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FRIDAY, AUGUST 15 ● Houston, vs Philadelphia

It was with great reluctance that I stumbled out of bed in this morning. River Oaks is a beautiful golf course, but 6:30 a.m. is an unseemly hour.

Our host, team doctor Bill Bryan, is a good golfer and a big-personality guy. After a couple cups of coffee, I was ready to play. If I could hit the ball as well as I did yesterday, I would shoot a good score.

On the way to pick up Cubby, I realized that I had a stiff neck. I figured it would go away, but it did not.

Doc Bryan brought his son, Kyle, along. Kyle was miserable. Like me, he was fired up at the start. Like me, he was ready to quit at the turn. He was hitting it fat; hitting it thin. He was shanking and chili-dipping. He was a mess.

I wasn’t much better. My neck was seizing up on the follow-through. I was making a lot of double-bogeys. Cubby and Doc were playing better, but not by much. We were all soaked in sweat when we finished. You cannot arise early enough to beat the August sun.

 

We arrived at the ballpark at one o’clock. I went immediately to the trainer’s room, and got hooked up to an electrical stimulating machine. While my neck and back were being zapped, I slept for half an hour.

I awoke with a stuffed-up nose, and my neck was still stiff. I wasn’t too discouraged; I felt rested and ready to think. I was grateful I didn’t have to act.

As it turned out, no one was able to act up against Curt Schilling. He dominated the game, winning 5-1.

We had a chance to win late, but once again, I made some errors in judgment.  Chris Holt was pitching a whale of a ballgame, tied at 1 in the eighth. I paid him a visit with two outs and a runner at second, with a hot hitter, Midre Cummings, at the plate. Cummings is a lefty swinger, and Holt is right-handed. I had Martin warmed up, but Ausmus and Holt felt they could retire Cummings.

I left Chris in the game, figuring that if he could get his first win since June 21, it would do wonders for his confidence. He had a good fastball-slider-changeup combination working. I really thought he would get Cummings, until I saw a hanging curve ball float in on a 2-2 count.

I don’t know how many times we are going to have to warn our pitchers and catchers against throwing slow pitches over the plate with two strikes in the count.

Cummings hit a line drive to center, and it was 2-1. Holt finished the inning and started the ninth. He hung another curve ball with two strikes, and Greg Jefferies lined it to right for a single. I brought Russ Springer into the game, and he immediately gave up a single and a home run.

That was that. A tidy 2-hour-and-17-minute loss.

 

I am at a loss about the bullpen. Seems like I’ve lost the magic touch.

We recalled John Hudek and sent down José Cabrera. José was pitching well for us, but our other José (Lima) is out of options, and we can’t send him down without waivers.

Hudek has allowed only three hits in 17 innings at New Orleans. He has struck out 23. Perhaps he will be the glue that sticks our bullpen back together. I hated to send out Cabrera, because he had pitched so well. But we really need some veteran presence in the bullpen.

 

We also made a trade today, acquiring catcher Tony Peña for a minor-league prospect. Peña gives us the insurance we need in case Brad gets hurt. To make room on the roster, we sent out J.R. Phillips. J.R. had only one hit while he was here: a game-tying three-run homer.

I hope Peña will also be able to contribute to some wins. The loss of J.R. leaves us with no appreciable power on the bench.

One thing that was apparent after watching this game was the importance of pitching inside. Schilling moved back almost every hitter with an inside fastball. We need to be pitching inside more ourselves.

The loss to the Phils was less painful because the Pirates lost too. Beating Schilling would have been a big morale-booster, but losing to him is nothing to be ashamed of. He is really tough.

 

I was bone-tired when I got home, and with a 12:15 game for Fox tomorrow, I went straight to bed. I had a little trouble getting to sleep, because I still couldn’t breathe through my nose.

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 13 ● Houston, vs Florida

This was such a tough game to digest that I have been chewing on it for a week. It is August 19, and I am finally making myself write again.

The games have been excruciating, and my head has been stuffed with gunk. I have been a little achy. I just haven’t felt motivated to do much more than manage the games. I did take some notes, however, and I feel well-enough now to start catching up.

I shouldn’t have written so blithely about second-guessing. After tonight’s game, I was second-guessing myself.

I have been ambivalent from time to time about strategic moves. But in this game, I straddled the fence so often that I should have been wearing a cup. The fact that I was cupless was probably clear to the press corps when they saw my dazed expression after the game.  

The second-guessing part came later in the game. In the beginning, everything was rosy.

 

We scored a pair of unearned runs in the first inning. In the second, Biggio dazzled the crowd by scoring from first on a hit-and-run single. Shane Reynolds was pitching a marvelous game. The Marlins are his nemesis team, but you would never have known it — until the sixth.

The inning started with a clean single to left. Then there was a looping jam-shot single. Moises Alou went for a splitter and bounced it up the middle. I thought it would be a double-play ball, but Bidge didn’t quite get to it and the Marlins were on the board.

To make matters worse, Chuckie tried for the “hero” throw and heaved it all the way over the catcher, allowing the runners to move up to second and third.

They had only hit one ball well, but I started Magnante in the bullpen, just in case.

