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SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 14 ● Houston, vs Dodgers

Friday night, we gave away ring binders with Jeff Bagwell’s picture on both sides. I got two signed and gave them to Ryan and Jordan. Last night I got Derek to sign Jordan’s ball, and Cheo signed two of the metallic baseball cards they were giving out.

Jordan is having a progressive birthday party, and the most memorable part of all came this morning.

Bill, Jordan, and Ryan came to the game with me. After I got my uniform on and filled out the lineup card, we went down on the field. Vern was just finishing up his work with his own son, Kenny. I enlisted him to work with Ryan and Jordan. They both threw off the bullpen mound, and Vern was especially good with Jordan. I hit Ryan some ground balls and fly balls.

As we headed back to the clubhouse, Bill Spiers came by and said, “Chapel is at 12:15.” It was 12:10.

I decided to bring my entourage into the service, and I know Bill really enjoyed sharing this special time with Jordan, just as I did with Ryan. It reinforces two things we hope to pass along to our children: the concept of thinking big, and pursuing a dream. And the comforting thought that, as Christians, we can entrust our hopes and dreams, our failures, and our fears to a benevolent God.

When it comes to being a Christian, I’m pretty weak. I don’t give much, and I want to control everything myself. Still, there have been several times when I have been overwhelmed to the point where I have simply said, “Thy will be done.” And like Hampton admitting that he had lost confidence, the admission of weakness gave me strength.

Today’s lesson was about giants: the giants the Israelites faced when they approached the Holy Land. Our speaker told us how ten of twelve advance scouts told Moses that the enemy was too big. The other two trusted in God’s word that he would lead them to the Holy Land.

These days, our giants are our fears. Are we afraid of the Braves or the Marlins? Do we fear we will fail when it really counts?

Fear can be crippling. I feel like I was able to bear that burden myself as a player, but I sure appreciate the help now. I know some of our players need it, too. About ten of them attended chapel. As you might expect, those who could benefit most from this message were elsewhere.

 

The game got off to a rousing start when Bagwell connected for his 39^th homer in the first inning. Chris Holt was really sharp; he could have pitched a shutout.

The Dodgers tied it in the fourth on a bunt by Otis Nixon, a hit batter, a single by Mike Piazza, and a double-play grounder. Without the bunt, they would not have scored at all.

In the eighth, they scored again. Nixon’s two-out bunt started it. It was a push bunt toward short, and Ricky got it in time to throw him out. His hurried throw was wide, and when Eric Young singled, I went to the mound with no intention of removing Holt. I just wanted to make sure we didn’t give Piazza a pitch out over the plate to hit.

“If you walk him, I’ll bring Russ in to get Karros. But don’t walk him. You can get him out.”  

Perhaps I shouldn’t have put it that way. Holt walked Piazza, then Springer walked Karros to force in the lead run.  

Holt’s performance was exceptional, but he still didn’t win.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 13 ● Houston, vs Dodgers

We all got up late and lounged around reading the paper and drinking dark French roast coffee while Judy prepared a breakfast feast. Fresh juices, fresh fruit, including mango and papaya. She confessed some concern that everything would come together at the same time, and Karen stepped up to make sure.

The eggs were scrambled with mushrooms, onions, and garlic, with a little cheese to sweeten the mix. The bacon was crisp, and the homemade biscuits were buttery and warm. We didn’t finish eating until almost noon.

 

The scene at the ballpark was altogether different from yesterday: no reporters, no conferences, no fires to put out. I ran on the treadmill and did a few sit-ups.

I’ll sure be glad when I can play some sports again. I’m a reluctant lab-rat who wouldn’t get enough exercise if I had to do it all with machines and weights.

I worked a crossword at my desk, and no one interrupted me. Went down on the field and played catch.

Talked with Vern about Cabrera’s repertoire. He is going to play winter ball in Santiago, and Tony Peña will be his manager.  We have some ideas to help him get more action on his slider. With his speed and poise, he could become a top hand.  

Six future stars on the Astros’ horizon twinkled in the clubhouse before the game. They were all the MVPs of Astros farm teams, and they will be honored before the game tomorrow.

 

Tonight’s game got off to a quixotic start. Biggio got an infield hit off a Tom Candiotti knuckleball. Derek Bell was plunked by the knuckler. Both runners moved up on a passed ball.

Bagwell lunged at another knuckler for strike three, and the ball bounced off Mike Piazza and rolled down the first-base line. Candiotti retrieved it and threw to Piazza, late and high. Piazza got a mitt on the throw, but he couldn’t stop it. Bell came around and scored, all the way from second. Bagwell ended up on first base, having plated two runs by striking out. We had two runs on one hit that rolled about 40 feet.

Candiotti was bamboozled. He gave up two more hits and two more runs, and he had a 3-2 count on Biggio with the bases loaded and two outs. We could have put the game away right there, but Bidge popped a fastball a mile into the air.

Candiotti regrouped and pitched a good ballgame after that.

On our side, it was Darryl Kile. D.K. pitched one of his best games of the year, striking out 13 batters — a career high. He was a little wild at first, and Todd Zeile hit a homer off him in the second on a 3-1 pitch.

The Dodgers had a few more chances, but each time Kile stiffened and got the strikeout. With four walks and 13 Ks, Kile had built his pitch count to 127 after eight innings. Luis Gonzalez homered in the bottom of the eighth, and Mike Magnante came in to bolt it down. Did he ever: he struck out the side, giving us 16 strikeouts in all. We won 5-1.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 12 ● Houston, vs Dodgers

We stayed up late, talking through the night and into the early-morning hours. Bill and I were the last to retire, at about 2:30. I slept well, and woke up at 10:30.

