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MONDAY, APRIL 7 ● Jackson, Mississippi exhibition game

The team bus for the airport was to leave at 2 p.m., so I had time for a leisurely morning.         

Ryan was still sick with a stomach virus, so I spent some time talking to him. He hasn’t missed much school in his life; this three-day stint is the longest ever for him.

I know he is tired of daytime TV, but he can’t stay on his feet long without getting nauseous. What makes it worse, he still has a sore shoulder. It has been bothering him for a month, and I finally had him checked by Dave Labossiere. Dave gave Ryan some exercises to do, but Ryan can’t stay up long enough to do them.

I got two commercial calls today. One is for the clothier that is supplying my wardrobe, and the other the car dealership that is loaning me a car to drive. Both want to shoot the commercials during the next homestand, which consists of two games and half-a-day off. There won’t be much family time — more like another stop on a long road trip.

Cubby came over and we rode to the Dome together. We talked a little more about infield practice, and I told him about Berry and Johnson. Cubby liked Johnson a lot at spring training. I think if it were up to him, he would play Bogar at short and Johnson at third.

           

The trip to Jackson went smoothly. Team owner Con Maloney rolled out the red carpet for former Generals players. He sent a limousine to the airport for them, and he had the PA announcer mention “former Jackson General” every time one of them came up.

Con gave everyone in our party a nice travel cooler. I know he enjoys a cold beer now and then; I’ve seen him in action at The Big Bamboo.  Now he has inadvertently abetted the players’ beer-smuggling operation. I feel sure those coolers will be put to use this very night.

The game with the Generals went well. The pitchers threw strikes, and the hitters came up swinging. 

In his first at-bat, Johnson popped up with men on base. When he got back to the dugout, I said loudly, so everyone could hear: “I changed my mind, Russ. We’re sending you back to New Orleans.” Everyone laughed, and we scored the runs anyway.

I started taking the regulars out midway through the seven-inning game. In the sixth, Gonzo came out with a towel around his waist and his fake dong hanging down almost to his knees. Again the dugout erupted with laughter as everyone crowded around to see.

We won the game 7-2 in less than two hours. All that was left was to ice down the beer, secret it aboard, and fly to Atlanta.

My preference is red wine, Cabernet, Merlot, or Syrah. I found a bottle of Cabernet on the coffee table in my suite, along with a basket of fruits, cheeses, and crackers. I was too tired to enjoy this bountiful spread.

 

Tomorrow is another day. Perhaps it will be a day for celebration.

SUNDAY, MARCH 6 ● Houston, vs St. Louis

Before I knew it, anyway. Despite being warned several times, I forgot to spring forward. Because I left my alarm clock in Florida, I was counting on Judy to get me up. She usually rises before 8 o’clock, but this morning she slept in.

Cubby came by to pick me up at 9:00. Judy had just gotten up, and I was still snoozing. I made a quick change, and we were on our way at 9:15 — just like spring training.

After all these years playing mostly night games, I still have problems with day games, and for one reason and another, we have been playing more day games in recent years.

 

I really wrestled with the lineup for this game against Todd Stottlemyre.

Todd beat us several times last year. His breaking pitches are really tough on righthanded hitters. Last year, all we had was righthanded hitters, so we didn’t have much choice except to hope he would make mistakes. He didn’t make many — last year or today.

But today, at least, I was able to make him face lefties. I couldn’t decide whether I should play all my lefthanders, or save one back. Because Bagwell has hit Stottlemyre well, I could save Bill Spiers in case it came down to needing a pinch-hitter against Dennis Eckersley. But Bagwell has a sore hamstring, and with a day off tomorrow and a night game on Tuesday, I had a chance to rest him almost three full days.

I finally decided to play all of the lefthanded hitters. That left me with Bagwell, Berry, Eusebio, Mouton, Bell, and Montgomery on the bench. The beauty of this lineup was that I had power and speed available to insert into the game when it was most needed.

 As it turned out, it was desperately needed. And in the end, it paid off with another win.

 

Stottlemyre bent in the first inning. We had the bases loaded, with one run already home, when Bill Spiers popped up, Bobby Abreu struck out, and we came away with almost nothing. Still, that one run held up until the seventh, as Shane Reynolds pitched a gutty game without his best stuff.

