Category: Rookie Manager’s Journal

SUNDAY, JULY 6 ● Houston, vs Cincinnati

The cigar and the dogs kept me up until 1:30. Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil kept me going until 2:00.

When I got up at 9:00, I was a little groggy, as usual. I made a pot of coffee and started feeding the animals. I got the newspaper and snuggled up to the counter with the coffee.

Most of my habits are dark. Judy was a dark lady before her hair turned silver. I like black coffee, red wine, Maduro cigars.

I fooled around for an hour or so, thinking how nice it was to go to the park a little later, and then headed for the Dome. We have a Kangaroo Court meeting at 11:00. I’m not sure if the staff is invited.

I arrived at 10:30, and Vern told me that Shane had thrown the ball well.

“A little off on control, and not especially fast, but it was fine. He’s ready for another bullpen, and a real game.”  

I went back and put the undergarments of my uniform on, and started filling out the lineup card.

Gerry came in and asked, “How did Shane do?”

I was frozen for a moment. I didn’t know if Gerry knew that I didn’t get here in time to watch Shane pitch. I should have been there; it just slipped my mind. 

“I didn’t see him, but Vern says he threw OK. Not full speed, but close: 87 MPH. Not great command, but not real bad, either. He needs some work, and we need to have him back.”

“I just hope we aren’t rushing him,” Gerry said.

I sensed my failure to attend the Shane workout was a strike against me with Gerry.  

“I don’t suppose there’s any way to know if we’re doing the right thing,” he continued. We’re at a fork in the road.”

“That’s exactly what Dr. Bryan told me,” I said. “He said: “On the one side there is caution, on the other there is need. He doesn’t report any pain, but he does have swelling. There is some risk to the aggressive route. But if the swelling doesn’t get worse, it will likely get better.”

This is my call — our call. I am not worried about him pitching with a sore knee. I don’t want to reinjure his knee by coming back too soon. I have never been on the “doctor side” of this situation.

As a player, I didn’t mind the risk of injury. I pitched a number of times when I was hurting, but I may have lasted a few more years if I had missed a start here and there.

Nobody really knows for sure what an athlete can do when playing hurt. Many have done great things; others have suffered.

“Only thing I know,” I told Gerry, “is that he wants to pitch on Monday in Chicago — Tommy Greene’s turn.”

Gerry sort of cringed at the thought of Shane pitching on short rest. He likes to be careful with young pitchers’ arms. But Shane is our ace.  

Gerry wants badly to win. His competitive side says, Yes, turn him loose on the Cubs. His background in player development tells his brain, Don’t jump at the bait. It’s a long season. Get this guy ready to pitch. Don’t rush him.

Vern is in-between. He thinks Shane can do it, but his college training schedule tells him we are rushing the process.

I say, “Hell, he’s our ace, he’s not just some college pitcher. We’re paying him the kind of money that demands innings and wins. The only way for him to start winning is to start pitching.”

This is a nice bluster move — one where I hope to trump my no-show error with a brilliant arabesque. I think it may have smoothed things over, like a little shaving cream to keep your glove warm overnight.

 

I learned that we were invited to the Kangaroo Court, but we neglected to ask if we were invited, so we were fined. I guess Ausmus is the judge, but he’s not really a nutty character. I feel better about our chances to win the division than I do about our chances of having a good kangaroo court.

I feel even better about our chances now that we have accomplished the ultimate arabesque — in which one comes spinning from behind to finish in front.

Hampton was so excited about the added responsibility of working on the fourth day that he was super strong. He couldn’t contain himself in the bullpen, and it carried on to the mound.

The Reds scored four runs in the first, despite Mike’s darting pitches. They kept getting ahead in the count, and they hit every mistake he made. It was one of those innings you can’t explain. He made mostly good pitches, with mostly good stuff, and still got banged with a four-spot.

The way we’ve been hitting, that could have been it. But it wasn’t.

Bagwell hit a solo home run in the first inning, and a three-run shot in the third. Gonzo hooked one around the right field foul pole, and we had the lead — momentarily.

The Reds got a solo homer from Deion Sanders. It remained tied until the ninth.

I brought in Wagner, and he got them out 1-2-3. When Billy came back into the dugout, he reported that his arm felt a little tired. Vern and I pursued that line of discussion until we decided that if we failed to score, Billy would face Willie Greene and then make his exit, no matter what.

Thinking in advance is important. As it was, I had to think of other things almost immediately.

With one out, I used Derek Bell to pinch-hit for Bobby Abreu with a lefthander, Mike Remlinger, on the mound. Bell came through with an infield hit, and immediately called for the medics. It was a hamstring scare. Dave Labossiere was in the clubhouse, so assistant trainer Rex Jones had to do the diagnosis.

“I think he’ll be fine now that everyone knows he is playing hurt,” he said.