 

Darryl Simon called to tell me that Jim Rome was in town on his worldwide tour, and that he wanted to have me on his show sometime between 2:00 and 3:00. I told him I wouldn’t be arriving in time for the show. Then I called Cubby to tell him I would be leaving late.

From what I understand, Rome was a centrist when he broke into the sports-talk business. Now he is out on the extreme, and he is exceedingly popular.

From what little I’ve heard, his schtick is to be outrageous and to use as much sports slang as possible, which I suppose makes his listeners feel like they are “in the know.”

On the way to the Dome, I listened to Rome, and several of the players were on with him, apparently having a good time. Jan Cubbage likes to listen to the show.

Maybe I’m just a crusty curmudgeon, but I don’t like all the “tell-it-like-it-is” Howard Cosell style of broadcasting. It seems like an excuse for being obnoxious. It’s like watching a movie that has no plot, no reason for being — except to test the limits of car chases, explosions, and gratuitous violence.

 

When I got to the ballpark at 3:00, the show was just ending and my day was just beginning. A steady stream of reporters came and went, making it impossible for me to prepare for the Dodgers series. I did a little work on the treadmill while I awaited news on Chuckie Carr.

When he arrived at 4:00, he was limping. It was obvious he couldn’t play. Gerry had already told me that I could satisfy Drayton’s desire to change things up by batting Bell second. I was thinking about doing that anyway, but I was also hoping to get some lefthanded bats in there against Chan Ho Park.

I ended up playing Berry over Spiers, hoping Sean might hit one out. Looking at the stats, the home-run ball was about the only blemish on Park’s record.

I put Tank Howard in center, on a hunch. And I crossed my fingers, hoping Shane would pitch as well as he did in San Francisco.      

It worked out perfectly. Howard got a couple of hits; Berry had an RBI double. Ricky made up for an error with a single and a triple, and Bidge scored three times to give him 131 for the year.

But the best part was Bell and Reynolds. Derek had a single, a double, and a home run, and he drove in four. Shane pitched seven strong innings, striking out 11.

We won 10-3, with Wagner pitching a scoreless ninth and striking out the last batter.

 

The Greifs, Ashley and Craig, Chris and Sharon and Lorraine, all trucked over to Pappadeaux to help Julia work on her tip money.

When we got back, Bill and I sat up talking about baseball and religion, which led to a discussion of psychology, personality types, and leadership.

Bill conceded that he would be a lot different manager than I am. He makes lists for everything he does.

“I’d probably be a bit more detail-conscious,” he said.  “I’d have lists to tell me where to find my other lists.”

We had a few laughs, the best of which concerned Bagwell. I told him that I was watching Jordan play baseball on Ryan’s PlayStation.

“They got Bagwell in a rundown,” I said. “So he ran right over the second-baseman and across left field, banging into the wall. He turned around and ran back into the infield, making loops around the shortstop and the second-baseman. Then he headed back to the outfield and ran into the right-field fence. Finally, he made a fast circle around the entire ballpark.”

“Maybe I’ll tell Baggy about this tomorrow,” I said. Maybe it is Jordan’s way of letting the air out of his favorite player’s slump. Perhaps Baggy will try to duplicate this route in tonight’s game.  

Bill was amused by this image. I was too. I really do wish that Baggy could loosen up a bit, but it is not his nature. The concentration that makes him an absolute terror when he is hot, tends to make him stiff and mechanical when he is cold.

I don’t think you can have the best of both worlds in a player. The guys who stay loose when they are struggling tend to be too loose when they’re not.    

At least I was able to relax during this game. After the seventh inning, the Dodgers didn’t have a chance.

THURSDAY, SEPTEMBER 11 ● Gala Day ● Houston

I slept well and woke up refreshed. Then I read the paper. Hudek ripped me for not using him more.

I guess I should have expected it, after what he told me on the airplane. I’m not too worried about it, though.

I remember when I started my first game at winter ball in 1967. It had been five months since I had pitched in a game. I threw seven shutout innings.

Later that winter, in February, Mike Cuellar came down for the playoffs and tossed a complete-game shutout on long rest: four months.  If you can pitch, you can pitch — on long rest and short rest.  If you can’t, you are liable to get long rest — even during the season.

 

I picked up Ryan from school, and we went to the driving range. On the way home, I asked him about his baseball tournament last weekend, knowing from a phone conversation with Judy that he had done well.

“Tell me about the games Sunday,” I said.

“I got to pitch in both games,” he said. “But only four innings in the second game, because they only let you pitch six innings in a day.”

“So you pitched two innings in the first game?”

“Yeah. Coach brought me in with a 2-0 count on the hitter and runners on first and second. We had a 5-1 lead. The first guy, I walked. Then the next guy hit it back to me, and we got a double play.”

“Home to first?”

“Yeah, home to first.”

“What about the next inning?”

“They got a run off me in the next inning, but we won.”

“So now you are in the final game?”

“Yeah, and we played the Stars [his former team].”

“The Stars were in the tournament?

“Yep, I pitched against them in the finals.”

“Boy, I bet you were nervous.”

“Not that bad.”

“Well, what happened?”

“I beat them 4-1 and struck out seven guys.”

“You did?”

“Yep. And the run was unearned.”

“Boy, I bet you were fired up about that.”

“It wasn’t that hard. I mostly just threw curve balls. Probably more than half the time. They can’t hit a curve.”

“Were they mad at you?”

“Not really. They were watching our first game, and they cheered for me. Then when I got my trophy, they cheered for me again. It was pretty cool.”

“I bet it was. They probably wish you were still on their team.”

“Yep.”