When Ron Gant singled in the go-ahead run with one out in the seventh, I brought José Lima out of the bullpen. Lima got the next two batters out, and we came up down 2-1.

Ray Montgomery hit a ground ball in the hole at short off Tony Fossas. Royce Clayton threw the ball away for an error. I left González in to hit against the soft-throwing lefty, hoping he could pull one through the open right side of the infield. He tried, but he popped out to first base.

I brought Bell in to hit for Abreu, and La Russa brought in John Frascatore, a righthander. Derek grounded to third, with Montgomery taking second base. That brought Spiers up, with Tim Bogar on deck. Luckily for us, Spiers walked.

Throughout this game, I had been looking for spot to use Bagwell. Each time the opportunity seemed imminent, we ended up with an open base, so that La Russa could walk him. Now Tony could not issue the pass without putting the winning run on second.

When Bagwell came out of the dugout, an expectant roar came from the crowd. He doubled down the leftfield line, and the roar became hysteria. Both runners scored. Now we had a 3-2 lead, with Hudek and Wagner rested and ready in the bullpen.

Wagner came into the game as Hudek started lobbing the ball in the bullpen. It didn’t look like he would have to do much more than lob it, as Wagner struck out David Bell looking on a 3-2 count.

Then came the lapse.

Gary Gaetti pinch-hit for Mark Sweeney, and Wagner sprung a leak. I don’t think I have ever seen a pitcher lose so much velocity from one pitch to the next.  He was throwing 96 MPH to Bell, then he was throwing 87 to Gaetti, a dangerous hitter.  

Perhaps Gaetti was still looking for 96 when he got out in front of a slow 3-1 fastball and hit a ground ball to third. Sean Berry booted it, and I was worried about Wagner for the first time all year.   

When Billy went 2-0 to Roberto Mejia, Vern said, “He’s rushing.”  I sent sent him to the mound, for two reasons: I wanted to buy some time for Hudek, so I could bring him in if Billy walked Mejia; and I was hoping Vern could get him to slow down.  

The advice — for Billy to come to a balance point before starting forward, toward the plate — paid a big dividend.  After throwing ball three at 96, Billy came back and struck him out with three blazing fastballs.  Then he fanned Ron Gant on three pitches to nail down the save.   

SATURDAY, APRIL 5 ● Houston, vs St. Louis

Got a great night’s sleep. After using an alarm for the better part of the last two months, it’s nice to sleep until you wake up. It’s also nice to start the day slowly, reading the paper and drinking coffee.

I guess I’m just a night owl. I like to start out nice and easy and build to full strength about 7:00 – game time.   

I came out early and found that it would take me about an hour-and-a-half to watch a two-and-a-half-hour game on the VCR. It actually took longer than that, because people kept coming into my office.

 

After batting practice today, Craig Biggio walked by and asked, “Are we taking infield?” I continued walking, as I did not want to pursue this conversation without some background information.

I stopped by the coaches’ room and asked, “Is there any reason why we shouldn’t take infield?”

“So, they’re onto that already,” Cubby said. “I wondered how long it would take.”

Ash chimed in, “So what’s the big deal about infield?”

“They don’t like to take it,” Cubby said.

“Why not?” I asked. “I always thought it was kind of fun.”

“I liked to take infield,” Ash said.

“Well, these guys don’t,” Cubby said. “Believe me, you are going to hear about this all year. Last year we took it every day, because that’s the way Dallas [Green, the Mets’ manager] wanted it. But you should have heard them complain.

“Todd Hundley was the worst. Seems like every day he would be crying, ‘I got a sore arm, and now I have to take infield and make it worse.’ The fact is, his arm wasn’t that bad. And we take the shortened version these days. He only has to make five or six throws, and he doesn’t have to throw hard.”

“I don’t understand,” I said. “Why wouldn’t a guy want to take infield? I mean, when I was playing, we might skip it if we had a day game and maybe we played 15 innings the night before, and everyone was tired. But this is the first week of the season.”

“I don’t think it’s a matter of being tired,” Cubby said. “It’s a matter of wanting privileges. A lot of teams don’t take infield much anymore. The Braves only take it the first day of each series.”

