was fun. There are few things as enjoyable as a good game of catch. My son Ryan is old enough now that I can throw hard to him. I wonder how much longer I will be able to let him throw hard to me.

The game with the Tigers was disappointing. They came up with two runs in the bottom of the ninth to beat us by a run. It wasn’t the losing, or the score, that bothered me the most; I was concerned with our pitching. Not so much with the results as with the stuff: the raw ability.

Our offseason trades were supposed to have increased our firepower. I thought we would be deep in hard-throwing young pitchers. So far, all I have seen is the young pitchers. They may be hard throwers before the year is out, but they are not throwing hard yet. Maybe they will start throwing harder, but I doubt it. My hunch is that our scouting reports were a little optimistic on some of these guys.

Jeff Bagwell asked me if I wanted to go have a few beers some night and I said yes. Bagwell has already accomplished almost everything a player could ever desire. He was Rookie of the Year in 1991; he’s been an All-Star; he was the MVP of the league in 1994. 

Jeff is a serious-minded athlete. He is driven to succeed. The only thing he doesn’t have is a World Series ring, and that is the only thing he wants. I believe he can help me a lot in the clubhouse, if he endorses our program. But he is a thinking man, and he’s not going to just go along for the ride.

We need to come to a meeting of the minds, and I need to entertain some of his thoughts. I don’t mind that at all, because he will doubtless have some good ideas. But there will come a time when I will disagree with him, and insist that we go another way. It’s inevitable. That’s why I want to know what he is thinking, and establish a friendly-but-respectful relationship.

The other day I told him that I had been a fool, just like him: we both married beautiful blondes shortly after becoming big-league ballplayers. We both bought the sizzle and then didn’t like the steak. We commiserated and had a good laugh about our folly.

I look forward to spending a little more time with him.

 

This evening, Pat Murphy, our computer whiz, came over to see if he could get me set up on the Internet. His efforts were unsuccessful, but we did enjoy a nice cigar together.

Pat isn’t the only one who is into the cigar craze. Craig Biggio wants to use stogies as the currency-of-choice in our Kangaroo Court this year. He may get some opposition, but I’m all in favor of it. 

Sometimes a manager will fine a player, then give the money back at the end of the year if the player behaves. If we use cigars, they will know that their fines are not coming back; they will see them go up in smoke.

Murph and I had pasta for dinner, then we went to The Boo for a beer and another cigar. We missed Bagwell by 15 minutes. As far as I know, he is the first player to enter this sacred place. Guess he really did want to shoot the breeze, and I’m sorry I missed him. But it’s a good sign.

I don’t think he would have done the same for Terry. Our time will come.

TUESDAY, MARCH 4 ● West Palm Beach, vs Atlanta

La Russa and Cox, back-to-back. One day to the next. This one in the home of the Braves.

When the season starts, it will be back-to-back-to-back-to-back: 13 games in a row against two of the best teams — and two of the best managers — in baseball.

I talked briefly with Bobby before this-afternoon’s contest. He was cordial as usual, and his camp seemed lively but loose. Several pitchers who were not working this day were already leaving for the golf course when we arrived at 10:15.

The Braves can afford to be lenient with their key players, because these guys have played together and won together for the past four or five years. Each season, it seems, GM John Schuerholz makes a few adjustments to fine-tune the team. And each year, Bobby Cox steers it steadily through the twists and turns of the season.

They have their act together. They don’t need a lot of practice.

I have heard people say that Bobby isn’t that good; that anyone could manage the Braves to a pennant. I disagree. I think he handles the big-name players with aplomb. You never hear a discordant note in the Braves camp, and that is a tribute to Bobby and his coaching staff. The players have confidence in their own ability, and the staff supports them. Sure, they have a lot of ability, but believe me, there are managers who could screw up that team.

You will never read a critical quote from Bobby in the Atlanta paper. If a guy dropped an easy fly ball to let the Braves’ opponent to score a winning run, Bobby would say it was a tough chance; that anyone could have missed it. This type of approach, though it may be slightly dishonest, is often availing.

 

This day, the Braves won a close game. West Palm is a long trip from Kissimmee, and I gave most of the regular players the day off. On top of that, we didn’t get any breaks from the men in blue.

Our young shortstop, Carlos Guillen, was called for missing the bag as he turned a double play. (I’m not sure he did miss it, but the umpires are going to call everything close this year after the Robbie Alomar incident at the end of the 1996 season.) The Braves ended up scoring a run that would not otherwise have scored in that frame.

Later, the first-base ump called a Tommy Gregg home-run ball foul. It may well have been foul, but it was close. The Braves’ right fielder, David Justice, told Gregg that he thought it was fair. It really hurt, because there were two men on base at the time — and as it turned out, we didn’t score in that inning.