 Ausmus followed with a single down the right-field line that sent Bell to third. Now I was in an agitated state, and I completely forgot about Wagner: I need a pinch-hitter for Bogey now. I told Bill to get Tony Eusebio. Then I realized that Tony was the most likely guy to hit into a double play.

“No, not Tony,” I said, as I followed Bill down the bench. He turned around. “He might hit into a double play,” I said. “Maybe Sean or Ricky would be better with their speed. Sean is a pretty good bunter. We could squeeze.”

But why was I worrying about what could go wrong? I should be concerned with what could go right.  

They had a righthander named Sean Sullivan on the mound. He is a sidearm pitcher who can make the ball ride — kind of like a young Stan Belinda. I had a feeling Tony would hit a fly ball to right, and we would win with a sacrifice fly. Instead, he ripped a low fastball up the middle on the ground for a base hit. Bell scored, and we won 6-5.

“Make sure they touch all the bases,” I yelled, still trying to make up for not watching Shane.

 

It was nice to have dinner at home.  Judy fixed ravioli, southwestern style.

After dinner, I called Mom. I was upbeat, and she was too — at first. Then I started asking about Laura and the kids, and about Rick and Susan. She told me that Ashley had been staying with her.

“It can’t be much fun for a little kid, but she’s been great.’ she said. “Most of the time, she just tags along or plays by herself. Whenever I get teary-eyed she comes over and says, ‘that’s all right, Grandma.’”

The recollection of this makes her teary-eyed, and the next thing you know, I’m sorrowful too.

Baseball is so immediate – so vivid — with its day-to-day plot changes. It takes me away from the family. I lose track of what Judy and Ryan are doing sometimes. Mom is farther away. But she needs more attention from me, now that Rick and Susan aren’t staying with her anymore.

To change the subject, I brought up the idea of a Christmastime cruise. Mom likes to cruise. I’ve never been on a cruise, and I don’t think I would like it, though everyone assures me that I will love it.

Perhaps we’ll go. The family Christmas in Woodland Hills is definitely out. It would be way too thick with nostalgia in that house.

FRIDAY, JULY 4 ● Independence Day ● Houston, vs Cincinnati

Judy and Ryan took off for Austin early this morning.  His team, the Stars, is playing in an Independence Day tournament, and he is going to pitch for the first time since March. The pain in his shoulder is gone now.

 

Tommy Greene was not so lucky. He has been battling shoulder problems for the last few years, and I’m afraid the battle is over. It looked that way tonight.

Somehow, he summoned the velocity to strike out Deion Sanders and Curtis Goodwin to open the game. Then his velocity dropped precipitously.

We had a 2-0 lead in the fourth inning when Willie Greene hit a three-run homer into the upper deck. We never came back; never really threatened.

I took Tommy out of the game with two outs in the fifth. He was throwing his fastball 82 MPH, which is slower than most pitchers throw their changeups.

When I took the ball from him on the mound, I did not detect any emotion. But when I saw him after the game, sitting on the floor in the training room staring off into space, I knew his career was over. I asked Dave Labossiere about it, and he told me that Dr. Bryan had checked his shoulder and pronounced it dead.  

WEDNESDAY, JULY 2 ● Houston, vs Indians

We had our meeting yesterday; the players had theirs today. It was a players-only meeting, called by Biggio and Bagwell.

I have been pushing the limit on meetings lately, but a players-only meeting is different. This format allows them to express themselves and gather some collective energy. Sometimes there are accusations of not hustling. Fights have broken out in meetings like this. Sometimes the players lash out at management. Who knows what they may have said about Gerry and me? About the coaches?

Who cares? Not me.

At best, a players-only meeting can have a purging effect. God knows, we need purgation. Most of the time, the backbiting and petty grievances that are common undercurrents on a ballclub come to the surface. Everyone gets to have their say, and the team usually feels more together.

 

The team certainly looked together tonight. Mike Hampton shut the Indians down in the first, then Biggio led off with a triple in the bottom of the inning and scored on Gonzo’s sacrifice fly.  Hampton kept them off-balance, scattering singles and getting double-play grounders. We routed Orel Hershiser with five runs in the fifth. A two-run triple by Hampton ignited the rally.

We have already learned that the Tribe scoffs at a large deficit. They proved it again when Hampton went back to the mound. Quicker than you could say Jackie Robinson, Seitzer singled, Ramirez doubled, and Alomar singled. Hampton regrouped and got a popup and a double-play grounder.

We now led 6-2, and that’s how it ended.

 

Vern and I had a debate in the eighth inning.

“Wagner needs to work an inning tonight,” he said.

I knew Hampton’s pitch count was low, and I intended to let him try for the complete game.

“Would you bring Wagner in, even if Mike has any easy eighth?” I asked.

“Yes,” he said. “He needs the work. If you want to keep your closer sharp, he needs to work every few days.”

“Remember what we said that one day, when he threw 30 pitches in an inning while he was getting some work, and we couldn’t use him the next day?”