“How do they stay sharp?” I asked.

“They take a lot of ground balls and fly balls during batting practice.” Cubby said. “Plus, they’ve played together for a lot of years.”

“Leyland gave them Wednesday and Sunday off,” Bill Virdon said. “I don’t think they need much more time off than that. You can give them an extra day now and then, but you need to set a policy. Cubby is right: they’ll bug you every day about it.”

This seemed so strange to me. These guys spend way more time on conditioning — especially weight-training — than we did years ago. They also spend an inordinate amount of time taking extra batting practice. So why not work on fielding, too?

I guess it boils down to motivation. Even in my day, players were much more motivated to hit than to field. Batting is where the money is. 

Personally, I would rather practice fielding than lift weights. But these guys have some great-looking bodies. The reward of being fully buffed-out may be a tremendous motivator. Why else would these guys lift weights all the time? I really don’t think it helps them play better at all, and it could hurt their game in terms of flexibility and body control. And lifting weights is work. Hard work.

I mean, which would you rather do? Play a game of catch-and-throw, or bust a gut pumping iron?

I asked for suggestions, and I got a whole range of answers. Virdon thought two out of three days was reasonable. Cubby and Ash think we can take it every day, but that the everyday players can get someone to fill in for them when they are tired.

“Wednesday and Sunday wasn’t bad.” Bill said.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Let’s talk about preparation. Do we really need infield? I see the infielders taking ground balls and throwing during batting practice. The outfielders take fly balls. But do the outfielders throw?”

“They throw early when they play catch, but they don’t throw to bases except during infield.” Bill said.

“How can we get them some throws to the bases without taking infield?” I asked.

I looked around the room and saw only blank stares.

Finally, Cubby said, “You could bring them out early.”

“Would they prefer that to taking infield?” I asked, and I got more tilted heads and blank stares.   

I could tell that this was not a problem that would go away, or have an easy solution. And I know that I am going to have to set a policy soon. I have already given them tomorrow off, because it’s a day game after a night game.

Where do we go from here? I don’t know.

           

We played another good ballgame tonight, and we won it 6-2.

El Sid got an early wakeup call when Delino DeShields hit Sid’s second pitch into the seats for a home run. The Cardinals just aren’t having much luck these days, though. They hit Fernandez hard for three innings and only got two runs.

FRIDAY, APRIL 4 ● Houston, vs St. Louis

My vision started blurring about two years ago. I got some bifocals so I could see my scorecard and the scoreboard with clarity. I seldom used the glasses, except when I was broadcasting or watching a movie or a play.

I also have high-frequency hearing loss in both ears. I tried hearing aids, but they were more trouble than they were worth. It was like listening to a radio station that is not fully tuned in, then turning up the volume.

For the past two years, I have witnessed the world with blurred vision and wandered through the community of man asking people to repeat themselves. The first three games of the season came to me in soft focus.

When I finally decided that I wasn’t going to find my old glasses, I went to get some new ones. This time I brought Judy with me, because she didn’t like my last selection.

Ashley came to the game, and Judy watched on TV. Both commented favorably on my new specs. They may look good, but looking through them was startling. Everything looked so crisp that it was slightly disturbing.

 

Cardinals broadcaster and former third-baseman Mike Shannon came by my office and visited for half an hour. He was clearly amused by my attempt to change hats.

“You got a good team,” he said. “You’ll be fine. Hell, it ain’t rocket science.”

The game was a nail-biter: a 3-2, 11-inning victory. Tony La Russa did a lot of maneuvering, and so did I.

Tony’s coup came in the sixth inning when we loaded the bases with no outs. Lance Painter was summoned from the bullpen, and he retired Luis González on a short fly ball. Bill Spiers was due, but I thought Sean Berry would be a better choice. When Berry came up to pinch-hit, La Russa went back to the mound and brought righthander Russ Batchelor into the game. Berry got a couple of good swings, then bounced into a double play.

After that, it became a battle of the bullpens. Both teams had chances but couldn’t score, and we went into extra innings for the first time this season. I was especially proud of our guys, because they pitched through several errors without yielding a run.