Jeff Conine is having a bad year, but he is still a good hitter. He stuck out his bat on an ankle-high split and chipped a hit into right to tie the game.  Greg Zaun followed with an infield hit. Actually, he was out by half a step, but Wally Bell did not have a replay to help him. He just blew it, as Zaun went tumbling headfirst into the bag.

This brings up a subject that rankles old-timers. They feel that you get to the first-base bag quicker if you don’t slide. This knowledge has been imparted to every professional ballplayer, and yet they continue to slide into first base.

I’m not sure they aren’t right for the wrong reason — and that the Zaun play proves it. If he had kept running, he would have been called out — no question. The umpire can hear the ball hit the mitt, and see the foot hit the bag. He seldom misses this call. On a slide, he can’t see exactly when the runner touches the bag. It’s like a tag play — a cloud of smoke and a guess.

Reynolds was really flustered, but with the eighth-place hitter and pitcher due, I hoped he could pitch out of it. It turned out that he couldn’t.

The next batter singled, and I brought Magnante into the game to get the last out. At this point, I was tempted to double-switch, but I didn’t want to take Carr or Bogar out of the game. I could have gone back to the six-hole and had Spiers come in at third for Berry. This would allow Magnate to pitch another inning. But Spiers’ elbow was sore, and it was recommended that he not play in the field. So I pinch-hit for Mike, and we failed to score.

José Lima pitched a strong seventh, striking out two of the three hitters he faced. We came up, and Bell and Bagwell hit back-to-back homers to give us a 5-4 lead.

Now I was really on the fence: Lima had pitched so well that I didn’t want to take him out, but his history is that he pitches better if we’re behind.

I wanted to get the game as close to the ninth as possible before I played the Wagner card. And just as I was thinking about this, Spiers came up and said he could play defense, and not to worry about him. So now I had the option to double-switch a new pitcher into the game, putting Spiers in the nine-hole. I teetered on the fence as the next three hitters made out.  I had Springer ready, but I decided to go with Lima and to bring Billy in to play third for Berry.

Lima immediately walked Bobby Bonilla and served up a double to Darren Daulton. With runners on second and third and nobody out, I handed the ball to Russ, knowing I would have to pinch-hit for him and use yet another pitcher.

Well, they not only tied it, they took the lead with two singles off Russ, and two more off Tom Martin.

Every move I made backfired. We scored a meaningless run in the ninth and lost 8-6.

 

Afterward, I admitted to being indecisive and disappointed in my own performance. We could have won the game I had managed the bullpen better. We could also have won it if Zaun had been called out at first base. We could have won if, if, if, if …

But we did not win, and I felt more responsible for the outcome than in any other game this year.

Going into the contest, I did not want Springer to face Gregg Zaun, or Gary Sheffield to face Martin. I got boxed into allowing both of these matchups, and the result was two RBI singles.

 

I didn’t make it home until almost midnight, and everyone was sleeping. I woke up the dogs, because I needed to talk to someone — and I was pretty sure Judy would fail to appreciate the importance of waking up to listen to my complaints.

The dogs were happy to see me. Babe sat and “shaked” many times. Vesta licked my hands. When I finished my cigar, I went inside for a bedtime snack. I was two or three handfuls into a can of cashews when I realized that I hadn’t washed my hands.

It was that kind of night.

TUESDAY, AUGUST 12 ● Houston, vs Florida

By the time I got home, it was four a.m. I slept fitfully, waking up at 7 and 8 and finally getting up at 9:30. I don’t think any of us would trade for a 12-month 9-to-5 job, but this schedule can create some dissonant biorhythms.

I managed to pull my tax receipts together and total them today. We may meet the August deadline this year; last year we finally filed in October.

In case you are thinking I am on to something, forget it. If you file late and owe them money, they charge interest. If they owe you money, you do not get the same consideration.

 

Cubby said he would come by at 2:30, but he couldn’t wait. He arrived about 2:15, raring to go.

The big story tonight was my lineup. I decided to give Gonzo a day off, and play Mouton. I inserted him into the cleanup spot, sporting a .217 batting average.

Everyone was dumbfounded.  What the heck was I thinking of?

The truth is: we don’t have many options, now that Derek is hitting second. I really don’t have any power hitters to chose from, after Bagwell hits third.

Should I hit Ricky fourth? How about Brad, Bogey, or Chuckie? They don’t have 20 home runs among them.

But guess what? Bogey and Chuckie hit homers tonight, and James drove in three runs. We won the game 13-2, which made us all happy — and may have made someone else an Astros fan.

You see, there is a long-standing gamblers game called The 13 Run Pool. Here’s how it works:

 A group of 28 people draws from a hat. Each gets a team. A sum of money – say, a dollar apiece — goes into the pool. At the end of the week, another dollar is added. If someone’s team scores 13 runs, he or she wins the money, and everyone antes up again.

I don’t know when a team last scored 13 runs, but it is safe to say that someone, somewhere, made some money off us last night.