“Yes, we said we would keep somebody behind him so that wouldn’t happen again.” He thought for a moment. “You don’t want anyone behind him tonight — do you?”

“No,” I said. “And I don’t want him throwing 30 pitches and not being ready for tomorrow, either. I want Wagner ready in case Mike has trouble. I want to see if Hamp can finish. I think it would do wonders for him, and be uplifting for the whole team.”

That’s what we did, and it worked like a charm.

Alomar led off with a single. Matt Williams flied to left. Omar Vizquel chopped a grounder on the left side of the infield. Billy Spiers leapt to his left and stabbed it, landed in a heap of bones, got to his knees, and forced Alomar at second. Biggio made a brilliant backhanded pickup of a hot smash by Damien Jackson, and that was it.

TUESDAY, JULY 1 ● Houston, vs Indians

I have been answering a lot of questions lately about our play in the first half. We pitched so well in April that it seemed we would go on winning, no matter who we played. Then we encountered a hitting slump. Now we’re in a pitching slump.

It’s sort of like running a river on a raft: you launch in calm waters, float downstream on a dream. Then you encounter the rapids and are exhilarated to get through them without incident. Then there are more rapids. Someone goes over and is rescued. Everyone gets wet.

Then the sun starts beating down, and people start snapping at one another. You long for the cool of the evening, but it is still hours away.

Each set of rapids is rougher, and they come one after another. Your arms are weary, but your mind is racing. You try to stay calm and hope for smooth-running waters. You tell yourself that the worst is behind you, but you are not very convincing.

This is the state of the Astros on this day. Everyone knows it. There is no sense talking about it again.

 

Gerry called a midway meeting with the staff, and we met in the coaches’ room at 2:00. Everyone was asked to make general comments on the team, and the conversation wound right around to Derek Bell.

Everyone wanted to get rid of him, except José Cruz. Cheo still thinks Derek will get better. I listened carefully to what he had to say, because I think Bell will get better too. My fear is that he is so disruptive to the team that his own improved performance won’t mean that much.

Many baseball experts feel that if you identify a player who is a “poison” on a team, you should get rid of him — even if he is a star. Poison is too strong a word for Derek. He is not a bad guy; he’s just lazy. He’s not in shape. He is more interested in material possessions and status than in teamwork and winning.

Frankly, I don’t know what to do about it. I have talked to him many times. Just when you think he has a plan, he wakes up in the morning with another idea. It’s really frustrating, because he has exceptional talent — and at this point we cannot come close to getting equal talent back in a trade.

Still, all of our coaches except Cheo recommend trading him. Gerry said that we had a chance to get Carlos Garcia from the Blue Jays. Garcia is a middle infielder with a good bat. He seemed destined for stardom when he made the All-Star team in his second year with the Pirates.

His salary climbed above $2 million after several more good years. Then the Pirates traded him to Toronto in a cost-cutting frenzy that left the Bucs without any veteran players. Now the Pirates are doing well with a bunch of rookies, and the Blue Jays are unhappy with Garcia.

If he could play shortstop on an everyday basis, he could really help us. But I have my doubts. He hasn’t played the position for five years. Still, we would cut our budget if we made the deal. And we would improve our internal chemistry.  

There was also some talk about trading John Hudek. No one was opposed to this move. The Royals and Braves are interested in him.

 

Tonight’s game was a lot like last night’s. We got lucky when rookie pitcher Jeret Wright tried to bunt a ball with his finger instead of the bat in the fourth inning. We were up 1-0 at the time.  

Chris Holt surrendered the lead in the fifth. We came up trailing 3-1, facing a new pitcher, Albie Lopez. Lopez got off to a rocky start when Tim Bogar hit a spinner down the right-field line. The ball got stuck under our bullpen bench, and Manny Ramirez thought it was a dead ball; he stopped chasing it.

The first-base umpire, Angel Hernandez, kept making the “safe” sign, but Ramirez didn’t pick up on it. Bogey kept chugging around the bases for an inside-the-park home run.

Lopez faltered, and he finally pulled a calf muscle. Eric Plunk came in and threw a wild pitch. We ended up with a five-run inning and a 6-3 lead. Holt retired the Tribe in the sixth, but he ran into trouble in the seventh.

I brought José Lima into the game with the bases loaded. He got two quick strikes and then gave up a sharp single. Then he gave up a walk and another hit. Mike Magnante came in and got Tony Fernandez to hit a weak tapper up the middle. We had him shaded to left, and couldn’t keep it in the infield. When the dust settled, we were down 7-6.

 

In the bottom of the eighth, we had a chance to tie the game when Sean Berry doubled into the left-centerfield gap with two outs and Bell on first. Derek got a slow start at first, and he was thrown out at the plate on a perfect relay throw by Fernandez.  

We timed him at 11.2 seconds from first to home, which is below average. Although he is one of the fastest players on the team, he simply is not in shape. Every player we have except Tony Eusebio would have scored on the play.

