Category: Rookie Manager’s Journal

TUESDAY, MARCH 18 ● Kissimmee, vs Montreal

Today was my lucky day. It started with some typical ballpark humor. I announced my infirmity to the coaching staff, asking Bill to handle the managing chores if I failed to return from my Roto-Rooting in time — or in the event I returned in a daze.

I was filling out the lineup when I heard Ash, in the adjoining coaches’ room, explain to Cheo in a too-loud voice, “Dierk was supposed to have his dick reamed out yesterday, but they didn’t have an instrument long enough.”

“Yeah, they had to overnight one from San Pedro, where you grew up,” I yelled back.

“Not me,” Ash said. “They could do me with a toothpick.”

Everyone had the giggles, which helped me immensely.

“You can’t play this game with a tight asshole,” Cheo added. “Not with a tight dick, either. You better tell that doctor to fix it right, so we can win.”

“The hell with you guys,” I said. “I’m going to tell him to fix it right, because Judy is coming in tomorrow.”

“Oh boy, you think you’re hurting now,” Ash said. “You’re going to be dead meat on Thursday.”

The chatter continued in this vein until I left with Dave at 9:30. After filling out a medical biography and waiting for a while, I finally got to see the urologist, Dr. Fisher. Interesting name for a man who goes spelunking in the dark, malodorous caves of the human anatomy.

I was hoping he wouldn’t catch anything but a foul whiff from me.

 

As it turned out, he did not feel compelled to root me out from the bottom. He guessed that it was merely an insidious infection, possibly hiding from the medicine behind the wall of some sort of obstruction — perhaps scar tissue, possibly a stone or two. 

“We can check that out from above,” he said. “Are you allergic to shellfish or iodine?”

“Not that I know of.”

“Good. I’ll set you up for a test where you drink some dye and we X-ray it as it travels through your system.”

This did not seem like a whole lot of fun, but it sure beat the alternative.

“We’ll keep you on the antibiotics for a couple of weeks, and that should take care of it.”

I breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, and by the way: no alcohol — especially beer.”

Damn! I knew there had to be a catch.

 

Back at the ballpark, I talked to Gerry. Yesterday, while Vern and I were playing golf, he consummated a deal with the Padres that would bring us Luis Lopez for a minor-league pitcher. Lopez was already in our camp, and Gerry wanted to cut the squad a little closer to the meat and bone.

“With Lopez in camp, there’s no need for Russ Johnson to stay on this side,” he said. “If we need him, we can still call him up on a moment’s notice. But if not, he needs to play every day.”

I know everyone will be disappointed in that decision, but it is clearly in the best interest of the team. If someone gets hurt and it looks like Russ is the everyday replacement, fine. If not, he needs to play.

One problem we may have is with Luis Rivera. Luis has played well this spring. He’s a good fielder and is hitting .280. Though he and Lopez are countrymen, there is likely only one spot on our team for a utility infielder from Puerto Rico.

“I’ve already talked with Rivera,” Gerry said. “I told him that he was still in the running to make the team. “You know what his reaction was?”

“I don’t imagine he was too pleased,” I said.     

“He told me that his best position is short, and that we only played him at second and third.”

“Interesting,” I said. “He’s probably right, but we know he can play short.”

“He also told me it was because of Cubby.”

“Boy, he sure hit that one on the head.” I said. In our last evaluation meeting, everyone thought Rivera was an acceptable short-term substitute for Ricky Gutierrez. Everyone but Cubby.

“I know what you guys are seeing now, but believe me,” Cubby said, “this guy will cough it up during the season. I’ve seen it firsthand.”

Mac, who was also with the Mets at the time, nodded his head.

Baseball can be cruel. Rivera had a bad run with the Mets, and Cubby and Mac just happened to be there then, and here now.

Matt said Rivera was fine in the Puerto Rican Winter League.

Ash said, “he’s the best shortstop in camp.”

If Cubby’s and Rivera’s paths had not crossed at this point in time, we may not have made the trade. But Cubby’s strong opinion, as an ex-infielder and infield coach, carries a lot of weight.

In the world of fringe players, each day is another step along the tightrope. Sooner or later, all of them fall.

 

Today, I substituted Lopez at second base and Rivera at short, hoping to ease the pain. I doubt it did much good. The two infielders were talking to one another all morning. They are friends, but this is survival. It’s a tough situation.

Bill Spiers made it a little easier. Bill came into the game midway through. I brought Luis Gonzalez for Bagwell at the same time. Spiers happened to notice that he was playing infield with three guys named Luis.

“Hey, Looie!” he yelled. All three looked at him, and he laughed. Later in the inning, he did it again. He pulled it three times and went three-for-three. They were all laughing when they got back to the dugout.

 

We won the game 4-2. Mike Hampton was especially sharp, striking out nine in five innings.

When the game was over, we met with Gerry and his staff to discuss the cuts. Everyone signed off on two camp favorites: Russ Johnson and Richard Hidalgo. There was some discussion about Tommy Gregg, and I was the only one to stick up for him.

“He hit the ball hard early, but had horseshit luck,” I said. “Then he started pressing, and now he’s in a slump.”

We all saw it happen. Everyone knows he can hit better than he has lately. But his old bones don’t look so good rumbling around the bases, and he is anything but nimble at first base.

Because Bobby Abreu is making the grade, we will already have two lefthanded bats on the bench; if Lopez looks good, we’ll have three. So Gregg gets the axe, maybe for the last time in his career.

This won’t be easy.

One thing I have learned this spring is that there is compassion behind the axe.

