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THURSDAY, MARCH 27 ● Kissimmee, vs Kansas City

The meeting with Donne Wall went well, as I imagined it would. The guy is a class act, pure and simple. He wasn’t really sad, but he was not complacent, either.

He said that Chris Holt deserved to make the team, but that he felt he deserved the nod over Sid Fernandez. This we could not dispute. We could only say that contractual and financial considerations weighed heavily in our decision, and we told Donne to get himself ready in case Sid failed or broke down physically.

Donne admitted that he did not have a good spring, and that he is not pitching his best baseball right now. Vern told him that the things they have been working on will get him back in the major leagues this year.

I almost told him not to worry, but remembering that I had told him the same thing after his last start, I swallowed my words.

I also had to disguise my sadness. I doubt I did a very good job, because when I looked at Vern there was sorrow all over his face.

           

On a happier note, the truck left for Houston this morning with the belongings of those who made the team. This is always a good day in camp. It is tangible evidence that the long training season is almost over.

The only people who are sorry to see this day are those who are connected with the team here in Kissimmee. They enjoy having the big-league team in town, and they feel a special fondness for those players who spent a summer here in the Florida State League on their way to Houston.

           

We played a skeleton Royals team today. They kept most of their frontline players home for another game with the Indians.

Shane Reynolds was way too much for the Royals youngsters. He beat them 9-1, striking out 13 in seven innings.

After the game, Drayton McLane came by with Gerry.

“How’d you like that squeeze play?” I asked.

“Did we do the squeeze?” he asked with a broad smile. “I wasn’t here. I just got in.”

“We’re two-for-two now in squeeze plays,” Gerry said. “This one was with the bases loaded.”

I had to explain to Drayton that we would probably not squeeze with the bases loaded during the year.

“What I was trying to do is to see if the players would get the sign, and if Shane could get the bunt down under pressure. It’s good to know who can do it. Some guys just can’t.”

I hope I will be able to justify some squeeze plays this season. Drayton thinks it is the greatest thing going. He doesn’t really understand the risk, because the only times he’s seen it is when other teams have successfully done it against us.

Just about every time he introduced me this winter, he said, “We’re looking for bold and aggressive new leadership, and Larry is our man. We are going to do the squeeze play this year, aren’t we, Larry?”

Normally, I would answer by saying that we certainly will, and how would he feel about a triple steal?

I don’t know if he has been able to imagine a triple steal, but I might try it. If there is a lefthanded pitcher with a slow windup, and we have a fast runner on third and a slow runner at the plate with nobody out, I might just try it. The worst thing that can happen is that we end up with runners on second and third and one out.

The hitter would probably be Tony Eusebio, and that presents a difficult problem. Tony isn’t real good at getting signs, and he likes to swing the bat. I’m not sure I want to trust him not to swing if Derek Bell is streaking home. And I’m absolutely certain that I don’t want Derek decapitated.

 

Drayton was upbeat, as usual. He asked how things were going, and he offered insights into leadership. Earlier this spring, he advised me to start strict. “You can always back off,” he said. “But it’s hard to tighten up if you start out loose.”

I have found this to be good advice, and I have used it a time or two. But it’s hard to be too rigid when you are managing millionaires. They tend to be rather secure in their own ways, and they don’t like to change.

After we met, I observed Drayton in the locker room. He is like a bee, pollinating every flower. If he walks into a room of 100 people, he will have personal contact with all of them within half an hour. He is so effusive that the whole room radiates when he starts making the rounds. But sometimes it is difficult to get through to him.

He’ll ask you a question, and while you are answering, he’ll start talking about something else. Sometimes it seems like you’re covering a lot of ground in a little bit of time, but then it also seems like it takes forever to talk about one thing.

There is one thing the various owners of the Astros — Roy Hofheinz, John McMullen, and Drayton — have had in common: energy. Drayton starts about 5 a.m. and doesn’t lay down until midnight. And he’s all business. Even his recreation is part business.

           

Tonight I had four phone interviews between 6:00 and 9:30. I hope this type of evening isn’t a regular event. I know the media has a job to do, but I could get interviewed-out. Today I spent as much time on the air as I did when I was broadcasting the game. At this rate, managing could be a lucrative sideline.