Ryan had made friends with the boys on the Stars, and Judy with their parents. It was a good situation, except for the driving-distance/playing-time issue. They left on good terms, and according to Judy, when he won the game they were almost as happy for him as he was for himself. This is the way youth sports should be. But I would guess that it is more the exception than the rule.

Judy mentioned that she thought Ryan’s practice against a tarp I had set up in the backyard with the strike zone painted on it was the reason he had such good control. That made me feel real good.

About a week ago, she told me he was growing tired of practicing. I suggested that she go out with him and keep track of the balls and strikes.

“That seemed to make him concentrate,” she said. “Each day, he tried to beat what he had done the day before.”

There is no substitute for practice. But practicing by yourself takes a lot of dedication — especially when you are young, and your friends across the street are playing Nintendo.

 

Our friends, the Greifs, roared in from Austin about 6:00. We had to throw on our formal wear and head to the Dome.

I was well pleased with my new tuxedo. It is double-breasted so that I don’t have to wear a cummerbund. The way I am built, cummerbunds slowly slide down to my hips. I am constantly pulling them up. Now I am comfortable — at least, as comfortable as you can be in a tux.

Jordan Greif is 10 years old. He is a big Astros fan. Part of his birthday present was the Gala. He looked handsome in his tuxedo. Judy’s friend Loraine York was with us as well.

When we got there, we joined Ashley and Craig, Sharon and Chris, Julia and Chris, and several other couples. We solved our table problem easily: I sat at one table and Judy at the other. Then we switched places for dessert.

We did a little dancing; not as much as last year, as it was “getting late early” as Yogi Berra used to say.

On the way home, Jordan was effervescent.

“I got all the Killer Bees, except Derek Bell,” he said. “If I get him and Larry, I’ll have the whole team.”

“Well, we’ll just have to make sure of that you get those last two,” I said. “I’ll take care of the Larry part when we get home. Larry will probably be the toughest one to get.”

“I just want to thank you for asking me to come tonight,” he said. “I really, really had a good time.” He was fired up, despite the late hour. It was 11:45 when we got home.

“In fifteen minutes, I’ll be 11,” he said, as we prepared him a pallet on the floor.

“I guess you might want to stay up for that.” Karen suggested.

“Can I?”

“Sure.”

“This is one day I’ll never forget,” Jordan proclaimed.

It was one I’ll never forget, either. When I think about the magic in a child’s eye — Ryan’s pitching, Jordan’s big night — I get a better perspective on what we are doing here.

I know it is important that we win the division. But there is nothing more important than the children.

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 10 ● Denver, vs Colorado

I felt a lot better this morning. My chest was still sore, but it wasn’t a consuming type of pain. We would be home tonight, regardless of the outcome of the game. The Pirates had lost, so we were still 3-1/2 games up.

I asked Dave to check me out, and he discovered several vertebrae out of alignment. He got me down on the floor, twisted me up like a pretzel, and then leaned hard. It was like cracking a handful of knuckles, all at the same time. I felt so much better, I was almost exhilarated.

 

The one thing that would make it a perfect day was another win. That would give us a 3-3 trip — just what we were hoping for when we left. I really thought we would get it, too. The Chief has been tough lately, and their pitcher, Frank Castillo, has been no mystery to our hitters.

The first inning went swimmingly. We scored three runs, and Garcia shut them down. After that, we added a run here and a run there, and so did they.

In the sixth inning, they unloaded. Mike Magnante had some problems for the first time in a while, and I brought in Wagner to pitch to Larry Walker. Walker will probably win the league MVP award, but Billy struck him out.

Normally, I don’t play the left/right game, but in this instance, I was trying to walk through the inning on eggshells. The next hitter, Andres Galarraga, hit a double off Wagner several weeks ago in the Dome.

If I took Billy out, he would have a good, positive outing to help build a foundation for his return to the closer’s role. And Galarraga was 0-for-8 off John Hudek, with six strikeouts.

The score was tied at 5, and there were runners at second and third. Hudek came on, and I handed him the ball.

“This guy is yours,” I said. “Let’s get back in the dugout.”

The next two pitches decided the game.

The first pitch hit Galarraga. Danté Bichette hit the second pitch hard, over the fence: grand slam. We scored another run, but it was too late; we lost 9-7.

Once again, the Pirates and Cardinals lost. We can’t lose for losing.

 

On the way home, Hudek came up to the first cabin and plopped down next to me.

“I don’t want to bother you,” he said. “But I have to get something off my chest.”

“Sure,” I said. “What’s up?”

“Well, I don’t want to tell you what to do,” he said. “I know you have to make a lot of tough decisions. But I need more work.”

At this point, I am thinking, more work? After coughing up four runs in ten seconds, he wants more work. I guess it’s my fault he didn’t get Galarraga out. I haven’t used him properly. Right.

 “I know what you mean,” is what I said. “It’s hard to keep everyone sharp when we have so many guys in the bullpen, and the starters are going deep into the games.”

“I know,” he said. “I’m not saying we should take the starters out, but I still need to get more work to stay sharp. Remember when I got Frank Thomas and Albert Belle in Chicago?”

I nodded.

“Well, that was because I came into the game the night before and I was sharp. Now I have only pitched two-thirds of an inning in eight days, and I have to pitch more than that.”

This is a constant complaint among relief pitchers: they either pitch too much or not enough. It’s a legitimate concern, but it is also an unavoidable circumstance.

In San Francisco, we played a team that has mostly lefthanded hitters, so we use mostly lefthanded relief pitchers. Here in Denver, it is exactly the opposite.

The good relievers find a way to stay ready; the others complain about the way they are used.

I was growing weary of Hudek’s harangue. He generally talks in circles, and he repeats himself ad nauseam. He said that his pitches to Galarraga and Bichette weren’t really that bad.