In the eighth, I brought Ramón Garcia into a 2-2 game, despite the fact that Wagner was also ready.  Vern did a doubletake on that decision. The Cardinals had two righthanded hitters due, and I wanted Garcia to get into a game. It was a gutsy move, but it did not pay off.

Brian Jordan got a broken-bat hit to lead off the inning. With Garcia on the mound, he could steal second, so I went to Wagner and it worked out, but I sure hated to take Garcia out after a broken-bat hit. He probably feels that I don’t have much confidence in him. I do think he can pitch well-enough to help us, but this was an end-game assignment and we have him ticketed for long relief and spot-starting.

I ended up using both of my closers, and all other relief pitchers except Tom Martin. In the meantime, La Russa was expending bench players and saving Dennis Eckersley, hoping Eck would get a chance at the save.

We each used 18 of 21 available players, and we won on a bases-loaded hit by Bagwell in the 11th. I was relieved to get the hard-fought victory, but I was a little disturbed at the same time: Sean Berry is obviously not moving well. I fear the groin pull is more serious than we first thought.

And Pat Listach’s fielding problems continued. He really looked shaky, and I know we’re not going anywhere in the long run without better play on the left side of the infield.

 

Another concern with Listach is the nature of his hitting. Though he has been getting some hits, they have all been soft liners and choppers. The outfielders have taken to playing him so shallow that it would be hard for him to drive in a runner from second. As a result, several pitchers have wisely pitched around Biggio to get to Pat. If they don’t get him out, they are in trouble, because Bagwell is next. But they have been getting him out most of the time.

Jeff Bagwell makes a good leadoff man in the next inning, with his .450 on-base average, but that’s not exactly what we have in mind for him this year.

I find myself in about the same mood I was in after a week of spring-training games. We were winning, but I was concerned that we could not keep winning without better fielding. So far, our pitching has been good enough to overcome our defensive problems. But we can’t expect them to hold the line all year without better support. 

 

Another thing that bothered me today was our lack of running. The Cardinals had two pitchers who were so slow to the plate that it was an open invitation to steal.  The Cardinals’ catcher, Tom Lampkin, is only an average thrower. But when the game got into the seventh inning, we shut down their running game.

I continued to reinforce the green light, and Cubby passed it along. But the runners were afraid of getting caught. I am going to have to tell them before the game tonight that they will not be exiled to a distant bush league if they fail.

 

Both teams were tight tonight; I could feel it. In this sense, it was different from the Braves series, where both teams seemed to play with poise and confidence.

Cubby and I are going to look at the dirt cutouts around home plate and the bases. The players are saying that the dirt is so soft that they can’t get a quick start. I don’t know if this is just an excuse for not running, or a good reason not to run. We’ll find out.

One thing I have noticed over the years is that the cutouts are a problem in the Dome — especially for the home team. The seams between the turf and dirt are often uneven, and the dirt comes up in clumps.  As a result, our corner infielders play in close, to avoid bad hops. This gives them more confidence, but it limits their range. Visiting teams are not aware of the problem, so they play back and have more range.

This is what our players should do — bad hops or not. But it’s hard to make them play back. They just keep creeping in.

           

I got my VCR/TV today. It is packed in a crate that we will take on the road. After each game, I will watch it again from the centerfield camera angle. I imagine some of the coaches will join me. We should be able to pick up some information about how they are working our hitters and how we can work theirs. If we are lucky, we may pick up a sign or something in a pitcher’s delivery that will tell us what he is going to throw ahead of time. 

I am going to go to the park early tomorrow and see how long it takes to watch a game using fast-forward to zoom through the commercials.

El Sid is pitching for us tomorrow, and our bullpen is pretty-well spent. On the other side, Eckersley is ready, willing, and able. Looks like another stiff challenge in the offing.

THURSDAY, APRIL 3 ● Houston, vs Atlanta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

MONDAY, MARCH 31 ● Off-day in Houston

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

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

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

He almost induced a primal scream.

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

They seemed to. Time will tell.

           

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

 

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

SATURDAY, MARCH 30 ● Arlington, Texas, vs Rangers

Today we were back in the big leagues again. The Rangers’ fine visitors’ clubhouse man, Joe Macko, had an omelet chef working in the lunchroom, alongside a breakfast buffet that would make the Hyatt proud.