We never got up after that; just sank a little lower when Ramirez atoned for his negligence by hitting an upper-deck home run off Blas Minor. It was only the ninth upper-decker in Dome history.      

MONDAY, JUNE 30 ● Houston, vs Cleveland

This is a day I have been dreading for a week. It’s the day we release Pat Listach.

Now it’s double-dreaded, because Julia is moving out of the house. She is 20 years old, and she should be able to take care of herself, but I worry about her. She has tried this several times without success. She tends to lose interest in work, and she has trouble concentrating in school. I think she is a little more mature now, but I still worry about her being on her own.

Before the game, I addressed the team:

We have just finished a stretch of schedule that should have been kind to us, but we failed to take advantage. Now we face some tougher teams: the Indians and the Reds.

I know the All-Star break is coming up, and many of you are anxious to get a couple of days off. But we cannot afford to let down. Instead, we will have to pick up the pace to hold our position.

I know from my playing days that you can subconsciously let down in anticipation of the break. If we do this, everything we have battled for in the first half will be gone.

I would like to challenge each of you to treat this week as if it were the last week of the season, and we were in the pennant race. We need to focus on every game — every inning, every out, every pitch. We cannot afford to play sloppy baseball, to miss signs, miss the cutoff man. We can’t afford to make too many errors or too many bad pitches. We cannot afford baserunning mistakes, mental mistakes. We must play like we did in April if we expect to beat these two teams.

I don’t know about you guys, but I won’t enjoy the break if we falter this week. In seven days, we can let out guard down for a few days and gather energy for the second half. Give everything you’ve got in these seven games, and we’ll be in good shape. We can beat these teams. But we’ll have to play better than we did in Chicago.

When we prepare to play a team we haven’t seen lately, we break into groups. Bill and Cubby go over the defensive alignment for each hitter, then Mac goes over the opposing pitchers, informing the players as to which pitches they throw and how they like to work a hitter. The pitchers and catchers meet in my office with Vern.

I spent a little time in each meeting, and I witnessed what I thought was renewed concentration. Maybe the players bought my message.

 

The game started out just the way I hoped it would. D.K. was right on his game. He mowed the Indians down with ease in the early innings.

Meanwhile, Indians ace Charles Nagy didn’t have good stuff. His fastball was in the 84-86 MPH range, and we were getting good swings at him. We scored three in the second inning on two walks, two hits, and a squeeze bunt by Kile.

The squeeze was a beauty. I glanced over at Drayton, and he gave me the thumbs-up sign.

The only sore spot in this rally came when Derek failed to score from second on a hit by Eusebio. It was a soft line drive into right-center, and no outfielder had even a remote chance of catching it on the fly. But Derek didn’t know where the outfielders were playing, and he had to turn around and survey the situation before running. His delayed start made the squeeze play possible, but it should not have been necessary.

There are some Little Leaguers who know how to play baseball better than Derek Bell. Knowing where the fielders are playing is a fundamental part of baserunning. But Derek is usually too busy talking to the infielders to notice where the outfielders are playing. Fact is, he is usually too busy talking to even get a sign.

I’ve had about as much of his shit as I can stand. 

The first time Nagy came up, he struck out on three pitches and looked feeble doing it. The next time, he led off the sixth, and D.K. was careless. He threw the first ball in there, and Nagy hit it up the middle for a single. Kile retired the next two batters, and with power-hitting lefty Jim Thome at the plate, we decided to play behind the runner.

Thome had a good at-bat. He kept fouling pitches off, working the count. Nagy kept creeping farther off the bag and he finally broke for second, stealing without a play. Thome hit the next pitch up the middle, and the Tribe broke the ice.

This was the type of breakdown I was talking about in my pregame speech.

It was Bagwell’s fault for not jockeying Nagy back to the bag. It was Kile’s fault for not making Nagy stop. But mostly, it was my fault and Cubby’s fault for not picking up on it and warning D.K. and Baggy.

This play turned the momentum of the game. 

Nagy started throwing better, and D.K. inexplicably lost velocity. Normally he throws just as hard or harder at the end of a game than he does in the beginning. But he was weakened by a cold on this night, and in the seventh the Indians connected for a couple of solo homers to tie the score.

We got runners at first and second with no outs in the bottom of the seventh. Kile was due up, and I was not going to send him back to the mound, but because it was a bunt situation and he is one of our best bunters, I decided to let him stay in to move the runners.

The Indians used a variety of bunt defenses to keep him off balance, and Nagy pitched tough. Kile failed to get the bunt down.

Biggio walked, bringing Carr to the plate with the bases loaded and one out. Bill and I discussed our options. I was inclined to pinch-hit with Thomas Howard, hoping to get Nagy out of the game. It would be a two-player move, as the Indians had lefty Al Morman, whom we traded to Cleveland in May, in the bullpen. If Al came in to face Howard, I would pinch-hit with James Mouton; that was the matchup I really wanted. But I’ll never know if Indians manager Hargrove would have made the pitching change. Bill recommended leaving Carr in there.