He said that Russ Springer hasn’t been getting enough work — even though Russ has been unavailable with a sore back.

He said that he hasn’t been throwing hard during batting practice, because we have asked him to slow down and save it for the game.

He said he is still a closer, but he just needs more work.

I wonder if he realizes that his record is 1-3; that his ERA is 6.62; that he has allowed 65 baserunners in 35 innings; that quite a few of those runners have been cleared off the bases by the eight gopher balls he has delivered. And I wonder if he realizes that the only guy who has been in his corner all year long is me. We would probably be a few games ahead of where we are now if I had used him less — not more.

But the sad fact is, most players cannot face reality. They cannot accept failure without losing confidence. And they cannot win without confidence.

I have heard the Hudek speech before — many times, from many players. There is no reward for talking a good game, however. The only thing that matters is results.

I suggested that he come out early and face a few hitters whenever he feels rusty. I think he will avail himself of this opportunity, but I doubt it will help him.

From my perspective, he has an emotional problem. His stuff is good enough when he has good control, but he doesn’t allow himself to have good control, because he becomes a madman when he gets into the game. He tries to throw so hard that he loses all sense of direction.

“I will use you when I think you can help us win,” I said. “We are not in the development business, where I can pitch you every other day, like they did at New Orleans. Up here, it’s all about winning. We will do anything you want to help keep you sharp, but in the end, only you can control your emotions — and your pitches.”

TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 9 ● Denver, vs Colorado

I woke up feeling like I had been hit by a car. The whole right side of my rib cage — front and back — was sore. I immediately took a deep breath.

Last spring, I had a bout with pericarditis that eventually required surgery. The symptoms were a sore rib cage on the left side — front and back — and shortness of breath.

I had no problem breathing, so I eliminated pericarditis from the list of deadly ailments that may have come upon me overnight.

This is the way you think when you are in a slump.

 

Ashley’s mother- and father in-law came down from Keystone, and I met them for lunch. The meal was pleasant, but I remained preoccupied about my chest pain. When we finished eating, they went back to the hotel to rest, and I went to the ballpark. It was 12:45 — my earliest arrival time of the year.

It was a gorgeous afternoon: sunny and warm, but not too hot. A year ago, I would have been bicycling along Cherry Creek, or sailing along on my Rollerblades.  I would have been browsing in a bookstore or checking out the offerings of the many western art galleries. I wouldn’t even be thinking about the ballpark midday. I rarely arrived at the park more than three hours before the game, because it only took me two hours to prepare. I wasn’t into wasting time.

Now, I hang around, with nothing to do, on a daily basis.

Today, I had six hours to kill and only an hour’s worth of work to do. I really should have spent a few hours shopping, or I could have gone back to the room to read about the Goat Brothers.

I guess I went to the ballpark because I wasn’t feeling well. When I am away from home, the ballpark is the next-best thing.

This time, the park gave no comfort. I couldn’t sit still; kept moving around: my office, the coaches’ room, the lunchroom, the training room.

Dave arrived about an hour after I did, but I didn’t share my health problem with him; don’t ask me why. Perhaps I was just wallowing in the misery of the losing streak, and the pressure from Drayton and Tal.

I knew that it would be difficult to win here, with our puny lineup. Sure, I can hit Biggio third and Bagwell fourth, but what about the rest of the spots? The Rockies have Ellis Burks, with 28 home runs, hitting second — and Vinny Castilla, with 38 homers, hitting sixth. Everyone in-between is in the same class.

No, they’re not all that fast. We can outrun them in the Dome. But we sure can’t beat them in Home Run Derby.

It really doesn’t make any difference to me which way we line up. I am more concerned with getting everyone going at the same time, like we did in July. If Bidge and Baggy are agreeable to change, so be it. That will make Drayton happy, and it may even produce more runs.

Here in Denver, most everyone hits well. I could probably put Chuckie and Billy Spiers in front of the “B” boys and do just fine. The big problem is stopping the Rockies.

 

I continued to pace around like an expectant father in a hospital waiting room. Bidge usually arrives by 2:30, but today he was late. He finally arrived about 3:30, and we talked privately for about 20 minutes. He said he would do anything I wanted him to do, but that he preferred to hit leadoff.

I remembered his reluctance to play the lead role in the spring. But now he feels comfortable, and he is having one of the best leadoff years ever. He has 21 home runs and 78 RBI. He has stolen 32 bases and has scored 128 runs. If he had hit third all year, he would have a few more RBI and a few less runs scored. In any case, he is having a monster year.

I understand his reluctance to change spots. Like most ballplayers, he is superstitious, and he doesn’t want to mess with a good thing. Honestly, I don’t want to either, but I may have to — not for Biggio and Bagwell, but for the team.

A dramatic lineup change would change our cosmic bearing. It may spur a winning streak, or hasten our downward spiral. Or it may have very little effect, other than to stir things up and create a controversy.

We decided to leave the lineup alone in Denver and reassess the situation when we got back home on Friday.

I knew Tal would be a little peeved when he tuned in the game and saw no change. He has to take the heat from Drayton, and I do not underestimate that burden. It’s not that Drayton is overbearing; he’s just so darned persistent.

Still, I have to live or die with my lineup. Ultimately, I will live or die on my record. Tal honestly thinks a new lineup would help; I concede it might.

He has pressure from above, and I have it from below.  

 

When I finally got around to mentioning my chest pain to Dave during batting practice, he seemed unconcerned.

“You probably slept on it wrong,” he said, as he gave me a couple of Advil. Sleeping wrong was something I had considered — along with tuberculosis, cancer, heart attack, and other internal disasters.  I also considered hypochondria, and I dismissed that notion; I had some real pain.