 

Mike Hampton had a stake in it, as well. He pitched a strong game, and he won for the tenth time. Fifteen wins doesn’t seem out of the question. When I told him he could still win fifteen back in May, he looked at me like I was crazy. But this is a long season, and just about anything can happen.

There was some sentiment that I rest Biggio and Bagwell when we beat the Mets 8-2. Tonight, I gave Bidge two innings off, and Bagwell one. This isn’t much rest, but at least it gives the bench guys an at-bat or a play in the field.

 

I was asked about the lineup again after the game. The reporters seem to think that I came up with some sort of inspiration. If we had lost, they would have proclaimed me crazy.

One advantage I have is that I don’t care what they write. I must say, however, that I am in a favorable position here in Houston.

Two years ago, longtime beat writer Neil Hohlfeld was reassigned to hockey. Now Alan Truex and Carlton Thompson share the beat. These guys don’t know half as much about baseball, and they don’t have a network of connections like Neil.

Truex seems obsessed with injuries. I think I could pinch-hit Mike Magnante for Bagwell, and Truex would come in afterward and ask for an injury update.

The point is, I seldom have to answer tough questions about my strategies, because the new guys are not expert-enough to second-guess.

The word at the Chronicle was that Neil was too close with the players. This can be a problem if the writer tries to protect his friends. I did not find this to be the case with Neil; he probably criticized players and management more than Alan and Carlton. But he did have close relationships — no doubt about that.

Now that hockey is over, he comes out to the Dome occasionally to write a sidebar. Biggio, Bagwell, Gonzo, D.K., and some of the other veterans are always happy to see him.

The newspaper business is in the advanced stages of decline, all over the country. Here in Houston, we lost the Post several years ago; now we have only one paper. For this reason, we don’t get late scores from the West Coast. We don’t get many scoops, either, because there is no incentive to be first one to have a story when you are the only one who can tell it. Likewise, it doesn’t matter who covers a team when there is no competition.  

I think Carlton and Alan could be good, solid beat writers, but it will take time. By the time they get the experience and the contacts to do the job well, they may be assigned to a different beat.

This is the way it is on the field, as well. Many players are eligible for arbitration each winter; most teams tender contracts only to the best of them. This floods the free-agent market. The teams then pick from this pool of players, and sign them for less.

The bad thing about this approach is that you have so many new players each season that it is hard to develop any continuity. It’s like starting from scratch each year. People wonder why players don’t seem as well-schooled these days. Think about it: If you were an army brat, and you attended nine different schools while you were growing up, what kind of education would you get?

 

We only drew 19,000 fans tonight. I saw a lot of kids in the crowd. Next week, school will be back in session, and the crowds may get smaller.

The only way we are going to draw for midweek games is to get the business crowd. I don’t think most executives feel that taking customers or employees to the Dome is fashionable, even when we are in first place. They can go home and watch most of the games on TV. If they want to entertain, they will choose a trendy restaurant or nightclub.

When we get our new stadium, we will be trendy. If we win in our new stadium, Drayton may recoup some of his losses. In the meantime, he’s at the crossroads of despair. If he spends enough to win, he loses money. If he doesn’t, he loses money.

It is difficult to know which road will be best financially, but the winning way is certainly more scenic. Drayton has taken the compromise route: not too high, not too low. I’m know he’s not happy about the attendance, but at least we’re still in first place.

The Pirates continue to keep it interesting, however. They came up with four runs in the ninth tonight to beat the Braves 5-2.  

MONDAY, AUGUST 11 ● New York, vs Mets

Sushi. Ever tried it? I sampled some in the press box at Dodger Stadium one night when Hideo Nomo was pitching. Vile stuff. Yuk!

I’m an adventuresome eater, but I am not one to make the same mistake twice, if I can help it. Luckily, I couldn’t help it today. My broadcast agent, Bob Rosen, asked me to lunch with my literary agent and his cohort, Chris Thomassino.

“Do you like seafood?” Bob asked.

“Love it,” I replied.

He gave me the directions, and the next thing I knew, I was eating sushi with chopsticks.

I had to laugh, internally. I have often thought about my home state, California, in terms of sushi. It’s the Left Coast. The home of the L.A. smug. And the birthplace of the Sushi Generation.  Way cool, man.

I must admit, I was sort of happy to find myself in Sushiland. I have known the pleasures of Thai food; I have languished in the hand-to-mouth sensuality of Morroccan cuisine. A big boiling pot of crawfish, corn on the cob, and new potatoes is finger music beyond compare.

Sushi? It must be pretty good. I can’t imagine it’s only trendy; it’s been around too long. I can only surmise that the Dodgers screwed it up when I was there. Most people think the Dodgers are beautiful people. I admit, they are pretty good. But they do not do sushi justice. This I learned at lunch today.

I had a spinach soup that was delicious, though it had no broth or anything resembling liquid at all. I had sashimi, which I think was a little bit of everything, and it was mostly good. At the end I was full, but not stuffed.     

Several hours later, I was hungry again. This made me feel a little better about repeating something I heard from one of the players who toured Japan in the fall:

“The only bad thing about playing those guys,” he said, “is that two hours later you want to play them again.” I laughed when I heard this, but then I immediately recognized the non sequitur: Japanese baseball, Chinese food. Now I know that it makes perfect sense. What a load off my mind.