“He hasn’t struck out yet, and he will be tough to double,” he said. “That way you’re almost sure Bagwell will come to bat.”

This logic was appealing, but I was still tempted to make a move. In the end I did not.

Carr struck out, and Bagwell went out on a smash to third.    

After the inning, Bill could tell I was frustrated.

“You have to trust your feelings in a case like that,” he said. “Don’t worry about what I say or what I will think. I’m just here to help. You have to do what you think is best.”

He wasn’t telling me anything I didn’t already know, but it was reassuring to hear him say it. Bill has strong feelings, but very little ego. He has been the perfect man for the job of breaking in a rookie manager.

 

John Hudek opened the eighth by serving up a double to Marquis Grissom. He got the next batter, but then he walked Thome and Manny Ramirez. After jumping ahead in the count to Matt Williams, Hudek threw a wild pitch, allowing the lead run to score.

Hudie struck out Williams. I brought Tom Martin in to pitch to lefty Brian Giles. Giles lined out.

We weren’t dead yet. Gonzo was hit by a Morman pitch leading off the eighth. The Indians brought José Mesa into the game, and I pinch-ran with Mouton. Mesa threw the ball away trying to pick James off first, and he made it all the way to third. Bell struck out, but Bill Spiers delivered a tying hit.

In the ninth, Martin got behind Pat Borders and then gave up a single. Tony Fernandez dropped a sacrifice bunt. It was 2-2 to pinch-hitter Kevin Seitzer when Martin missed a sign from Ausmus. Brad called for a curve; Tom threw a changeup. Seitzer swung, and the ball disappeared over the left-field fence. We lost 6-4, after making exactly the kind of mistakes I had talked about before the game.

It was a real body blow, especially in light of other interleague games. Every team in our division won. We are now tied for first place with the Cardinals. The Pirates are only a game back, and the Reds are charging hard.

 

Gerry sent word that he would be down to talk to Listach in half an hour. Bill told Pat to stick around. I finished with the writers and then waited for what seemed an eternity. Pat kept sticking his head into my office, and I told him we’d have to wait for Gerry.

Finally, Gerry appeared, and Pat came in and closed the door.

“This isn’t easy for us,” Gerry said, “but we’re going to cut you loose. I’m sorry it didn’t work out better, but we were expecting an offensive player with speed and range in the field. We just don’t see it, and we have to move on. I wish you well.’

There was a strained silence, and it looked to me as if Pat might cry.

“After we started playing Ricky,” I said, “I thought I could use you as a utility player and get you some starts. But it has been tough to do. You were generally third or fourth off the bench to pinch-hit, and Mouton was ahead of you as a pinch-runner. I think you can still play, and I’m pretty sure someone is going to pick you up, but I just didn’t see it working out here.

“I appreciate the effort you game me. You are a good guy in the clubhouse, and the other players like and respect you. But I just can’t see anything good for you or for us with you sitting on the bench.”

Pat didn’t say a thing. He just sat there, looking sad. Gerry told him that he had tried to work a trade, and that there was mild interest from several teams.

“I just couldn’t get them to come up with any players we were interested in. I feel certain you will be back on the field for someone soon.”

I’ll say one thing for Pat Listach: he is a gentleman. He didn’t complain. He simply got up, said, “Thanks for the opportunity,” and left the room.

SUNDAY, JUNE 29 ● Chicago, vs Cubs

It was difficult to find a comfortable position for sleep, so I propped myself up and read for a while. I am enjoying my new book, Midnight in the Garden of Good and Evil. It is a journal of sorts about Savannah, Georgia. I’m only halfway through the book, and I already know that its cast of characters will be hard to match — even in the wacky world of major-league baseball.

I drifted into sleep, but I sure didn’t arise that way. The wakeup call jarred me, and I felt a sharp pain as I tried to move my right leg. I had been sleeping with it bent, and now it was stuck bent.

I didn’t even try to answer the phone. Judy got it on the fourth ring. It took me a full five minutes to straighten my leg. All the while, I was thinking: I hope I don’t have to go out and argue with the second-base umpire. I might get the first delay-of-game penalty in professional baseball.

The leg loosened, and by the time I got to the ballpark, I was able to take the steps up to the clubhouse with a little pain, but with no fear. Everything is going to be all right.

In chapel, we talked about The Lord’s Prayer and the four parts of praying: praise, supplication, entreaties, and exaltation. It was short and sweet.

Afterward, I asked our guest speaker about thy kingdom come. 

“Does it mean the same as may thy kingdom come?.”

“No,” he said, “the kingdom is here already, just as it is in Heaven. It is more an acknowledgement of that fact.”

I confess, I’m not too good at religion. I am generally open to ideas and philosophies, but the emotional part of religion is hard for me. Supplication comes naturally enough, but praise, entreaties, and exaltation come hard.

I have cleared one hurdle. I expect the next will be taller.