Cubby just called to arrange for a ride to Viera, where we will play the best team that money can buy — the Marlins — tomorrow. I told him a few things about Drayton, and he asked me if I told Drayton about our shortstop situation.

“Gerry coached me to be positive,” I said. “And for the most part, I was. But when he asked me about Listach, I said, “Shortstop could be a problem. I don’t think our scouting reports were up-to-date. He’s not as fast as we thought, and he not too good at catching, throwing, or hitting the ball. Maybe he’ll get better when we get on AstroTurf. But then, with his knee problems, turf might be a mixed blessing for him.”

Gerry was giving me the evil eye, and I tried to soften my stance a little. But my read on Drayton is that he wants to win the division in the worst way. If Pat doesn’t look too good at short, I think Drayton should be prepared to make a tough decision about our budget. 

We’re not likely to get a steady defensive shortstop without giving up a good player and taking on some salary. If we could send Listach the other way in the deal, it would help. But that might not be possible.

It will be interesting to see how this little drama plays out.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 26 ● Kissimmee, vs Cincinnati

The Reds have a shortstop named Pokey Reese. He is young and fast, and he possesses a rifle arm. It also appears that he can hit a little bit.

Too bad for Pokey; Barry Larkin will be playing short in Cincinnati this year. Pokey will ride the bench or play minor-league ball.

I could make a spot for him in Houston right now. Unfortunately, the Reds are in our division and will not allow us to improve our ballclub at their expense.

It has been said that you cannot win a pennant with a rookie shortstop; I’d like to try. Unless Pat Listach gets a lot better in a hurry, it will be hard for us to win a pennant with a veteran shortstop.

 

Larkin and the Reds, with an assist from Pokey, beat us 6-3 today. I rested a lot of my veterans after the night game yesterday. Tomorrow we will settle in to regular-season lineups and activities.

With only four practice-games left, I feel just about ready to take on the regular season, and I think the players are ready too. When we get out of Florida, everyone will feel energized. Just escaping the heat will be refreshing. Today it had to be nearly 90 degrees, and it was humid. It felt like the Fourth of July.

Another reason the team will be lifted is that the burden of cutdown will be lifted. This time of year is tough for the veterans too. They all have their favorites, and they get pretty emotional when a friend is sent back to the minors or released.

It is stressful for management as well. One of our favorites will be cut tomorrow. How can you not pull for Donne Wall? He is a dedicated pro and a good guy — no nonsense. His ability has been undervalued throughout his career. He will suffer another indignity in the morning.

This one may be worse, because he worked so hard all winter to get ready and he has been reassured by me that he didn’t have to worry. Honestly, I didn’t think his job was in jeopardy until I realized that Gerry was not prepared to lose Lima, Garcia, or Springer.

Vern wanted to let Springer go; I was willing to forsake Lima. I think we both would have been happy with Chris Holt in the bullpen.

As it turned out, all of the other coaches, and Gerry and Matt, favored Holt as a starter — either in Houston or New Orleans. Vern and I also favor Holt, so Donne is the odd man out.

We tried to call him at home tonight, hoping to meet with him and let him know before he shows up with his bags packed in the morning. He wasn’t at home.

This is not going to be easy.

On the positive side, Donne will not quit. He will be back. I can almost guarantee it. Some guys just have a knack for winning, and he is one of them. That said, I also believe that he will meet his match in the big leagues.

His lifetime record to date is 12-9. I don’t know how long he will last when he comes back, but I would be willing to bet that he ends up with a losing record. Not necessarily a bad record, just undistinguished. That’s why I favor Holt.

Chris will probably have a more-difficult time at first. But I believe that if he starts getting experience in April, he will be tough enough to pitch critical games for us in September. That may be a stretch, as he has worked more than 250 innings in the last 12 months, and he would figure to pitch another 200 if he stays in the rotation all year long. The guy is a horse, but he may not be able to carry that load — especially if our fielding doesn’t improve.

It is one thing to labor for a team that doesn’t score. Losing close, low-scoring games is difficult, but at least there is the comfort of having done your job. When a team is deficient in the field, the pitcher is punished with runs allowed and losses. This could break a veteran down. It could crush a rookie.

I am trying to stay optimistic about our glovework. Sure, we have been shaky this spring, but so have our opponents. As we get a break from the heat, the sun, and the wind, we may settle into a better fielding groove. That could have a settling effect on what appears to be an average pitching staff.