A few minutes after I talked with Dave, Dennis Liborio came up to me and asked if I had heard about Richie Ashburn.

“No,” I said. “What happened?”

“He died this morning,” Dennis said. “He called Eddie Ferenz about six in the morning, and said he wasn’t feeling well. Eddie got the trainer up, and by the time they got to his room, he was already dead.”

“Heart attack?” I asked.

“I don’t know. That’s what they think.”

Richie was a friend of mine. We played golf together, shared a few meals.  He was an original. Always wore a hat, smoked a pipe. He had an unusual staccato speech rhythm, not unlike Paul Harvey.

I remember one Sunday when he taped an interview with me for the Phillies pre-game show on radio. It seemed like we chatted for maybe three or four minutes, then he stopped for a commercial break. Then we talked for two or three more minutes.

“How do you do these interviews without a stopwatch?” I asked.

“I got the stopwatch right here, pal” he said, pointing to his head.

A few minutes later, I saw his partner, Harry Kalas.

“That Whitey is amazing,” I said. “He does an interview at least seven minutes long, without even using a stopwatch. I’ve been doing these things for fifteen years, but I could never come close to guesstimating seven minutes. How does he do it?”

“Any way he wants to do it,” Harry said. “If he has a good talker, like you, he goes long and we miss the first few hitters. “If he gets a guy who is tough to talk to, he goes short and I have to fill a couple of minutes before we start.

“That’s how he does it.”

I laughed then, but I’m not laughing now. Richie’s death only made me feel more uncomfortable with my own pain. This made me feel guilty, because I was thinking of myself and not him.

It had been a long, discouraging day, and we hadn’t even started dealing with the powerful Rockies — a team that has been hot lately.

 

The game actually went well. Mike Hampton pitched masterfully. We got home runs from Derek Bell and Billy Spiers and won 7-4, snapping our three-game losing streak.

I used Martin and Springer to finish up, and they were fine. But I had little faith; I could smell doom in the Rocky Mountain breeze. My body was running a low-voltage current throughout the game.

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 8 ● Off-day in Denver

When you have been on the road half the time for almost eight months, a day off away from home is a damp dishrag.

This one had the potential to be better, because there is a lot to do in Denver.

Dave Labossiere drove to Breckenridge and rented a bike. Vern toured Rocky Mountain National Park. Most of the players played golf. Ash, Bill, Cubby, and I played a game that resembles golf.

Actually, Ash played well; the rest of us thrashed around in the shaggy rough, looking for our misguided shots.

I suppose I should have organized something in advance.  We should have been able to find a course that offered better scenery. Instead, we went north and east and ended up on a links course. The greens were good, but we could barely see the mountains.  We were on the apron of the Great Plains, and it wasn’t all that great. By the time I got back to the hotel, all I wanted to do was take a nap.

 

Just as I was nodding off, the phone in rang in the other room. By the time I got to it, the voicemail system had kicked in. I waited a minute, then checked my messages. I had eight of them.

The first was from Tal; the last from Mark Berman, the sports anchor of the Houston Fox station.

Mark has a nose for news. He gets more scoops than the rest of the sports guys combined.

What was up? Could it be something big?

In the time it took me to dial Tal’s number, I thought of everything from my own dismissal to our acquisition of a Jay Bell or the like, to Gerry having an accident on his trip to Napa Valley, to Drayton coming to Denver the give me and the team a pep talk.

I was unable to reach Tal; I left a message and returned the other calls. In the meantime, I got a call from Gerry. He was upset because Drayton wants him to procure an impact player now.

The Giants made the deal with the White Sox to acquire Roberto Hernandez and Wilson Alvarez. Alvarez beat us a game in San Francisco, and Hernandez saved two games and set up the other win.

Our problem is that there are only 19 games left, and few players are available. The guys we might get would not be eligible for the playoffs, and they are free-agents at the end of the year or are signed to contracts that we can’t afford. To get them, we would have to give up a good prospect or two.

It just doesn’t make sense.

Drayton is worried because we are getting ripped on the talk shows, and he is worried that if we lose the division we will be vilified, which will kill sales for next year and put a damper on the new stadium.

I don’t blame him, but the time to act is not the middle of September — it’s the middle of July through the end of August. We were in pretty good shape during that time, so there was no sense of urgency. I was still hoping we would do something.

Now, I have to find a way to win the hand with the cards I’m holding.

Tal brought up an idea we had discussed earlier: hitting Biggio third and Bagwell fourth. At the time, I was not enthusiastic about this idea. I think it might be a good idea now.

For one thing, Bagwell isn’t hitting all that well. A change of perspective might help him. For another, we are in Denver — the home run capital of the world. Even lesser hitters prosper here.

I might get lucky if I hit Billy or Chuckie leadoff and Derek second. Derek didn’t hit that well the last few times I batted him second. But he hasn’t done anything at all in the cleanup spot. If we happened to break out of our offensive funk with a new lineup, it might lift our spirits.

 

We had our team party at the Rock Bottom Brewery. Everyone attended. We played a lot of pool and a lot of barroom riddles, coin tricks, and mind-reading games. There was a lot of laughter, but it never got too loud.

Just before it ended at 11 p.m., I got Bidge off to the side and asked him to consider hitting third. He started to speak, and I stopped him.

“Don’t tell me anything now. Sleep on the idea, and think about who might be able to lead off and hit second. I’ll talk to you about it more when we get to the park tomorrow.”

On the way back, I discussed it with Vern and Bill. They seem to think it might help, if for no other reason than we would be doing something different. The microtuning I’ve been doing hasn’t helped at all.