I expect the next week of baseball will present tall hurdles, as well.

 

We got off to a good start, routing Terry Mulholland with six runs in the fifth inning. Our starter was Tommy Greene, just up from New Orleans to take Donne Wall’s spot in the rotation. Yesterday, Cubby asked me if I wanted to list Tommy as one of the extra men. “I know he can hit,” I said. “You don’t have to put him on the list.”

Sure enough, Tommy got the big blow to get us going, a double into the well in left field. Later, Ausmus cleared the bases with a three-run double.

Greene was pitching a powerful game, too. He had seven strikeouts, and the Cubs had no runs in the first four innings.

In the bottom of the fifth, Tommy hit the wall.

Matt Galante noted on his transfer form that Tommy had not pitched effectively past 90-100 pitches. He had only 78 pitches as he took the hill, trying to win a major-league game for the first time in two years.

It was not to be.

He retired Scott Servais, then Rey Sanchez homered. This seemed to unnerve Tommy, and he walked the pitcher, Turk Wendell. Three more hits and an error later, I limped to the mound to take him out with a pitch count of 95.

Tom Martin came in a gave up a couple more hits. Then Blas Minor came in and got a line-drive out.

Before Lima came on in the seventh, I told him to relax and concentrate.

“Down in the zone for outs,” I said. “Up-and-in for effect.” This has been my advice for him since spring training, and he really put it to use in the seventh. He got them out 1-2-3 without a murmur.

We came up and iced the game with three runs in the eighth. Actually, we should have had four runs, but Derek failed to move up when Sosa missed the cutoff man on a throw to third.

When Lima went out to the mound in the eighth, Vern asked if I wanted him to finish the game or have someone else pitch the ninth.

“Let’s let him finish,” I said. It’ll be a good confidence-builder.”

One single, two doubles and a home run later, I brought Wagner into the game and put Ricky Gutierrez in at third in a double-switch. The timing was perfect. Sosa smashed one down the third-base line, and Ricky dove to his right and backhanded it on one hop. He bounced to his feet and threw Sosa out by a half-step.

I think Sean Berry could have caught the ball, but I don’t think he could have made the throw.

Now it was 10-7, still a comfortable lead, with Wagner in the game. But the Cubs refused to die. With two outs, Servais doubled; Sanchez and Jose Hernandez singled. The tying run was on base when Glanville grounded out.

It’s never easy these days.

 

We lit down in Houston just moments after the Indians, our next interleague opponent. As we got on the bus, Barry Waters told me that the bags would be delayed because there was only one conveyer cart available, and the Indians were already using it.

The thought of the Indians getting the upper hand on us was disquieting. The way we’re pitching, we’re no match for this hard-hitting ballclub.

SATURDAY, JUNE 28 ● Chicago, vs Cubs

Up and at ’em for Fox again. The game starts at 12:15, and Dave Labossiere and I hit the road at 8:00. The wind seems the same, but I think it will be warmer today. Might even touch 90 degrees. As we approached Belmont Avenue, I yelled at Dave, “Do you want to check the horse?”

He was wearing a headset, gliding along to the rhythm of the beat. He didn’t hear what I said, but he knew I had spoken to him. He skated on, and when we stopped to cross the highway, he asked what I had said and I told him, but it was too late to go back. 

The horse is part of a statue. It is rearing up on hind legs, with General Sheridan astride.  Back when I was playing, the team bus always drove past this statue and someone on the bus would say, “Don’t look at the horse’s balls. You’ll go 0-for-4.” Cheo Cruz always got a kick out of this. He would scream out, “Don’t look the balls horse.”

In recent years, the rookies of practically every major-league team are charged with painting the balls in team colors. If we came in behind the Phillies, for example, the balls would be maroon; we would paint them gold. The next day, the veterans would find out which rookie actually did the deed, and enlist a ballpark cop to come into the locker room and make the arrest.

When this happened to Todd Jones a few years ago, he cried. Several others have been handcuffed and led to the door before the team finally started laughing. It’s a great way to make the rookies earn their stripes. Brings everyone closer together.

I imagine the city of Chicago is probably wise to this by now. I doubt they do any cleanup work until after the season.

 

I went over to talk to Drayton in the owner’s box just before the game. He invited me to join him and his friends from Temple, Texas, for dinner.

“Judy is with me,” I said.

“Bring her along,” he said. “We all have our wives along too. They’re spending all our money on Michigan Avenue this afternoon.”

“Well, Ryan is here, too.”

“Bring him along.”

“My brother and his wife are here, too.”

“Bring them, too. The more, the merrier. We’re meeting in the lobby at 6:45.”

This was an offer I could not refuse. I just hoped for a win, so that dinner would be more pleasant.

Because this was a Fox game, we didn’t start right at 12:15. Instead, the umpires started the game when they got a cue from the producer of the telecast. We started at 12:17.

But actually, we never started at all. It was one of the ugliest games of the year from an Astros point of view.