One thing seems clear to me: we are going to need a fast start from our hitters if we plan to get through April with a decent record.

           

Another note of interest involves the trade of Cliff Floyd from the Expos to the Marlins for Dustin Hermanson and Joe Orsulak.

Last winter, I asked Gerry to check in on Floyd. He is a player with enormous potential, and he is still young. His ascent to stardom was cut short two years ago by a serious leg injury. In the meantime, he has lost some of his batting skill and has seen several other young players go by him. One of them, Vladimir Benitez, seems headed for the stardom that was once predicted for Cliff.

Thinking that there may be some remote possibility that he would become odd-man-out this spring, I suggested a phone call. Gerry didn’t think there was any way the Expos would trade him. Well, now they have.

And what did they get? A pitching prospect with a great arm but with terrible control, and a journeyman outfielder.

If Floyd resurrects his career, the Marlins — already talent-rich — will hit the jackpot, for Floyd is big, strong, and swift. He has a great arm and raw hitting power. Apparently the Expos feel he will never make it back, but from my standpoint, the Marlins have risked little in the deal.

Funny how these deals get done. Marlins GM Dave Dombrowski had the same job with the Expos when Floyd was coming up through the system. I guess he hasn’t given up on Cliff’s talent yet.

As a broadcaster, I saw this type of thing all the time: a guy was originally drafted by a team, but he did not sign. Maybe he went to college. It could be ten years later, but that team still likes that guy, and they end up trading for him or signing him as a major-league free agent.

Murray Cook was a scout with the Pirates, and he signed Tim Burke out of the University of Nebraska. When Cook got the GM job with the Yankees, he traded for Burke. When he moved on to the Expos, he traded for Burke again. The pair was almost inseparable, and they were both rewarded when Burke became one of the top closers in the league for a few years.

 

I could keep typing, but I have a big job in the morning. I better get some sleep. I hope I can. 

TUESDAY, MARCH 25 ● Baseball City, vs Kansas City

Night game. Several pitchers, including Donne Wall, worked during the afternoon in a minor-league game.

Cubby and I played golf in the morning with a couple of guys from my neighborhood in Houston, then rushed to the ballpark so that I could see Wall and Cubby could hit some extra ground balls to Listach.

We talked to Pat about taking extra grounders several days ago, but he didn’t show up in time to take them today.

Wall pitched better, but not well.

At least the golf was good. The Eagle Pines course at Disney is majestic. I went 48-38 for an 86. Not bad, considering I haven’t been playing or practicing. On the back nine I used Cubby’s Great Big Bertha driver, and I hit the ball straight and far. I made two birdies, and just missed another. I exchanged cigars with my Houston friends, and we had a big time, living like kings.

           

The game at Baseball City wasn’t so much fun. Sid Fernandez was wild as a March hare. He walked seven guys and gave up a three-run homer to Jay Bell. Our relief pitchers didn’t do much better, and we lost 9-3.

One thing that has been a distraction, and is becoming a nuisance, is the absence of players on the bench. Seems like every time I want to put a guy in the game or use him as a pinch-hitter, I can’t find him; he’s either hanging out in the bullpen or up in the clubhouse.

Tonight, I couldn’t find Ray Montgomery — a rookie who is going to make the team, but doesn’t know it — and Luis Rivera, a veteran who is in the same boat. You would think that these two guys, above all others, would be ready for action. But they were not.

While I was searching for Montgomery, I missed a chance to pinch-hit with Thomas Howard. When I got back to my post at the front of the dugout, Pat Listach had already taken strike one. The bases were loaded, and we were down by four runs.

The frustrating thing about this is that it was a perfect spot for Howard, because I had talked to him about pitch-hitting before the game. The discussion started as a state-of-the-team address, in which I tried to tactfully tell him that Bobby Abreu was going to start in right field, with Derek Bell in center and Luis Gonzalez in left.

“You will get enough starts to stay sharp,” I said. “I’m not afraid to use you in left, right, or center. But a lot of times, I will need you to come off the bench with a pinch hit.”

He seemed to understand the situation. We certainly don’t want to keep a young player like Abreu on the bench as a pinch-hitter.

Thomas has been a fourth outfielder most of his career, and he has been a good one. But I think he was hoping to get a starting job here. His chance of doing that was diminished by his arm injury.