A friend of Barry’s asked Bill to sign his cap, and none of us had a pen. We went to the desk, and I spoke with Randy Knorr.

“Great party,” I said.

“Yeah,” he replied. “I think everyone had a good time.”

“The only thing that surprised me,” I said, “was that it was so tame. They were playing oldies, and it wasn’t that loud. Nobody raised their voice. Nobody broke anything or got in a fight. I remember some of our team parties that ended in mayhem. This one was pretty tame.”

“What makes you think it’s over?” he asked. I noticed that the cashier was changing his big bills into smaller denominations: a poker game in the making.

“Well, I hope you guys blow it all out of your systems,” I said. “Just don’t do anything that will roust me out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Randy smiled.

“Don’t worry. We’re just going to have a few more beers and talk ball. That’s all.”

I wish we could transplant a little of the Randy Knorr/Tony Peña mentality into Brad. They are all serious about winning, but Randy and Tony are a little looser — and they also seem to have more bravado.

 

Bravado! That’s what we need now. And I’m not sure a lineup change can provide it. I’m not sure anything can provide it. We just don’t have a boisterous club. We get along well, and we don’t have internal bickering. But we just are not hell-bent-for-leather.

I’m hoping we can at least become The Little Team that Could.

SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 7 ● San Francisco, vs Giants

Even though the locker room was alive with raucous rapping, I had a sense of foreboding. D.K. was pitching, and Tony Eusebio was out with two sore knees.

Even though D.K. is having a signature season and is in the running for the Cy Young Award, he is still just a bit fragile, in my eyes. When I think of his chances of finishing what he has started, I imagine myself playing a round of golf.

I am even par, teeing off on the 16^th hole. I have never been better than a nine-handicap player, but I have been in this situation eight or ten times. Twice, I actually pulled it off and finished even; the other times, I failed.

I don’t want to say I choked, because that would insinuate that I was good enough to shoot par — and on each occasion, I knew I wasn’t that good. The mere acknowledgment of the reality of the situation is usually too much to bear in the end.

If I am flirting with this kind of round these days, I don’t want to know my score; I just want to play each remaining hole as best I can. If I have been playing a fade, I sure don’t want to see a lake on the right. If I have been hitting all of the greens, I don’t want to miss one and have to chip.

The mere suggestion of the word “don’t” usually does me in.

In this case, Brad Ausmus is the word don’t. And Candlestick — now 3Com — Park is a double don’t. D.K. has not pitched well here.

If Darryl had already won a Cy Young Award, like Greg Maddux, it wouldn’t matter. If we didn’t need him so badly in our pennant chase, it wouldn’t matter. But with all the personal and team pressures, I was afraid the circumstances would matter.

On the other side of the equation was Kirk Rueter, a soft-tossing lefty.

My fears were realized when Darryl got wild and gave up four runs. D.K. was throwing hard. His curve was biting.

Brad Ausmus went into his “keep it in the ballpark” mode, signaling for fastballs away and curve balls behind in the count. Tony Eusebio likes to go with the fastball early, working in-and-out.

If D.K. gets ahead, he finishes them off with a curve. He’s not like the rest of our pitchers; he has a knee-buckling curve ball.  He can, and should, throw it with two strikes when he has the feel for it. 

If he gets behind, Tony calls for a fastball away most of the time. Sometimes, against a real tough hitter, he will go to the curve if he gets behind in the count. But that is a last-ditch strategy, not a game plan.

I have just about come to my wits’ end with Brad. He invariably gives the hitters too much credit, taking a defensive approach rather than an aggressive one. We have talked about this a lot — and he just nods and says he understands. But then he gets into the game and reverts to his instincts, which I believe are unavailing.

I remember talking to his former manager, Bruce Bochy, about him just after the trade.

“He’s a great receiver and he really throws well,” Bochy said. And he’s strong. He can go back there every day and give you a strong effort. But he has some funny ideas.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked.

“Well, you know he is an Ivy League guy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And he is very alert. He notices everything.”

“Uh-huh.”

“He will come up with some ideas that will surprise you. And some of them will make a lot of sense.”

“Uh-huh.”

“But some of his ideas are a little different, if you know what I mean,”

“Uh-huh.”

“Let’s just say, he is a good, hardworking player, and he has an intense desire to win. You’ll like him. I’m pretty sure you’ll like him.”

That was about all I could get out of Bochy, but because he is a former catcher, it put me on guard for the “funny ideas.” It has taken me almost the whole season to figure out what he meant by funny. I think if I were to substitute “he is stubborn about his funny ideas,” I would have a good translation.

 

Now, let me back off a little: Biggio is stubborn about his ideas as well. I have asked him to hit selfishly — to take the Jeff Bagwell “swing hard and do damage” approach. But Biggio has always hit at the top of the lineup, and he has been schooled in the unselfish, “move ’em up and get ’em in” philosophy.

In today’s game, we were down 2-1 in the fourth inning when he came up with Darryl on second and nobody out. I would have counseled him to hit away, and go for the big inning. On his own, he tried to bunt and took a strike. Then he hit an inside fastball on the ground to second base, moving D.K. to third.

For me, this is an eighth-inning play — not a fourth-inning play. Billy Spiers lined out to first on a great, diving play by J.T. Snow. We did not score in that inning.

Biggio also wants to play all the way in with a man on third, when we want him halfway. I understand his point: he is thinking about a ground ball, and he trusts his quick feet more than his arm strength.

In doing this, however, he is only considering a ground ball. Some of our pitchers don’t throw many ground balls, and with a guy like Tom Martin in today’s game, I am concerned about a shallow fly ball that may drop in front of an outfielder — the type of fly ball that Bidge might be able to catch if he were playing deeper.