Ramón Garcia got a pitch up and out over the plate to Mark Grace in the first inning, and Grace gave himself a 33rd birthday present by hitting it into the bleachers. After that, Ramon settled down and pitched a fine ballgame, despite four errors behind him.

Our hitters were once again baffled by an unfamiliar pitcher. Jeremy González was throwing hard, but seemed to be hanging a lot of off-speed pitches. We were timing the ball well, but swinging under it, popping up. There was a lot of frustration in our dugout, and some destruction down the runway, where furious ballplayers screamed obscenities and smashed their bats.

It was 3-0 when we came up with our big rally in the seventh. Two walks, sandwiched around a single, loaded the bases. Ricky Gutierrez hit a fielder’s-choice ground ball, and we scored a run. I pinch-ran with James Mouton, and he immediately stole second. When the ball got away, Ausmus streaked home. Now we were within a run.

Two more walks loaded the bases for Bagwell. Kent Bottenfield came into the game and struck Bagwell out.

In the bottom of the eighth, Sosa homered off John Hudek, and that was that. We lost 5-2.

 

The writers asked if the four errors bothered me. I didn’t even remember four errors. A couple of them were tough plays. Maybe I thought they had been scored hits. As it was, we got only two hits in the game.

“I don’t know about the errors,” I said, “but I can tell you this: you don’t win many games with two hits at Wrigley in the summertime.”

Bagwell told the writers he didn’t feel good at the plate.

“I’m not swinging real well right now,” he said. “It’s frustrating. I don’t think anyone in this clubhouse is happy with the way we’ve played this year. But you look at the flip side, and we’re still in first place.”

We won’t be there long, if we keep playing like this.

 

Skating back from the game was almost as frustrating as the game itself. Great hordes of humanity swarmed the lakefront. The hike-and-bike trail was an obstacle course.

I wanted to skate fast and blow off some steam; instead, we had to weave our way through the traffic. It was so crowded that I was barely able to sneak a peek at the lake. Couldn’t even check the action on the volleyball courts.

As we approached the stoplight at Michigan Avenue, just a block from the hotel, it was red. I slowed down, stood up, and was rolling slowly to a stop when a young couple took a hard right and cut right in front of me. I tried to make a sharp turn to the right, but I hit a crack in the sidewalk. Down I went, in a heap of anger. I felt a small click in my right knee, and screamed several epithets as my assailants scurried away.

I immediately knew my knee was injured, though there was no pain — just the click. I had a similar fall on the ski slopes a few years back. It didn’t require surgery, but it did cause some discomfort for a couple of months. Dave checked it out and told me to call him if it started to swell.

When I returned to the room, Judy had left a voicemail message that she and Ryan had gone to the aquarium and would be back at 6:30. I did a little writing and when 6:45 came with no Judy in sight, I called Rick and invited him to dinner and that I would meet up with them later.

When I got to the lobby, Drayton and Elizabeth, and their friends from Temple were waiting. Drayton was in good spirits.

“Where’s Judy?” he asked.

When I told him, he suggested that I wait a little longer and bring her along. “Bring your brother and his wife, too,” he said.

I wasn’t going to argue. And when I got back to the room, Judy was there.  We hustled to get ready, and we joined the dinner party just as the appetizers were being served.

I was fearful this dinner would be a jury trial, with me defending myself and the team. The outsiders — his and mine — saved me. The only thing that was grilled was the fish. It was an altogether pleasant evening.

 

After dinner, Rick suggested we go to the Days Inn to see if we could watch the Holyfield vs Tyson fight. It wasn’t on in the lobby bar, so Rick and Ryan started walking the floors, looking for an open door. When they came back disappointed, I said, “Don’t worry about it. It’s just a show, anyway. Boxing is only one step above pro wrestling. It’s a joke.”

I’ll be darned if I wasn’t right. Mike Tyson bit Evander Holyfield twice, and was disqualified in the third round. As we finished our beer, the debacle was reported on ESPN.

It was the first time I had guessed right all day. I limped back from the Days Inn, knowing it would be hard to sleep.

FRIDAY, JUNE 27 ● Chicago, vs Cubs

Sammy Sosa signed a new four-year contract today for $42.5 million. The Cubs will have to win a pennant to justify his salary. The odds are squarely against them.

Sosa is a player of rare talent, but he is not a first-tier player. He strikes out often, walks seldom. He will drive the ball over the fence 35 to 40 times a year, but he will not be on base often when one of his teammates connects. If he got on base 45 percent of the time, like Jeff Bagwell, it would be different. 

As it is, it’s a waste of money. The Tribune Corporation, after years of fiscal sanity, has joined the asylum of bewildered owners who gamble on winning.

Yesterday, Wayne Huizenga put the Marlins up for sale. He claims that he will lose $30 million this year, despite the fact that attendance is up 35 percent.