While Thomas was out, Abreu hit like crazy, throwing well and running like a stallion. When Thomas came back, he boxed a few balls in the outfield and couldn’t throw real well. He also came to camp a little heavy, and he is not running like he used to.

All these things made the Abreu decision easy, but I still had to tell Thomas in a way that would make him feel important.

“Look,” I said, “I look at your record and I see that every year you get between 250 and 400 at-bats. That tells me that all of your managers have seen you as more than a pinch-hitter. I know you are not happy with your outfield play so far, but that does not concern me. What I want to know is, where you feel most comfortable in the order?”

He told me that he mostly hit leadoff last year, but that he liked hitting fifth or sixth too.

“Your stats suggest that you would be a better RBI man than a get-on-and-score guy,” I said. You hit for high average with moderate power, but don’t walk much. If you are on the bench, I consider you my top lefthanded RBI guy. But how about when you are in the lineup? Have you ever hit second?”

“Yeah,” he said. “I can hit second. I can bunt. I can pull the ball through the hole. I haven’t hit second a lot, but I can do it.”

We discussed his role as a pinch-hitter. I told him that I would try to save him for a meaningful situation — probably late in the game. His expression told me that he embraced that role.

“I’ll probably use Billy (Spiers) if it’s a leadoff at-bat, because I think you have a little more pop in terms of RBI. The main thing is that I need you to be ready, because I may not make up my mind until the last minute. I’m new at this, but you’re a veteran. If you think I might need you, get yourself loose.”

Well, when Listach took a strike, I looked down the bench and there was Howard with his helmet on and a bat in this hand. He was ready, but it was too late. I didn’t want to embarrass Listach by taking him out in the middle of his at-bat, and I didn’t want to bring Howard in with a strike in the count.

It was easier to tell James Mouton that he was going to be a spot-starter, but primarily a bench player. He missed most of spring training with a hand injury.

He pretty much knows his role, and it is sad in a way. He’s such a hard worker, and he wants to regain the everyday status that he had as a rookie. He even played winter ball to prove that he could do it, but he continued to have trouble with righthanded pitchers, then broke his hand. Just as his hand got better, he pulled a hamstring.

“The only thing that concerns me,” I said, “is that since you have been back, I haven’t really seen you run hard. Is your hammy still bothering you?”

“No,” he said. “But I have been protecting it. I think I’m about ready to let it out.” During the game, he did just that. He topped a breaking ball from a righthanded pitcher and almost beat it out, going down the line full-bore for the first time.

Well, at least I know James is back. He still has a problem with the righthanded breaking ball, but he’s running like the wind again.

 

After the game, I was walking out to the parking lot with Cubby and an old beat-writer-turned-radio-sports-personality, Kenny Hand. Kenny asked me what I said to the pitchers when I took them out of the game. I told him that with Sid, it was easy: “You’ve had it. Don’t worry about it. You got your work in.”

With Mike Magnante, it was a little clumsy. He is not going to make the team, and he showed why. After several good outings, he was really bad tonight. His stuff was terrible, and his control wasn’t much better.

“You were walking so slow,” Kenny said.

“I know,” I admitted. “I didn’t know what to say. Then when I got there, I said, “That’s enough for tonight. I’m going to bring Mike in.” The problem was that Mike was already in, and I was bringing Tom Martin in. Now Magnante probably thinks I don’t even know his name. Or Martin’s either, for that matter.”

“That’s not so bad,” Cubby said. “I remember one time in Texas when a kid by the name of [Glenn] Abbott was making his first big-league start [for Oakland]. He went along pretty well for three innings, and then he gave up two or three runs in the fourth.

“The kid was feeling pretty good about his first start, until Dick Williams came to the mound. ‘Give me the fucking ball,’ he said. ‘With that horseshit stuff you’re throwing, you might get somebody killed out here.’

“I don’t think Magnante felt as bad tonight as Abbott felt when Williams got through with him.”

MONDAY, MARCH 24 ● Kissimmee, vs Florida

This is the day we discuss the last cuts. This is a big one, I suppose. I have a theory, however, that it is not as big as we make it out to be. By “we,” I mean the power structure within the ballclub, the players on the team, and the media.