With Biggio, this difference of opinion it is not so troublesome, because this only comes into play a time or two at the most in any ballgame; Brad’s signal-calling affects every pitch we throw.

It shouldn’t.

The pitchers have the last say, and they are ultimately responsible for the outcome. They should throw the pitches they want to throw. But because we have a young staff, and Brad has a strong personality, they usually defer to him. Even D.K., who has more experience than Brad, followed the lead for the most part today.

I thought D.K. was stubborn enough to pitch his own game. And it made me wonder what I would have done, throwing to Brad. I was pretty stubborn, but I am not so stubborn that I am willing to create a rift between our pitchers and our catcher at this point.

What can I do? Well, I have four alternatives.

 

• I can talk with Brad and try to convince him to be more aggressive, and to call for more inside pitches. This was my first strategy, and it has failed.
• I can call the pitches from the dugout. This I will not do, because I cannot possibly have a better feel for the game from my vantage point than the pitcher does from his.
• I can encourage the pitchers to call their own games. This, too, has failed.
• I can make the pitchers call their own games. I will not do this in the pressure-cooker of the pennant race, but I may try it next spring.

 

So what am I going to do? Nothing. We’re still in first place.

 

This spring, I encouraged our pitchers to add and subtract to the catcher’s signs, which is an easy method of calling your own game.

Let’s say that the signals are 1 for fastball, 2 for curve, 3 for slider, and 4 for changeup — a pretty standard arrangement when no one Is on base.

If the catcher signals 1 for a fastball and the pitcher wants to throw a curve, which is number 2, he simply wipes his jersey once — adding 1 plus 1 to make 2.

If he has four pitches and he wants to subtract, he simply wipes his leg three times: 4-3-2. One wipe makes a fastball a changeup; two makes it a slider; three makes it a curve ball.

I used this method, because I was headstrong like Brad. I insisted on calling my own game.

With a man on second, when the catcher gives multiple signs, it can take forever to get the one you want. If I wanted a changeup (number four, for example), I might have to look at one set of signs and shake off; look at another set and shake off; look at another set and shake off. And then, finally, get to the changeup. In the meantime, the hitter has probably stepped out of the box at least once.

If he gave me a fastball and I wanted to throw a change, I would simply wipe my leg once and pitch.

With a man on second, this has the added advantage of preventing the runner from relaying signs. If he breaks the catcher’s code, he still has to figure out if the pitcher is adding or subtracting. By then, it is too late to relay the sign to the hitter.

 

We lost the game 5-1. I’m not sure we could have won it if I had been calling the signs, or if Bidge had swung for the fences, but it was frustrating to have come this far and still have so far to go.

Afterward, I talked to Gerry.

“If we are still here next year, I am going to change some things,” I said. “This spring, I put in a sign to give the hitter the option to bunt for a hit. Nobody does it. I also asked the pitchers to add and subtract. Not one of them does it.

“It’s frustrating. You’d think these guys would want to be more creative. But they seem to be afraid to take the responsibility.

“I haven’t forced it, because I have felt that I should try to build a foundation of respect and confidence first. Now, I wonder if I have just been unwilling to take responsibility myself.

“I can’t do it now, but I’ll tell you this: If I am still here next spring, the pitchers will be adding-and-subtracting, and the hitters will be bunting — whether they want to or not.”

 

Again, we were lucky: the Cardinals and the Pirates lost. I know the guys aren’t any happier than I am to hang on this way.

If we don’t start winning more games, we’ll never last in the playoffs — even if we do win our weak division.

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 6 ● San Francisco, vs Giants

I might have set a personal record for complimentary tickets today: eight for Gary Allegre, three for Shelly Little, and three for Darryl Brock. This is nowhere near the league record, or even the team record. Some guys on our club have left as many as 30 or 40. I suppose the league mark surpasses ours, as is most often the case.

My practice has always been to draw the line at the personal-friend level. Acquaintances and friends-of-friends can pay, as far as I am concerned.  

At home, I try to scatter the freebies through the homestand. It usually works out that everyone wants to come to the Saturday game, when we are giving caps away.  These games are sellout attractions, and I try to stay at my allotment of two (for friends) and four (for family) when I know we are expecting a large crowd.

Some guys love to give tickets away; they solicit the opportunity. On the road they offer free passes to the bellman, the bartender, the taxi driver, the lady in the gift shop — everyone. I guess they like to play the role of the big shot. I wonder if they even realize that their salary is paid by people who buy tickets.

 

We faced another lefthanded challenge today, and once again, we failed the test.

Wilson Alvarez was a top pitcher in the American League, but he was having a subpar season when the Giants traded for him.  My guess is that they got more than they expected in Hernandez, and less in Alvarez.

Our batters seemed mystified today. From the dugout, it appeared that he was throwing mostly fastballs, and that they were not all that fast or that well-placed. Bagwell finally touched him for a two-run homer in the fifth, to give us a 2-1 lead.

Meanwhile, Chris Holt was pitching the game of his life. If he hadn’t erred on a pickoff throw, he would have had a two-hit shoutout going into the eighth.

FRIDAY, SEPTEMBER 5 ● San Francisco, vs Giants

I read where they are closing Lefty O’Doul’s, a famous bar in San Francisco. I also read where the Dodgers have concluded negotiations for the sale of the team to Fox Television.

What do these two things have in common? A lot more than the fact that the redoubtable Lefty once played for the Dodgers.

Lefty’s baseball career went coast-to-coast. He was a great young pitcher, and a gifted hitter in the Pacific Coast League.  He was so popular In the Bay Area that he spurned major-league offers until he was in his late 20s. Then he went east to try his hand on the mound.

He didn’t do so well.