Huizenga became impatient with the player-development process of his GM Dave Dombrowski after watching the big-ticket Braves win the NL East every year. Instead of waiting for the farm system to produce the talent, he decided to go on a free-agent spending spree.

Now he has a powerhouse team, but still in second place behind the Braves. He said that he thought the fans would pour into Pro Player Stadium and fill his bowl day after day to witness the exploits of his star-studded lineup. As it is, he will have trouble drawing three million fans for the year.

Three million! That’s still a lot of fans. By historical standards, it is fantastic. But it is not good enough to stem the flow of red ink.

He was prepared to lose a few million, but not prepared to drown. He said that it was not the players’ problem. Not the fans’ problem.

“It’s Wayne Huizenga’s problem,” he said. “If I had used the principles I use in my other business, this never would have happened.”

How can the Cubs read this story in the paper and then offer Sammy Sosa 42.5 million dollars the same day? That’s their problem.

My problem is to get Derek Bell to hit like Sammy Sosa, so that we can justify our four-year, $16 million deal. Derek has every bit as much talent as Sammy, but he does not play nearly as hard.  

 

This morning I bladed to the ballpark with Dave. Normally I don’t like working out in the morning, but skating along Lakeshore Drive is so much fun, it doesn’t feel like a workout.

The only problem is that Dave has to be the first one at the ballpark; he arrives even earlier than the coaches. We left the hotel at 8:30 and arrived at Wrigley Field at 9:00. I left tickets for my cousin, Bob Reich, and for Rick.

Judy is going to take the day off from the ballpark. I don’t blame her. She doesn’t get a whole lot of time to herself. Rick and Ryan will be ballpark buddies. Perhaps they will meet up with Bob and his son, Bobby.

 

The first thing we do when we enter the stadium — even before we go to the locker room — is to check the flags to see which way the wind is blowing. I knew from blading that the wind was not strong. Turns out it is blowing from right to left. The day is warm and sunny, however, and it should still be a hitter’s day.

Mike Hampton is going for us, and Kevin Foster for them. I feel pretty good about our chances with Hamp. He has been inconsistent, but he did win his last game, and he has pitched well here at Wrigley. Foster is a fly-ball pitcher. If he’s not extra fast today, we should launch a home run or two.

When the lineups came out, Biggio was in and Servais was out. Even with the catcher’s gear, it is better to hit than to be hit.

Hampton had some first-inning trouble today. Doug Glanville opened with a single and went to second on a balk. Replays showed that he did not balk, but I didn’t see the move well enough to say anything about it. Couldn’t have argued it anyway, without getting thrown out. You can argue about the interpretation of a rule; you cannot argue a judgment call. The umpires know the rules; when they make a mistake, it is almost always an error in judgement.

As a practical matter, you cannot argue much at all anymore without being tossed out of the game. I waited a couple of innings and then asked umpire Jerry Layne about the call between innings. He said that Mike did a slide-step toward home and then threw to first. This didn’t make sense to me, because if you slide-step to the plate and then throw to first, you will most likely fall down; Hampton didn’t even look off-balance. I checked the replay later, and Hampton did not balk.

It didn’t make much difference, because McRae walked, Sosa reached on a fielder’s choice, and Dunston doubled. The two runs would have scored anyway.

We came back with a run in the second, and Hampton settled down. He ended up pitching into the eighth inning without allowing any more runs. Unfortunately, we didn’t do anything against Foster. We kept getting hanging breaking balls to hit, and kept popping them up. Turk Wendell closed the game for the Cubs, and he was sharper than I have ever seen him.

It’s hard to take a 2-1 loss on a hitter’s day at Wrigley.

Sosa got a hit and stole a base. He is hitting .256 now, with 15 homers and 52 RBI. Bagwell is hitting .320 with 22 homers and 72 RBI. I’m glad we don’t have to re-sign him anytime soon. He’s tied up for the next four years at the bargain price of $7 million per annum.

Skating back from the park was more fun than skating over. The wind was against us, but the scenery was great. Bathing beauties, beach volleyballers, hikers and bikers, children with Popsicles®. Ladies with sun hats, street musicians, chess players, amateur preachers, and poets. Even a septuagenarian on blades.

I could live in downtown Chicago — during the summertime.

We went over to Harry Caray’s restaurant for dinner. Harry was there, and Ryan seemed to enjoy meeting him. Harry complimented Ryan on his shirt, a vintage Reyn Spooner Hawaiian model, with scenes from the ballpark.

The food was superb, the company better. Rick and Ryan spent part of the morning watching the commodities trading at the Chicago Board of Trade before going to the ballpark. Sounds like they had more action than we did. There were traders with coats of many colors.

Ryan showed me the symbols they used to convey the amounts to be bought and sold. One sign was three fingers on the bicep and a raised fist. Ryan demonstrated. It looked a lot like the universal sign that means “up yours.” We got a good laugh about that one.

“Maybe I’ll make that our bunt sign,” I said. “But then again, maybe not. Some of the guys might take it the wrong way.”