 

As we dined, we discussed the possibility of this journal becoming a book. I realized that this might happen, right from the start. It’s not that I consider myself a great writer; it’s just that as far as I know, no major-league manager has ever kept a journal.

As we get closer to talking with publishers, I’m getting cold feet. I have tried present a balanced view of the characters in this journal. Some of them appear more admirable than others; some will be upset with me, I’m sure, and will take exception to what I have written about them.

This is my honest evaluation, but it is only my opinions. I hope I will be able to let it go, because I think the material would be interesting to those die-hard baseball fans who want to know what it is like on the inside. 

Still, I fear reprisal. It is of some comfort to know that nothing can be printed without my permission. I can go back through and edit, but I know I won’t want to take some things out — things that may come back to bite me.

It’s a risky proposition. But, as they say, nothing ventured, nothing gained.

 

Bob and Chris came to the game with one of the publishers. I visited with them down at the end of the dugout for a few minutes. This could give a me the big head, being a hotshot in New York, and talking to people who are interested in a book. All we need to do is lose five games in a row again, and I’ll be right back to my normal hat size.

We did not start another losing streak tonight, however. The Mets started Pete Harnisch, and he didn’t have much.

Pete is a friend of mine, and he’s a closer friend of some of our players. He has spent most of the season on the disabled list with clinical depression. I know what that is like, but it sounds like his case was more severe than mine.

He pitched well in his first outing last week, but I don’t think his arm bounced back well. His pitches seemed lazy, and we made the most of it.

Bagwell is back on the attack again: he had a homer and a double. The guys have taken to calling Chuckie Carr “Mighty Mouse.” It’s a great nickname for him, and he was indeed mighty in this series — as were Bill Spiers and Tim Bogar.  

The Mets must have been wondering why these guys didn’t hit like this for them. Timing is everything in baseball, and in life. Our timing with these three guys was perfect.

Who knows if they will continue to make major contributions to the offense? Who cares?  Their defensive skills have helped us build confidence.

 

We start a long homestand with the Marlins tomorrow. The Big Chief, Ramón Garcia, got the win tonight. He also got his first big-league hit, an RBI double. We won 8-3 and headed for home with a 3-5 trip — and a larger lead than when we left.

SUNDAY, AUGUST 10 ● New York, vs Mets

Our assistant PR director, Darryl Simon, came by this morning with an unusual request. It seems Fox wants me to go up to the booth, with my uniform on, to make a commercial or a promotional tape — sitting in, as it were, with one of their play-by-play men.

I was not happy about this, but I assumed I had to do it, because they were able to force us to put a microphone on Cheo.

I don’t blame these guys for trying to be innovative. In fact, I think they have been highly creative. But I don’t want to make a fool out of myself, or give the impression that I’m on a lark.

My unusual path to the manager’s office brought a lot of publicity. That was fine. But I was hoping the team would play well enough to take the spotlight off me. This has pretty much been the case lately. Now, this.

I grudgingly agreed to do the shoot. Then I mentioned it to Gerry, and he went off.

“I just had it out with them over the microphone,” he said. “I told Flip (executive producer John Filippelli) that he should direct all requests to my office. He agreed. So now they come straight to you. That’s bullshit.”

“I’m glad you feel that way, because I didn’t want to do it anyway. I would feel foolish up in the booth with my uniform on. I’m not sure it would sit well with the players, either. I’m still trying to build my credibility. This type of thing makes it look like a joke. And we’re trying to win this thing.”

“Where’s Darryl?” he asked.

“He was in here a minute ago,” I said.

Gerry stalked out of my office and headed for the locker room. In a minute, he was back.

“I don’t know where he went, but I’ll find him. For now, you can operate under the assumption that you have a direct order not to do it.”

I was glad Gerry intervened. It’s not that I object to humor; I think we take ourselves way too seriously. But I feel the humor should be spontaneous, not contrived.

 

Gerry and I talked about our catching vulnerability at greater length. We brought Tony Eusebio in to ask him what he wanted to do, and what he thought he would be able to do.  He said he would prefer to stay active and try to catch D.K. This is what I want, too. Surgery is an option, but there is no certainty he would make it back in time for the playoffs.

Tony is a popular guy on our team. He works hard, and he minds his own business. Everyone knows he is playing hurt, and that lends a sense of heroism to the game when he plays. It serves as a model of dedication and self-sacrifice.

This ordeal is not helping his lifetime batting average, but from what the doctors tell us, there is no real risk. Whether he plays or not, he should be back to 100% next spring, after surgery and rehabilitation.

Randy Knorr is three or four weeks away from being able to play. Mitch Meluskey is an unproven youngster.

If Brad goes down, we’re in trouble.

Drayton is wary about trading with the Tigers, because of the deals we made with Tal’s son Randy; both of those trades have been criticized.

I would have traded Todd Jones, Brian Hunter, and Orlando Miller for Brad Ausmus, straight-up. That’s how much Brad has meant to our pitching staff. But Jones and Hunter are having good years, and we had trouble filling Miller’s spot at shortstop until Bogey took over.