Everyone treats this cut as if it is life-and-death. If you had to stick with your picks all year long, it would be a fateful day. But my experience tells me that the team will change as often as a chameleon as the season moves on.

It takes 35 or 40 men to win a championship, but we must cut down to 25 for Opening Day. In a typical year, we will lose five players to injuries, and move ten or so up and down, depending on performance and need.

For example, we will keep veteran infielder Luis Rivera to play a backup role. But if one of our front-line infielders gets hurt, we will likely call up Russ Johnson or Luis Lopez to start. Because Johnson and Lopez are relatively young, it is thought that they will perform better on an everyday basis. Rivera has plenty of experience, and he understands the role of a backup player. Though he has a little less speed and power than the others, it is thought that he will perform better part-time than the other two.

Our toughest cut will be Donne Wall. Donne is the Rodney Dangerfield of pitchers. He doesn’t throw hard; doesn’t have a good breaking pitch. His strengths are good control of the fastball and a terrific changeup.

If he were lefthanded, he could get some respect with this repertoire. But he is righthanded. As a result, he has spent two years at A ball, two more at AA, and two at AAA. Each year he has posted a winning record. Each year, the brain trust has said, “Yeah, but if we move him up, he’ll be overmatched. You can’t pitch at that level with his stuff.”

Last year, we got desperate and called Donne to the major leagues. It was the first time he had ever been on the roster. All those years, all those wins, and never on the roster. Most teams have guys on the big-league roster who have never had a winning year. We have exposed Donne to the winter draft year after year, and no team has drafted him.

So what did he do when we called him up? He went 9-8 with a respectable ERA, and he pitched 150 innings. Don’t ask me how he did it; I don’t like his stuff, either. But I have tremendous respect for his ability to win. Believe me, it is not easy to win, year after year.

Sometimes you get in a rut with your control and go on a losing streak. Sometimes you get into a spot in the rotation where the team doesn’t score any runs when you are pitching. Nolan Ryan won the ERA title one season, and finished 8-16. Donne Wall has a seven-year winning streak.

Unfortunately, Donne’s control has been off this spring. He just can’t seem get his fastball on the corners. With control, his slow fastball is good. Without control, it is terrible. His changeup depends on his fastball. Without control, he is dead meat. And that has been the story for him this spring.

Today I presented Gerry with the coaches’ ballots. The only two that included Donne Wall were mine and The Perfessor’s. Interesting, isn’t it? Not one nonpitcher wants him on the team; both ex-pitchers still think he can win.

“What it really comes down to,” Gerry said, “is Donne Wall or Chris Holt. Which one do you want in the rotation?”

This choice was given to us because we don’t want to lose Jóse Lima, Ramón Garcia, or Russ Springer. Each of these guys throws harder than Donne, and each probably has more trade value. But they have not been winners; Donne has won at each level.

None of us want to see Holt go to the minors; he is ready for prime-time now. And if he doesn’t get his brain bent by major-league adversity, he will probably win more games than Wall could.

My question was: “What about Kile?”

We had just watched Darryl “The Enigma” stink it up again — this time against the Marlins. He has not pitched as poorly as Wall this spring, but he hasn’t pitched well at all.

What makes it worse is that he shows no desire whatsoever to accept coaching. Every time you try to coax him into a conversation about pitching mechanics or strategy, he starts spouting his own convoluted theories as if they were gospel.

Socrates would have a field day with this guy. If you asked D.K. enough questions, he would meet himself coming and going. You say eether and I say eyether; you day neether and I say nyether; you say vanilla and I say vanillo, you say tomayto and I say tomahto. Let’s call the whole thing off.

That’s my take on Kile: call it off. I can’t work the puzzle.

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “What we are doing here is forecasting the future. We know what these guys have done in the past. And we know what we have seen with our own eyes down here. But we don’t know what these guys are going to do this year.

“My opinion is that if you start all these guys all year long, the win totals of the pitchers will go in this order: Reynolds, Hampton, Holt, Wall, Kile, Fernandez. So I don’t see this as Holt or Wall. I see it as pray for Sid and trade Kile.”

I got a few grins out of that summary, but I was serious. Gerry was a little impatient. He sometimes gets that way with me and my counterculture thinking.