The manager’s office was bigger than some of the entire locker rooms in Florida. It came with a fully outfitted desk, with television, a stereo, and a fresh pot of coffee. Around the corner there was a private locker, bathroom, and shower. It made me feel like a king.

That kingly feeling will last only as long as we are winning a fair number of games, and I am satisfied with my performance.

This game worked out well. With the help of walks and errors, we won easily.

 

It was not a rousing victory, however, as the questions surrounding El Sid were not answered in the affirmative.

The big guy struggled through four innings. He gave up only two runs, but he was still a little wild, and he was not throwing hard.

The Rangers were without three of their best hitters: Rusty Greer, Will Clark, and Juan González. I doubt Sid would have survived a healthy Rangers lineup.

In the third inning, Craig Biggio smashed a single down the third-base line, and he was thrown out trying to stretch it. He ended up jamming his fingers into the bag, and he hit his collarbone on the shin bone of Bill Ripken. Bidge will start the season with a couple of dings; perhaps that will make him feel comfortable.

Billy Spiers aggravated a chronic lower-back injury last night when he made a spectacular diving catch and turned it into a double play. Today he was sore, and I had to play him the entire game.

On the bright side, Gonzo was fine today. He was still a little sore above the elbow, but it didn’t affect his throwing or hitting.

 

After the game, I was talking to Macko about Garner’s practical joke. He reminded me that the Brewers were opening the season in Arlington. I told him that I was going to leave the postcard on Garner’s desk.

“Don’t move it,” I said. “And if you could, set the clock forward an hour.”

“No problem,” he said with a smile.

Joe is a baseball man, through and through. His son, Steve, was a top infield prospect with the Cubs. Steve had just reached the major-league level when it was discovered that he had testicular cancer.

The story was a sad one for all who knew Joe and Steve, for Steve did not survive. He ended up getting just 60 at-bats and succumbed to the disease at the age of 27 in 1981.

I know it is some consolation to Joe that he is able to continue his life in the world of baseball. You get the impression that he treats every player as if they were his son.

 

The flight home was uneventful. When we got off the team bus at the Astrodome, television cameras were blazing away, and I was greeted by a bouquet of microphones.     

“What about your starting pitching?” I was asked, before I could even put my bags down. Perhaps I was a little terse when I said, “We’ll have to have starting pitching, that’s for sure. I can’t think of a team that can do without it.”

After that, I asked if I could put my bags down first, and when we resumed, I was more accommodating.

I rode home with Cubby; he and his wife have rented a house near us. The house is owned by Scott and Becky Frederickson. Becky grew up near our first home and babysat for our daughter Julia many times. She really loved baseball, and baseball players.

As it turned out, she met Scott at the University of Texas, and they were married shortly after he started his professional career in the Padres organization. He was selected by the Rockies in the expansion draft, and he has been stuck in AAA for three years. This year, he got his release and an offer to play in Taiwan. That dovetailed perfectly with the Cubbages’ plan.

They have a furnished house, with a yard for Chief, their black Labrador retriever, for about half of what it cost them to live in an apartment in New York last summer. Such a deal.

SATURDAY, MARCH 29 ● El Paso, vs Milwaukee

I finished Beach Music last night. A fine story. Author Pat Conroy is a lot like John Irving: a great storyteller. He can play your emotions like a violin. His imagination seems limitless. He was a little wordy for my taste, but the abundant verbiage didn’t ruin the story. It was a fine diversion that lasted the entire spring.

When I got to the ballpark two hours early, Vern was already there. I had to renew my prescription for the bladder infection that won’t quit; he didn’t have an excuse, other than being excited. I guess the only guy who is more fired up than Vern and me is Tom Martin. Martin was such a long shot to make the team that he has been floating around on air the last few days.

Vern and I went to breakfast at Denny’s. He doesn’t drink, except for an occasional beer. And he gets a pretty good workout at the ballpark each day. Still, he tends to carry a few extra pounds. Now I know why.