I don’t think you can let the trades of the past affect your judgment on future trades. You have to put a bad deal behind you — just like a bad outing on the mound.

I think Detroit’s Matt Walbeck is our best bet. If it comes down to the Brewers’ Kelly Stinnett, I would rather take a look at Mitch.

For now, we are going to stick with the status quo.

I have to wonder what effect Tony has on D.K. — especially after this afternoon’s ballgame.

Darryl was wild high, and he was not able to make the adjustment to get his fastball down in the strike zone. As a result, he nearly blew a big lead.

We went up 5-0 in the first inning, as the Mets helped out with a couple of errors. We came right back with two errors of our own, and the Mets scored three runs.

John Olerud hit a homer to make it 5-4, but Derek hit one for us to get the run back. We got three more in the fifth to make it 9-4.

At this point, it looked like D.K. would cruise in, with his sixteenth win. When we got two more in the seventh, the fat lady started singing some scales.

But the Mets weren’t finished. They scored four runs so quickly, we couldn’t get a reliever ready.

By the time Tom Martin got loosened up, Darryl had settled down. He finished the seventh, but now the Mets had the momentum. In a normal game, a three-run lead with two innings to play is a commanding position. In this game, it felt insufficient.

José Cabrera got an out and gave up a hit in the eighth. That brought up Todd Hundley as a pinch-hitter. He was the last man left on Bobby Valentine’s bench. I brought Martin in, to make Hundley hit righthanded. He hit a fly ball all the way to the wall in right-center, but Derek caught up with it and made a nice catch. Martin got the next four batters, and we won 11-8.

This brush with disaster may be good for us in the long run, because it made Martin feel like a hero. His chances of saving a game when Wagner isn’t available are better for having saved this one for Kile.

 

One thing that has been a real lift is Derek’s personality. All year long, he has lobbied to hit in front of Bagwell. When we were last in New York, I hit him second, and he hit a home run. Then he got hurt, and when he came back, I put him back in the five-hole.

He doesn’t fit the description of a two-hole hitter at all. He can’t bunt, and he draws few walks. He isn’t stealing any bases, and I don’t like to hit-and-run with him, because of his power potential.

So what does he do when I bat him second? He goes on a tear. And his attitude meter goes off the upper end of the scale.

He’s joking around, encouraging teammates, running all over the place, feeling great. Yogi Berra once said that baseball is 90 percent mental, and the other 50 percent is physical. Using this formula, Derek is operating at about 130 percent of capacity.

If his streak continues, it will be the smartest dumb thing I have done all year.

 

Gerry and I went to Little Italy for dinner tonight, and it was great. Not just the food, but the whole atmosphere.

From our sidewalk table we observed a street scene that was, in a word, fascinating. The streets are blocked off here, and they are full of tourists. It’s like Disney World without the funny hats.

As we dined, we talked about the catching situation and the outfielders. I am really anxious to get more octane from the outer garden. He asked me if I would favor bringing up Richard Hidalgo, and sending down Mouton. I didn’t even have to think about it.

“You bet,” I said. “I love Mouton; he’s a great kid. But I also believe Bill is right when he says that we will never find out how good he can play unless we play him every day, and give him a chance to settle down. He’s just too high-strung for a bench player.”

If James is able to play every day for three weeks, we will learn more about him. My hunch is that he will hit well at AAA New Orleans, and that it will help his confidence for when we need him in September. At the same time, it will give us a chance to observe Richard against big-league pitchers.

“I could use Richard in center against lefthanded pitchers,” I said. “And I could also use him to rest Gonzo.”

 “Well, let’s sleep on it,” Gerry said. “We can make a decision tomorrow.” 

FRIDAY, AUGUST 8 ● New York, vs Mets

I alarmed myself awake at 9 a.m. because I had a message to call Gerry. He is in town now, and I thought he might have something important to tell me – like, we had made a deal, or he wanted to bring up another outfielder.

It was only about pitching: whether to bring up Hudek and send Lima through outright waivers, in which case we might lose him. We agreed to talk to Vern about it.

 

I got a muffin and some coffee and came back upstairs to write. I called Judy, but she wasn’t home. I looked at the box scores for prospects — otherwise known as suspects in this business.

I watched a little ESPN and it occurred to me that they were running a special on me when we were in Miami on Monday, right at the start of the losing streak. It also occurred to me that Rick and Susan had abandoned their vigil by the television in Oxnard, selfishly seeking their own pleasure at Hanalai Bay.

The ESPN jinx should fade fast. But if this is because of Rick and Susan, well, they have their own place there. And they are planning to stay for six weeks. I hope this doesn’t get so bad that I have to request their return to mainland duty.

 

The Mets kicked our butts 6-1 tonight. They routed Shane Reynolds and shut us down with their fifth starter, Brian Bohanon. I’m happy for him; he pitched a good game. I know he’ll have bragging rights this winter, when he tells his friends how he struck out Jeff Bagwell.