“Let’s be realistic,” he said. “Kile has to be in the rotation unless I trade him this week. And there is a market for him. But if we demote him, there will be no market. Sid is Sid. He’s won over 100 games, and he’s still hard to hit when you can roll him out there. Wall and Holt still have options. If we need them, all we have to do is call them up.”

As usual, it was hard to refute his logic. But I sure am tired of watching Kile. When I was broadcasting, I used to take my headset off between innings and tell my TV partner, Bill Brown, “You couldn’t pay me to watch this guy pitch. Well, you could, I guess, because that’s what I’m doing. But I sure wouldn’t classify this as entertainment. It’s more like torture.”

Lest I sound too abrasive, I must admit that this guy has pitched a no-hitter, made the All-Star team, and won 15 games in a single season. He has never had an arm problem, and he can throw more pitches in a game without losing velocity than any pitcher in our entire organization. He does have exceptional talent. I guess that’s why it is so hard to watch him struggle.

You want to help, but he won’t let you.

 

The other problem we have is with Pat Listach, our Opening Day shortstop. When Cubby rated our shortstops, he said, “Rivera is the best. He’s a decent backup. Lopez misses a lot of ground balls in practice. He’s not really a shortstop; he’s a second-baseman. By far the worst, when it comes to catching the ball and accurate throwing, is Listach. I’d like to say he’s improving, but I can’t see it.”

I think everyone would endorse a Kile-for-a-front-line-shortstop deal right now. But it seems unlikely that that kind of deal can be done. So we go into the season with a reluctant centerfielder, no real shortstop, and three pitchers who have never been successful anywhere. Not to worry.

“I’ve always said that the team that wins the championship is not the team that has the best lineup on Opening Day, but the team that improves the most over the year,” I said. “With this setup, we have a lot of room for improvement.”

Of course, I said this partially in jest. Every team in our division has similar problems. We still have Biggio, Bagwell, Bell, Gonzalez, Berry, five or six good pitchers, and five or six good complementary players. Things could be worse. My buddies from Astros days of yore, A’s manager Art Howe and Brewers manager Phil Garner, are in worse shape than I am. 

 

We lost 7-6 to the Marlins today. Thomas Howard got a couple of hits, but he missed another fly ball in right field. He has missed them in left, right, and center now. When they told us he could play all three positions equally well, they were right.

This makes it easy to give the nod to Abreu at the start. Somehow I have the feeling that Howard is better in the field than what we have seen so far. I still wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up starting a lot of games this year. Time will tell.

If my crystal ball is working, it could prove to be my best asset in the long run.

SUNDAY, MARCH 23 ● Vero Beach, vs Dodgers

Today the team went to Vero Beach at 8:30, and I stayed back with Vern to watch Chris Holt and Donne Wall throw.

Donne wasn’t impressive; he almost never looks good throwing on the side. Holt looked good. The Perfessor and I left for Vero about 9:15. On the way, we debated the upcoming decisions regarding the pitching staff.

The dilemma is whether to go on past records, or on what we are seeing down here. It is complicated by contractual considerations.

José Lima and Russ Springer are out of options. If we want to send them to New Orleans, they will have to clear waivers. Chances are, another team will claim them.

We drafted Ramón Garcia from the Brewers this winter. If we don’t keep him all year, we must offer him back to Milwaukee, and they will probably take him. The transaction will cost us $25,000.

Looking at their records, there is only one good argument to keep them: Their competitors in camp haven’t accomplished much more, and they haven’t thrown much better.

Except for Holt, there is no young pitcher in camp with a good pedigree. The problem is that all three of these guys throw righthanded. Because Wagner is a closer, it would be nice to have another lefty. But the other lefties have their own imperfections.

Tom Martin probably has the best stuff, but he has only had half of a good year at the AA level.

Mike Magnante has been up-and-down with Kansas City for three years; he has been unable to stick. His big pitch is the screwball, which makes him better against righthanded hitters.

As a rookie last year, Al Morman got lefthanders out pretty well, but got hammered by righthanders.

Martin and Magnante have pitched well this spring; Morman has not. Lima, Garcia, and Springer have all pitched well, but we can see the evidence of past failures in their work. We would like to think that they have turned the corner, and they are heading down the road to career recovery. But even in their success, we see hints of fallibility.

           

All of this uncertainty comes into clear contrast in Vero Beach, where the Dodgers send a parade of 95 MPH arms to the mound against us.