When we went to dinner this spring, he wanted Mexican food. At Denny’s, he ordered pancakes, eggs, and sausage. He ate a meal on the plane, and pizza in the clubhouse before the game. Then he ate a couple of enchiladas after the game. He topped it all off with a cheeseburger on the plane ride to Dallas.

I may have to stop calling him The Perfessor and start calling him The Trencherman — naw.

When we got back from breakfast, Martin presented me with a cigar. “This is from Dave Engle,” he said. “He told me you couldn’t smoke it until you got your first win.”

           

The flight to El Paso, AA home of the Brewers, was uneventful. Most everyone caught a few winks. Milwaukee’s manager, Phil Garner, is a good friend of mine — good enough to put one over on me, and he almost did.

As we exchanged lineups, he said, “Don’t forget, Daylight Saving Time starts tonight. We have to spring forward. I told all my players already, because we have a day game tomorrow.”

I made a mental note to check with Barry Waters about this. Good thing I did, before I told the team: Daylight Saving Time doesn’t start until April 6. Barry checked his calendar to make sure.

While we were chatting it up around home plate, Garner asked me if we would trade Darryl Kile.

“We would consider it,” I said.

“What do you need?” he asked.

“You don’t want to know,” I replied.

“C’mon, don’t play games. You can tell me.”

“It’s your boy.”

“My boy? What are you talking about?”

“About Listach.”

“You’re kidding! He’s not playing well?”

“Other than hitting and fielding, he’s doing pretty well.”

“I’ll be damned,” he said. “I thought he’d really do a job for you if he got to play every day.”

“Well, he still might,” I said. “We’re not in a panic mode yet.”

 After the game, I checked a book on scouting reports. Near as I can tell, the Brewers don’t have anyone to offer for Kile. Too bad for us. And especially too bad for Phil; smoke-and-mirrors only goes so far. He needs a few more good ballplayers.

           

The game was a case in point. Kile threw well enough to keep their power hitters in check, and our speed advantage was evident — on the bases and in the field.

In the eighth inning, we got a real scare when Luis González was hit in the right elbow by Ron Villone. You could hear the cracking sound all over the ballpark.

When I pinch-ran for Gonzo, we had a 3-1 lead with two outs and men on first and second. The team was pretty upset, almost to a point of anger. Villone walked Sean Berry and then he almost decapitated Bobby Abreu. Abreu got up and cleared the bases with a double. We went on to score eight runs, all with two outs, to put the game away.

Afterward, we watched the end of the Kentucky-Minnesota basketball game and then showered for the trip to Dallas. As we were leaving, Listach came up and gave me a fine cigar, an Ashton Maduro, Garner’s favorite smoke.

“Phil told me to give you this,” he said. “But he told me you couldn’t smoke it until you got your first win.”

Looks like my first win will be a two-cigar night.

We arrived in Dallas about midnight. I wrote Garner a postcard as follows:

           

Dear Scraps: We sprung forward all right — in the eighth inning — a little early. Lucky for me, I didn’t take the bait, and for Gonzo, an inch above the bone — He’s OK.

Thank you for the cigar. I hope to enjoy it on April 1. But if I can’t smoke my fool head off then, I will save it for the proper occasion. It was great to see you, and I wish you well — Dierk  

 

I went to sleep tonight knowing we would have a winning record this spring. We are two games over .500 with one to play. After that we turn up the heat, as the Braves come into Houston on the warpath. 

THURSDAY, MARCH 28 ● Viera, vs Florida

We passed by the Astros’ old training base on the way to Viera to play the Marlins. That place sure brought back a lot of memories.

I stayed in the cinderblock dormitory we called The Hofheinz Hilton during my first spring training in Cocoa. Luckily, I was with the big-league team. I had my own small room with a dresser and a photograph of the Astrodome on the wall. There was no telephone, no television, and one bathroom that connected to the next room.

In the minor leagues, four players shared each room, sleeping in bunk beds. Eight men with only one sink and one toilet created logistics problems that led to more than a few fights.

In subsequent springs, after I had gained veteran status, I moved 15 miles east, to Cocoa Beach.

Cocoa was a sleepy little town, but Cocoa Beach was a beehive of activity, most of it related to Cape Kennedy and the space program. We trained by day and chased girls by night.