We were one run down in the eighth with Bobby Abreu at bat, Richard Hidalgo on first, and Thomas Howard on third. Abreu hit a long line drive to left. The Braves’ left fielder made a sensational catch. Howard tagged and ran home, and Hidalgo, who was rounding second, turned and hightailed it back to first. The relay got to first base about the same time as the sliding Hidalgo. The umpire called him out. Our first-base coach, José Cruz, thought he was safe.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

At home plate, the umpire started waving his arms, indicating that the run did not score. That’s when I went out for my first confrontation with an umpire.

It really wasn’t an argument at all. I had been watching the play at first and didn’t even see it well. I didn’t see the action at home plate at all. The umpire told me that Howard never touched the plate. I wasn’t watching that part of the play, so I couldn’t say much.

When I got back to the dugout, Thomas told me that he was standing on home, watching the play at first. He argued a little, but not much, and I was glad. No sense provoking the umpires at spring training.

This was a game we could have won if any of the calls had gone the other way. I was philosophical about it after the game.

“Better now than on April 1,” I said.

 

I also saw a bit of irony in the game. Last year, when we tried to send lefthander Dean Hartgraves to the minors, the Braves claimed him on waivers. He ended up pitching an inning in this game. On our side was Tom Martin, a lefty we signed after he was released by Atlanta.

Tom pitched another good inning. He is fighting for a job in our camp this spring, while Hartgraves battles for a spot on the Braves. I like Martin’s stuff better, but Hartgraves may be a more-accomplished pitcher.

The players were laughing and cutting up in the back of the bus on the way home. They weren’t taking it too hard, and neither was I. It will be different when the bell rings.

MONDAY, MARCH 3 ● Kissimmee, vs St. Louis

We open the regular season with 13 games against the Braves and Cardinals. This will be quite a test. And for me, quite a challenge, going against two of the managing legends of the sport: Bobby Cox and Tony La Russa. One writer, Jim Maloney, asked me how I felt about that. I said that I was glad the Braves came first.

“Bobby Cox is a low-key, even-keel kind of guy,” I said. “His team may kick our asses, but he won’t throw down the gauntlet, like La Russa.”

I’ve seen a lot of good competitors in my day, and there is no stereotypical personality trait. As a pitcher, I was deadpan all the way — no emotion. My teammate Don Wilson liked to challenge the other team. He would yell at them and throw pitches at them. The angrier they got, the madder he got — and the better he pitched.

I think La Russa has some of the Don-Wilson-style competitor in his bloodstream. He’s also one of the finest managers in the business.

As we prepared to play the Redbirds, our nemesis team from the year before (2-13), I asked their beat writer, Rick Hummel, about this theory.

“I think he tries to get the guys stirred up,” Rick said. “He likes to make it seem like the whole world is against his team. Then he calls for a circling of the wagons.

“I have to hand it to him. At first, the players weren’t buying it, but they’re with him now.”

I have to admit, I am not a fan of this contentious approach. I prefer the more-civilized style of Cox. I’m going to have to deal with both. The Cardinals came calling today, and we visit the Braves tomorrow.

Hummel asked for my reaction to something La Russa said earlier this spring, to the effect that the Cardinals were the champions of the Central Division and that they weren’t going to give up the crown without a fight.

Ray Knight, the manager of the Reds, cut out the article, highlighted the quote, and displayed it in the Reds’ locker room.

I never saw the exact quote; I only read about Knight’s reaction. To me, it’s sort of juvenile — like pro wrestling. I don’t care what these guys say, unless they single us out.

“It doesn’t bother me a bit,” I told Hummel. “If he starts calling us names, that may be different.”

But this whole La Russa psychological-warfare routine does bother me. I didn’t like it as a pitcher when a beanball contest developed. I did, however, have to deal with it. If I have to deal with it this year, I’ll do my best. But it is not what I would choose.

Ray Knight likes to fight. I’ve seen him in action a few times, and he’s pretty good at it. Perhaps the war between the Reds and the Cards will become as famous as the War of the Roses.

I hope they leave us out of it — and that they battle for second place.

           

Today I met La Russa at home plate. He wore a disarming smile, and we talked briefly about mutual acquaintances.

The Cardinals thumped us with a nine-run inning. I doubt they will see either of the pitchers they saw in that frame when the regular season begins.

I had Bill Virdon relay the signs to Cubby at third base. I kept the lineup card and made the appropriate changes.

I pulled my first double-switch in a five-player changeover in the fifth inning. It worked pretty well, but I could have gained more octane by switching two other positions in the batting order.

Later, I needed to make a double-switch to prevent the pitcher from hitting when we were behind. I couldn’t figure out how do it quickly enough, and Billy Wagner did indeed have to hit, so he could get his two innings in.

I could have easily avoided that scenario by changing catchers when I changed pitchers, but no matter how I studied the card — and I did study it — I couldn’t figure it out. From the booth, I could have done it in a flash. This aspect of lineup changes is going to be a little more challenging that I thought.        

When the Cardinals come calling on the first homestand, I expect a charged atmosphere. It will be light-years away from The Big Bamboo.