Bagwell is in a major slump now. I fear the team is looking into his bewildered eyes and they are losing faith. If we can’t win without Bagwell, we can’t win with him. I know that doesn’t make sense, but think about it:

It’s not like the Rockets with Hakeem Olajuwon; we can’t go to Bagwell every inning when he gets hot. We have to wait for him to come up to bat.

In baseball, you need stars, but you can’t go all the way without a good supporting cast.

 

The Mets made a major trade today to shore up their bullpen. They gave up a lot in futures, but they addressed a current need, picking up Turk Wendell and Mel Rojas from the Cubs.

They are only a few games behind the Marlins now. We could see them again in October; you never know.  

I’ve always felt a certain sense of rivalry with the Mets, because of the early days. They came into the league the same time we did: 1962. That was back when I was getting started as a pitcher.

The Mets have had some glory years; we have not. Though we have beaten them in the all-time series, they won the only series anyone will remember: the 1986 LCS. They won the World Series that year; we have never been to the World Series.  We haven’t even been in the playoffs since we lost to the Mets.

 

On the way back from the ballpark, Gerry and I talked about Shane Reynolds. It seemed like the Mets were hitting some pretty good pitches: splitters and curve balls around the knees.

“I just wonder if it’s a velocity thing,” Gerry said. “He just doesn’t seem to be throwing hard enough.”

“I actually thought he was throwing harder tonight,” I said. “But I agree with you. It wasn’t his fastball that beat him; it was the offspeed pitches. But it still comes back to the fastball. They didn’t seem to respect his fastball. They just sat on the splitter and curve, and figured they could fight the fastball off.”

“I’m going to get some readings from last year,” Gerry said. “Then we can see if he’s lost velocity, or if it is just location.”

I think it is a little of both.

Tonight, he started getting defensive when they hit him.  After that, it was all over. He was behind in the count constantly, pitching without confidence.

 

Billy Wagner came in to finish up tonight. I hate to use him in a losing game, for two reasons: First, if he happens to get hit, it might affect his confidence. Second, he throws so many pitches per inning that he may not be at full strength tomorrow.

I told Vern to get Martin ready.

“I’m not going to let him go more than 20 pitches,” I said.

It took Billy 22 pitches to get them out. At least he put a zero on the board. The only hit was a single on a curve ball by Rey Ordoñez.

It baffles me that so many hitters are able to handle his curve. Not that it’s the greatest curve in the world, but with a 98 MPH fastball, any curve should do.

I made a mental note to have Gene Coleman check the records to see what the league is hitting against his curve and his fastball. We have encouraged him to throw more curves, and I wonder if we are missing something.

 

When I got back to the hotel, I called Vern. We talked about Shane. Vern said he was throwing 87-89 MPH tonight, which is adequate. Vern thinks it’s a matter of pitching inside more often. If he can make the hitter think quick he can get him out with slow. If he stays away with his fastball, there is no reason for the hitter to think quick.

On Wagner, I suggested to Vern that we call Nolan Ryan when we get home. Early in his career, Nolan had the same kinds of struggles that Billy is having now. Perhaps Nolan has noticed something in Billy’s delivery, or he can say something to Billy about the mental side of the game.

It’s not an emergency situation, but in Billy’s role, he needs to be more efficient with his pitches, so that I can use him more often.

I had one closing thought for Vern to consider:

“Who is the only other lefthanded pitcher who can throw as hard as Billy?” I asked.

“Randy Johnson.” he said.

“Where is his arm slot?”

“A little to the side.”

“What type of breaking ball does he use?”

“Kind of a slurve, or a big slider.”

“This is my point,” I said.

“Billy has to cast his curve up in order for it to come down in the strike zone. The hitters might be able to ‘read’ it early, for that reason. If he threw a faster pitch that sweeps across the zone like Johnson’s does, it would probably come out of his hand at the same angle as the fastball. It may be harder for the hitters to read.”

“I was wondering when you were going to ask me about that,” he said. “I have had those same thoughts — all the way back to winter ball. But we have to think about what is going to be best for Billy and the team.”

Reading between the lines, I knew that Vern was thinking that a slider or slurve-type pitch might be hard on his elbow. I know; I have the elbow to prove it. But I also know that it would be an easier pitch to master than the curve.

We’re going to work with Billy in the outfield during batting practice, to see if he has any aptitude for a faster, flatter breaking ball.

 

In the meantime, I am going to think about a little speech for tomorrow night. I can’t watch the losing much longer without saying something.  

THURSDAY, AUGUST 7 ● Philadelphia, vs Phillies

Up and at ’em again: another day game.

I just knew we would win this game.

Mike Hampton has been money in the bank lately, and their pitcher, Matt Beech, has made 21 consecutive starts without a win.

I was a little worried, because Beech played his college ball at the University of Houston, and he would obviously be motivated to beat the Astros. Still, I felt great. The guys were lively in the pregame clubhouse, playing loud music and screwing around. I expected we would give Beech an early shower.

 

He did not look very impressive in the first inning, but he did get us out. Then we took the field and started a series of misadventures that would set the stage for another loss.