More than a few times, we raced down the toll road leading back to the dorm, flying through the toll booth without slowing down. If you don’t think an automobile can cover 15 miles in 10 minutes, you are wrong. That was the era of 424-cubic-inch engines, and we beat the midnight curfew every time but once.

That time, Mark Schaeffer got a speeding ticket. We appointed him to drive, because he had already lost his license and therefore had nothing to lose. Turned out he was a two-time loser: he was fined by the ballclub and the state of Florida. The rest of us were fined by the team only.

The locker room at Cocoa was not air-conditioned. It was steamy and stinky. Water from the showers ran out into the locker room, so that half the time you were walking around in puddles.

A printed sign over the urinal read

PLEASE DO NOT THROW GUM OR CIGARETTE BUTTS INTO THE URINAL. WOULD YOU LIKE TO CLEAN IT?

Below that sign was the handwritten reply of Doug Rader:

YES, BECAUSE I’M SCUMMY!

Back then, we were all a little scummy. Our sweat-drenched undergarments hung on a line outside the locker room to dry. They weren’t laundered very often, because there was only one clubhouse attendant, one washer, no dryer.

We killed a snake or two practically every spring.

Looking back, I loved every minute, and still love every memory. That was only 30 years ago, but it seems like the Dark Ages compared to the modern facilities of this era.

           

Our game at Viera didn’t go so well. Mike Hampton couldn’t hook the Marlins with any of his tackle. The relief pitchers didn’t do much better. We endured our worst loss of the spring, 15-1.

Pat Listach blew the coverage on a double-play ball, and it led to three runs that would not have scored.

Jeff Bagwell drove in our only run. He is not swinging the bat real well this spring, and I am hoping that the burst of energy we all get leaving Florida and heading home for opening day will get him going.

Jeff made a major contribution to our cause after the game: he hosted a gathering of players, coaches, and clubhouse personnel at The Big Bamboo.

The Boo is kind of like the clubhouse at Cocoa: no air-conditioning, no sewer system. The bathrooms are hooked to a septic tank, and it can get pretty rank when the weather is hot.

Usually there is a breeze blowing through the place, but not this night. I guess it was a fitting way to close the hottest spring I can remember in Florida in my 31 years of training here.

The guys didn’t seem to mind too much, though. One of them secured two boxes of Cuban cigars, and a game of liar’s poker broke out in the back room.

After a couple of hours, everyone was well oiled. The coaches had shown good judgment by leaving early, and I was ready to make my exit when two guys in business suits came through the door. I turned to the back and announced. “Get that money off the table, and hide those cigar boxes. It’s the FBI.”

I guess the guys are getting to know me. They didn’t even budge.

The party was attended by practically all of the players, and by all of the coaches except Bill. His wife, Shirley, was still in town, and they were packing and preparing for their move to Houston.

I thanked Bagwell as I left. At that point, everyone was behaving well, and the foundation of camaraderie that I hope we can build in spring training was receiving final touches. In the morning, we turn in our rental cars and head for El Paso for a game with the Brewers. Then on to Arlington and the Rangers.

           

Cubby is going to break out a new set of signs, because we are playing American League teams. The players will have two days to get used to the new system, and I will probably put on more plays than normal, just to see if the players are able to get the signs. This has been more of a problem than I anticipated. 

I have been giving the catchers only three signs:

One is to hold the runner. The pitcher has the option of how to hold him.

The second sign is to pitch out. I give it by touching my nose, chin, or the brim of my hat, and then my ear.

When I want the pitcher to throw a high fastball to give the catcher a chance if the runner is breaking, and to give the pitcher a chance to get a swinging strike or a popup, I touch my chin or my nose and proceed upward to my nose or cap.

I can’t think of simpler signs. If I move out, it’s a pitchout. If I move up, it’s a pitchup.

So far, Brad Ausmus has been able to get every sign; Tony Eusebio has missed all but one. He’s about one-for-fifteen.

We have to do better on signs and plays if we are going to be a good team. I suppose we’ll work on it some as the year goes along, and that won’t be popular, but I don’t know of any other way to improve.

 

I was looking forward to coming to Florida this year like never before, but now I am looking forward to getting out of here, just like always. I may not be fully prepared, but I’m ready to go.