When he was with the Red Sox in 1923, he authored of one of the worst innings on record: a 13-run shellacking at the hands of the Indians.

 As a hitter, he did considerably better, collecting 254 hits for the Phillies in 1929, setting a National League record that still stands. His lifetime average of .349 would be third on the all-time list if he had enough at-bats.

Lefty started too late, and the lure of his native San Francisco pulled him back too soon. He came back to manage and play part-time. He opened a hofbrau restaurant and piano bar on Geary Street, just about a nine-iron shot form Union Square. It was, perhaps, the first sports bar in America. Celebrities dropped by drinks and banter.

The place is a veritable museum of the famous personalities of his day, from Emperor Hirohito to Jack Dempsey and Joe Louis.  Mayor Jimmie Walker is with Lefty in one shot. In another, Lefty is seen at the famous Olympic Golf Club with Max Baer.  A photo of Lefty, Joe DiMaggio, and Marilyn Monroe is off to the side.

Lefty is long since gone, but his spirit has remained alive all these years. Now it is going the way of the Dodgers, the way of all things familiar that have become precious: to the moneyed interests, the power brokers.  

How can you run a $4.50 plate lunch joint in the same neighborhood with $300-a-night hotel rooms, exclusive shops, galleries and department stores? You can’t. The current owners of Lefty’s can’t afford the rent anymore.

And the current owners of the Dodgers, the O’Malley family, have lost their taste for baseball for the same reason.

Lefty’s is dark and dusky. It has little street appeal and even less attraction on the inside, unless you are a history buff. Street people drop by for a cheap meal. The piano bar attracts a crowd that grew up listening up to Gershwin music.

I stop by once a year, just to feel the connection with the ballplayers on the walls. If I stay too long, I feel sad. The piano-bar sing-a-long can get downright maudlin.

 

Dodger Stadium is the same way; I went there as a teenager. Except for the DiamondVision, it is exactly the same. The PA announcer sounds like the guy who gave instructions to us children of the Fifties when we were driving the Utopia cars at Disneyland. Disney owns the Angels — not Walt, the corporation.

The pastel hues of Dodger Stadium postdate Art Deco, and they won’t come back in style. Fox knows this. Disney knows this. The O’Malleys know it, too.

 

As I teed off at the Olympic Club this morning, I was not thinking of Lefty, but perhaps I should have been. He was, according to legend, a scratch golfer. I am not. Perhaps I will lend my name to a sports bar near our new stadium in Houston and hang a picture of myself on the links with Lyle Lovett, Sam Shepard, and Patrick Swayze. After I die, the bartender will tell everyone I was a scratch golfer.  

Actually, I had to cheat to shoot 44 on the front today. I had a 39 on the back, but I didn’t realize I was playing so well, because I was riding with Jim Deshaies and we had already given up having a good score and were laughing a lot.

Our host, Gary Allegre of the Allegre trucking empire, was telling us how much money you can make crushing concrete and re-bar debris after earthquakes and floods. He was talking the whole day — to us and to his cell phone. And he shot 78. Very impressive. Cubby had a 78 too. Once again, he was a birdie monster.

 

We got to the ballpark at 2:20 for early batting practice. We usually don’t score many runs when we take early BP — probably because we take it when we are in a slump. The slump continued tonight, but we still had a chance to win.

Shane Reynolds pitched a terrific game. He allowed a homer to J.T. Snow in the first, and he was down 1-0 to Sean Estes as we came up in the seventh.

With one out, Luis Rivera singled to left and came home on a triple by Tony Peña. Both players are well past their prime years, playing out the string in secondary roles. But they got us tied, and now I had to make a decision:

Shane was due up. I could tell the players on the bench wanted to pinch-hit. The way Estes was throwing, I did not view a pinch-hitter as a sure thing.  The way Shane was throwing, I thought I could get one more zero out of him. He already had one of our four hits in the game, and the Giants had to play the infield in.

I looked to third, and Cubby was motioning for a runner; Peña was gassed. Bill asked me if I wanted to run with Brad. If I did that, I would want to hit for Shane, because he was working well with Tony and I didn’t want to change catchers on him.

I decided to let Shane hit. As he left the dugout, I asked him, “Do you know the squeeze sign?” He said he did.

The count went to 2-1 and I signaled for the squeeze. Shane kept staring at Cubby as if he didn’t believe it. Finally he got in the box and did not answer the sign. Without his answer, Peña could not break for home. Cubby yelled at Shane, and he stepped out. Giants catcher Brian Johnson ran to the mound. We took off the squeeze, and Shane eventually walked.

Dusty Baker brought Roberto Hernandez in to face Biggio. Bidge hit a soft liner to second base on a 99 MPH fastball. Then Chucky Carr hit a deep fly ball to center. Darryl Hamilton was playing shallow, and it looked for all the world like a two-run triple. But Hamilton kept churning, dove headlong, and caught the ball inches above the grass as he reached the warning track. It was one of the best plays of the year, and it turned the game around.

Shane pitched well in the seventh, but the momentum had changed. Johnson hit a home run to give them a 2-1 lead. I heard Hernandez was a hard thrower, but you never really appreciate what you hear until you see it. He blew through Bagwell, Bell, and Gutierrez as if they were children.

Russ Springer walked the first two batters in the Giants’ eighth, and they eventually scored on a ball that Rivera dove for, but did not catch.  The ball glanced off his glove, and that was that. Rod Beck finished us off.

Luckily the Pirates and Cardinals lost.

What bothered me most about this game was Shane’s fate. If he returns to form, we will likely make the playoffs, and we could give the Braves or Marlins a good battle.  What could have been a breakthough game for him turned into yet another loss.

This one didn’t cost us anything in the standings, but it still hurt.