Hampton got it going it by walking Mickey Morandini. All four pitches were high and wide. Gregg Jefferies followed with a single through the hole to left. Ricky Gutierrez could have made the play with any kind of quick reaction, but he looked like he was wearing concrete sneakers.

Scott Rolen followed with a bloop single to right. Jefferies headed for third, and he had it made. Rolen rounded first, and he would have been a dead duck if Derek had thrown the ball to first or second. Instead, he made a futile attempt to nail Jefferies at third, and his throw was wild. Jefferies scored, and Rolen headed for third.

Gonzo chased the ball down and threw to Bogey covering. Bogey applied the tag. Rolen was out by a mile, but Dana DeMuth called him safe. Dana was in no position to make the call; he was in foul territory behind the bag. In making the tag, Bogey blocked his view.

My view from the inside was perfect, and it was such an obvious out that I felt I had to argue it.

Dana is a good guy; he remained calm. I pointed to the bag and pantomimed the play.

“Stop pointing, and tell me what you saw,” he said.

I stopped pointing and said, “I saw what you couldn’t see, because your view was blocked by Bogey. I saw him tag Rolen out. It wasn’t even close.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I saw,” he said. “I saw him miss the first tag and by the time he tagged him the second time, he was in there.”

If he saw that, he better have his vision checked, because there was clearly only one tag. I don’t fault him for missing the call, because he couldn’t see the tag. And I really don’t fault him for being in the position he was in, because the ball got away down the third-base line, and I’m not sure he could have been in a better position.

What made me mad was that he made up an excuse.

I knew home plate umpire Gary Darling had a better angle to see the play. And I thought about asking DeMuth to confer with him on the call. But then I remember what happened with Larry Vanover and Ed Montague in Chicago on a similar play. Vanover refused to ask for help, and Montague said he didn’t see the play.

What’s the use? I thought. He’s not going to ask for help, and Darling isn’t going to overrule him.

 

I have two pet peeves about umpires.

First, they consistently position themselves on the front side of a tag play, so that the ball passes them before the infielder catches it. When the infielder turns to make the tag, most of the time he blocks the umpire’s view.

This is clearly visible on a steal of second. The center field camera almost always has a clear view of the play, and the second-base umpire, who is on the infield side, frequently has a blocked view.

The only reason I can think of for inside position is fear of the ball. If the umpire is on the outside and the ball skips through, it could hit him. I understand fear of the ball; it is hard, and it travels fast. I was afraid of it too.

But I still think the umpires should take an outside position.

My second complaint is their reluctance to ask for help and to give help. The object should be to get the call right. But the practice is to maintain dignity by supporting each other. This is never going to change, but it still bugs me.

 

We exploded for four runs in the second inning. Biggio’s 17th homer was the big blow. I figured we would chase Beech in short order, and Hampton would settle down and pitch a good game.

It didn’t work out that way; Hamp continued to struggle. He ended up walking six batters. Beech was wild too, but he hung in there.

In the seventh inning, Rex Hudler hit a two-run homer to tie the game. Hampton finished the inning, but I wasn’t going to send him out there for the eighth. I thought I had communicated this to Vern; I thought Magnante was warmed up and ready. Apparently I did not get this message across, because Magnante stopped warming up. I ended up double-switching Mike into the game. He was not quite ready when he came out of the bullpen.

Mike Lieberthal hit a slow ground ball to short. The play at first was close, and Charlie Reliford called him safe. Bagwell argued briefly; I did not go out. Lieberthal went to second on a wild pitch. Kevin Stocker looped a single to center, and Chuckie Carr made a strong throw home. Tony Eusebio applied the tag. I didn’t see the play well, but I saw Gary Darling start to call “out” and then change to “safe.”

This is quite suspicious in the eighth inning of a tie game, but I let it slide because I didn’t really see it — and Gary could have just anticipated “out” and then seen “safe.”

Now we were down 5-4 and Botallico came into the game to close. In the meantime, several of our players came down from the clubhouse, and they said that the replays showed Lieberthal out at first and at the plate.

I was fried. But this ordeal wasn’t over yet.

Bill Spiers tied the game with a single, and he tried to move up on the throw home. The Phillies cut off the throw and nailed Billy going into second. I saw Billy throw his hands up and say a word to second-base umpire Paul Schrieber before departing.

I thought Billy was just upset about being thrown out; I was wrong. He was mad about the call, but he left the scene because he didn’t want to get kicked out of the game.

Cubby had no such fear.

I looked away, and when I looked up, Cubby was arguing with Schrieber. I started out, but I didn’t get far before Cubby was tossed out of the game by Dana DeMuth.

At this point, I was furious. I wasn’t sure of the call, but Cubby’s reaction made me think we had been “jobbed” again.

Don’t get me wrong: I had no sense that there was any intent. Just one of those things. But, of course, at this point it was four of “those things.”

Schrieber was a gentleman, to say the least. I unleased a barrage of epithets that would make a sailor blush, and he remained calm. I was impressed with his demeanor, and I knew he wasn’t going to change his call; I finally ran out of gas and headed back.

As I passed DeMuth, I said, “You guys are four-for-four now. You’ve missed calls at all three bases and home plate, too. I’m not making it up. We saw the replays.”