First, it is Chan Ho Park. Then Darren Hall. Then Antonio Osuna. Then Scott Radinsky. Finally, Darren Dreifort. We didn’t even see their best reliever, Todd Worrell. Nor did we see their best starters.

It must be nice to have such easy decisions when it comes to pitching. And with the Dodgers, it has almost always been thus. The Braves have had a slight edge on the Bums these last few years, but over the long haul, no team has pitched like the Dodgers.

When I was pitching, I hated Dodger Stadium. Fact is, I never won a game there after 1966, when I beat Sandy Koufax 3-0. Oh, I pitched a lot of good games: 2-1, 3-2, 2-0 losses and the like, at the hands of Don Sutton, Claude Osteen, Don Drysdale, Bill Singer, Tommy John, Andy Messersmith, and all the rest. I bet my ERA there is pretty good. But that’s small consolation for one road win in 13 years. I did beat them a few times at the Dome, but even then, it wasn’t easy.

The Cubs and the Giants were easy to beat, by contrast. I gave up plenty of runs, but still won.

 

Today was a typical loss to the Dodgers. Only one run on seven hits going into the ninth inning. Down 4-1. But this was a little different in that the team didn’t seem resigned to a losing fate. Instead, they erupted against Dreifort for four hits and a walk.

With two outs, Derek Bell hit a screamer toward the right-centerfield gap with two men on base. Unfortunately, it was too low. Second-baseman Juan Castro leapt into the air and stabbed it. We lost 4-3.

Driving home, I felt pretty good, but I’m still confused about the pitching. Springer and Magnante came through again. These decisions are going to come down to guesswork, as usual. There are no 95 MPH arms demanding attention; instead, we will have to look into our clouded crystal balls and attempt a reading.

This is where you set yourself up for a fall. A few of these guys may go on to achieve a degree of success. Most will fail.

But which ones? Which ones?

SATURDAY, MARCH 22 ● Kissimmee, vs Cincinnati

Shortly after I arrived this morning, Gerry came in to talk about Derek. I could tell he had been considering various strategies.

“Clearly, we have to do something,” he said. “We can’t let this thing fester.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Bill said. “I’ll talk to him and see if I can do some fence-mending.”

A few minutes later, I was talking to Gerry in my office.

“You know, Bill may be part of the problem,” Gerry said. “We all like Bill. He’s a great guy. But he is old-school. A different approach may be what we need.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” I said. “In fact, my instinct yesterday was to talk to him myself. But Bill has so much more experience. And with the work he did with Barry Bonds, I just thought I should defer to him.”

“I understand,” Gerry said. “But I think your instinct was right. I have a good relationship with Derek, and I don’t think he’s a bad guy. But you have to try to understand him.”

“He’s like my daughter, Julia,” I said. “I was telling Mac about that yesterday. It seems like every day, she wakes up in a new world. And whatever she has said she planned to do goes out the window. Everything is predicated on the impulse of the moment. There is no plan as you and I know it.”

“Well, what do you do with Julia?” he asked.

“We’ve tried a lot of things,” I said. “And even though we love each other, I can’t say we’ve been able to get her motivated to be productive. It’s hard to see things though her eyes.”

“Well, I think I can see things through Derek’s eyes sometimes,” he said. “I think the whole thing comes down to Bagwell and Biggio. He wants to be treated the same as them.”

“He has been,” I said, perhaps a bit defensively.

“Think about that,” he said. “The other day, Bidge and Baggy came out after seven innings. Derek played nine, and then had to run afterward. That was one problem.”

“Yeah, but the day before in Lakeland, he told me if I gave him the rest of the game off, he would play nine the next day. So he played nine.”

“Yes, but remember what you said about Julia? If she told you she was going to do something tomorrow, would you bet on it?”

“Good point,” I said.

“Here’s another one,” he said. “Yesterday in the meeting, you were talking about stepping it up for the last week. You said something about Bagwell, Biggio, and Reynolds just getting ready at their own pace, and that you knew they would be there for you, playing hard all year long. But you questioned whether anyone could just step it up on opening day, and you said ‘maybe we need to step it up now.’ You didn’t mention Derek’s name.”

“For crying out loud, Gerry,” I said. “I just happened to see those three guys sitting up front. I could have used any names, including Derek’s.”