As I turned toward the dugout, he followed me, but I didn’t know it. He may have said something, but with the crowd jeering and guffawing, I didn’t hear him.

This is one case where my hearing loss saved me; if I had turned back around, I would have been ejected. I probably would have done it anyway, but I didn’t know he was chasing me.

Russ Springer pitched two good innings, and Tom Martin pitched one. But we couldn’t deliver a big hit, and Martin finally lost it in the eleventh.

 

The writers and radio reporters were quiet and respectful with their postgame questions. I could not see the locker room from my office, but I heard screaming, cussing, and destruction.

When I went back out there, tables were overturned and broken; stools were scattered around the room; and players were pacing around — with no clubhouse attendants to be seen. No one was eating the postgame spread.

It was worse than Tuesday’s loss to the Marlins. It was about as bad as it gets.

Dennis Liborio came in and gave me a piece of paper with directions to the golf course. Joe, Tim, and Steve had already gone, to make sure we didn’t miss our tee time. I couldn’t care less about golf at that point, but I didn’t want to abandon my friends, and I wasn’t that wild about riding the team bus to New York anyway.

It took almost an hour to get through rush-hour traffic. I caught up with them on the fifth hole, and we made it to 16 before it got so dark we couldn’t see the ball.

About this time, the course marshal came out to chase us back in. Joe yelled to him. “I guess it’s time to quit.”

“It’s after time. Get on the cart path and come in now,” he said, as he turned his cart toward the clubhouse.

It’s a good thing he didn’t get any closer to me. I had been marshaled enough for one day.

 

After golf, we had dinner. We started for New York about 10:00. It was not a straight shot. Joe had to take Tim home, so we took a triangular route. We did manage to have a few laughs along the way, and we finally pulled up in front of the Grand Hyatt about 1:30 a.m.

 

One last word about the umpires:

I have generally been pleased with their professional conduct. They have been far less confrontational than I expected. I can’t really get a good look at the calls from the dugout, but my impression is that they are right almost all the time.

But I am a little wary about the upcoming series with the Mets, because this same crew will be at Shea Stadium. Who knows what might develop?

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 6 ● Philadelphia, vs Phillies

I woke up in a new world today: a world full of hope and promise. We have left the talented Marlins to their own devices, and we have flown north for an encounter with the hapless Phillies.

The weather here is perfect: puffy clouds, low humidity, 80 degrees midday. The suffocating heat of south Florida, and the frustration of last night’s game, are gone.

This new world is full of opportunity. I can almost feel the brotherly love as I gaze at William Penn, high atop the downtown skyline.

 

I talked with Steve Mann and set up a golf game for tomorrow. We will play after the game with Joe O’Rourke and his son, Tim. Then Joe will drive me up to New York.

There is a good used bookstore a few blocks away. I was hoping to get there, and perhaps to a cigar shop as well, but with the late arrival and early departure for the ballpark, all I had time for was lunch.

This routine is becoming familiar.  Eating, sleeping, writing, and managing demand most of my waking hours.

If I want to play golf before a night game, I have to give up some sleep. The days when I used to spend a leisurely hour or two in a bookstore are gone. The postcards I used to send to friends and family from the road are still in my briefcase, awaiting messages and stamps. They have been hiding there all summer.

 

We headed for the ballpark at 2:30. It didn’t take long to make out the lineup card for this one.

Rookie righthander Garrett Stephenson is pitching for the Phils. He beat us with a vexing assortment of offspeed pitches earlier this year; I didn’t think he could do it again.

I wanted to check his record against lefthanded and righthanded hitters.  I had a hunch that his stuff would work better against lefthanded hitters, and this proved to be the case. I played as many righthanded hitters as I could, and I was confident that The Big Chief would hold them down.

He would have done just that, if he had held onto the baseball in the first inning. Instead, as he raced to cover first base with two outs, he dropped a throw from Bagwell and a run came in. Two pitches later, Mike Lieberthal hit a home run, and we were down 4-0.

I still thought we would get back into the game, if we could just hold the line. This is exactly what happened. We chipped away, and with the help of a great escape by José Lima, we tied the score.

Lima gave up a homer to minor-league veteran Tony Barron, and the Phils went back on top. I was astounded that he even hit the ball; it was a great changeup, right around the knees. Our scouting report said that he couldn’t hit an off-speed pitch; I don’t know if our report was wrong, or if Barron just got lucky.  

In the eighth inning, Biggio was called out on a 3-2 pitch that was about six inches off the ground. He came back to the dugout in a rage. I have to hand it to him: he manages to contain his fury until he gets off the field, so as not to incite the umpires or the fans. When he gets under cover, he yells at the umpire, then he heads up the runway to vent his spleen. This time, he destroyed the bathroom.

Ricky Bottalico, the Phillies’ fine closer, shut us down in the ninth. He made Bagwell look foolish, which isn’t too difficult to do these days: Jeff is in one of the worst slumps of his career.

 

I had a couple of postgame beers with Steve Mann and Gary Gillette. These guys are two of the most intelligent statistical analysts around.

But after this game, I needed another kind of analyst.