“But you didn’t,” he said. “I think he is watching everything that is done and listening to everything that is said. I’m not getting on you, because I know these are trivial things. I’m just saying, maybe you need to be aware of his feelings at all times. Not that you can do this for every player. But every player may not be as sensitive or important as Derek.

“And another thing. Yesterday, when he didn’t start and had to sit on the bench: Has Bagwell or Biggio ever sat on the bench this spring?”

“No,” I said. “But they could. Do you think that they would put on their street clothes and leave without asking, if they weren’t in the lineup? Do you want me to test them out? Because I’ll tell you: They may ask if they can go, but they won’t just get dressed to leave.”

“I hear you,” he said. “I agree with you. But it’s just a way of looking at things through his eyes. I don’t want a test case; I just want to put a lid on this particular situation.”

Feeling that Gerry’s points were well-taken, but also feeling somewhat inadequate to put his suggestions to practice, I suggested we have a meeting.

“Maybe you and Mac and I could meet with him — apart from Bill, so it isn’t so threatening — and try to get this ironed out.”

“I think this is something you have to do yourself,” he said. “You can’t always go to Mac, because he’ll be caught in-between. And I won’t always be around.”

I knew he was right. But I wasn’t looking forward to the challenge.

During stretching, I talked with Mac. I explained my dilemma, and I asked for guidance.

“Look, this ain’t no big deal,” he said. “You mentioned your daughter, and I have a son the same way. Fortunately, he’s grown out of it. Derek is like that too. But he’s not a bad guy.

“The only thing you have to understand is that you can’t take what he says one day and apply it to the next day. Like when he said he would play nine; I bet he doesn’t even remember saying that. He just wants to get treated like Bagwell and Biggio. If you do that, you don’t have a problem.”

I looked for an opportunity to talk to Derek, but I didn’t want the rest of the guys on the team to see me pulling him aside. I didn’t want them to think I was treating him like a special case. And I didn’t want him to feel like I was singling him out in front of everyone.

I told Bill what I was thinking, and he laughed. “He’s in about the best mood I’ve seen him in all spring,” he said. “I wouldn’t worry about it too much. The only ones who are shook up about this are us.”

After that, I didn’t worry. The opportunity to talk never presented itself.

           

We lost to the Reds 6-3. John Smiley pitched a gem. Shane Reynolds battled and lost, without his best stuff. I walked back to the locker room with Gerry. He asked if I had talked to Derek. “No,” I said. “But he seems okay. I’ll try to catch up with him tomorrow at Vero.”

Gerry pushes hard sometimes, but he is pretty reasonable overall. He asked if we could meet to discuss final cuts by Monday, and I said we could. I’ve already asked each member of the coaching staff to pick the team they would like to break with, and to write it down for me.

“No consulting,” I said. “I want your own opinions.”

 

I picked up Judy and we met my former broadcast partner Dewayne Staats and his family for Mexican food. Dewayne got his big break from Tal Smith, and he has since become one of the top broadcasters in the country.

We are all hoping that with the new ballpark, and with the spirit of Cruz, Virdon, Ruhle, Ashby et al, Dewayne will return to his roots with the rest of us. He is currently working baseball for ESPN with another ex-Astro, Joe Morgan.

It would be great to get him back. With so many good vibrations, I can’t help but feel that a pennant is in the offing soon.

FRIDAY, MARCH 21 ● Kissimmee, vs Atlanta

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

“Everything all right?” I asked.

“No,” he said.

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

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

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

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

What followed was worse.

 

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

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

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

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

“What happened?” I asked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What about me?” Bell asked.

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

Derek mumbled something under his breath.

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

 

THURSDAY, MARCH 20 ● Kissimmee, vs Dodgers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 19 ● at Lakeland, vs Detroit

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

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

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

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

Russ didn’t bat an eye.

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

“I understand.” Russ said,

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

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

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

“I don’t want a day off,” he said.

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

“I’ll do whatever you want,” he said.

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I felt it was time to pump him up.

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

I was leafing through the media guide.

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

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

“Sure.”

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

           

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

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

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

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

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

 

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

 

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

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

 

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

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

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

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

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

“Is this all right?” she asked.

“I don’t know. It’s all wet,” I said.

“A blow dry is $15,” she said.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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