“I think the Mets might have some interest in Tommy,” Jim Duquette said. Jim came over from New York with Gerry, to run the minor-league operation. 

“Let’s hold off on Gregg until we make a phone call,” Gerry said.  “Maybe we can get him something.”

One of the reasons we are doing this now is to concentrate on the nucleus of our team for the rest of the spring; the other is to give guys like Gregg and Tommy Greene a chance to hook on with another ballclub.

After a thorough discussion of Greene, the verdict was that he could not help us in the bullpen right away. He does seem to get a little better each time out, but it takes him a long time to warm up. Invariably, he gets into trouble and then starts throwing better.

I have seen this many times with pitchers who have had arm problems. Even the knowledge that their career is on the line cannot overcome their hesitation to really let the ball fly. Only under the duress of a game situation, with adrenaline flowing fiercely, do they find that little extra zip that they need.

We would like to keep Tommy, and use him as a starting pitcher at New Orleans. But we cannot make him go, and really don’t want him to go if his heart isn’t in it. At the start of the spring, he was told that we had no interest in him if he couldn’t help us this year. After watching him work, we are not ready to write him off. But we don’t want to string him along, either.

I hope he will go to AAA, but if his agent can find a better deal for him, Gerry will let him go. Doing it now gives him some time. 

 

We were able to talk to Hidalgo after the meeting. He was still at the park. So was Greene. They are both among the early arrivers and late leavers, which speaks to their dedication and love for the sport.

Richard was sad when we told him he was going back. He had a great spring. Everyone is excited about him. But, like Johnson, he needs to play every day. I could see the tears welling in his big, brown eyes, but they never spilled over. In his heart, he had to be asking What more do I have to do? We tried to tell him that it just wasn’t his time yet; he’s only 21 years old.

I was so proud of the way he handled himself. He didn’t get mad; didn’t even say much, though he speaks English well.

“Your ability is in the top three of all the outfielders we have,” I told him. “But right now, I couldn’t play you every day. Your time will come, and it may come soon. If you keep playing the way you have been, we will make room for you.”         

I probably shouldn’t have said that. It’s not my place. But I didn’t see Gerry objecting. He only nodded his head.

“You can take the day off tomorrow,” Gerry said, “and then report to Jim Duquette.”        

Richard nodded.

“Do you have him listed for the trip to Lakeland tomorrow?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” I said.

“Do you want to make the trip?” Gerry asked.

“Yes,” Richard nodded.

“You know I can’t play you the whole game, like I did earlier,” I told him. “We have to get more innings for James Mouton and Thomas Howard now. I can probably play you two or three innings.”

“Is there a AAA game?” he asked.

“A AAA game here in camp?” I said, “I don’t know.”

“Yes, there is a game here,” Gerry said. “What are you getting at?”

I thought I knew.

“Do you want to play nine innings in the AAA game, instead of going to Lakeland or taking a day off?” I asked.

“Yes,” he nodded.

Now I was almost crying.

MONDAY, MARCH 17 ● off day in Kissimmee

I was a pitiful soul last night. Up every 15 minutes, my body entreating me to do something it could not help me do.

In the morning, I called the golf course and canceled. Then I lay back down and got two hours of uninterrupted sleep.

I decided to get a haircut and go to the ballpark to watch El Sid and Darryl Kile throw on the side, and Shane Reynolds pitch in a minor-league game.

Naturally, the hair salon was closed. I checked with Labossiere when I arrived at the ballpark, and he called Dr. Link. He happened to be working nearby, so I went in for a prostate plunge and urine sample.

The plunge was easier than the piss.

He checked things out and said, “The good news is that the medicine is working on the infection, and the prostate seems fine. The bad news is that you may have an obstruction. The only way to tell is to go in there. I’ll get you some medicine to stop the burning, and I’ll set you up with a urologist.”

Just what I wanted to hear on my one day off.

Still, I found it possible to enjoy the workout; all three pitchers looked good. If we can keep Sid healthy and D.K. in some kind of reasonable groove, we have a chance to do well.

 

I couldn’t eat last night, and I was famished. I wolfed down two bowls of cereal, an apple, and a banana, and I felt much better.

As it turned out, Vern was free to play golf afterward, and we hooked up with Matt Galante and a mutual friend at the course. The play was slow, as usual in a resort destination. Seems like we’re about the only out-of-towners working in the area. Everyone else is playing golf.

I wish they’d go fishing.

The Perfessor was busting the ball pretty good. Though he is normally among the peaceful members of the planet, he did manage to hit into the group ahead of us twice. The second time, he rolled one up onto the green from the tee box on a par-four. How could anyone complain about that? It was a career shot: more than 300 yards.

Earlier, Matt hit a drive that struck a Sand Hill Crane flush in the feathers. The big bird released a stream of juices that made me envious.

“Hey, Matty,” I said, “how ’bout hitting me in the side with one of those drives?”

The Perfessor could not resist the temptation to lecture at this point:

“A bird like that has only one hole,” he said. “The pee and the poop come out together.”

“Yeah, you really knocked the shit out of that one, Matty,” I said. “By the way, did you know that the Sand Hill Crane is an endangered species? The Sierra Club is going to come down hard on you when they hear about this.”

A couple of us were smoking cigars as we played. If the stogie industry thinks these are boom times, wait ’til Garagiola gets finished with his tour; everyone will have a humidor and a clip. And they will display their Cigar Aficionado magazines right next to their Wine Spectators.         

 

Had a nice dinner out tonight. Reading deeper into Beach Music now. Getting to the part about the Holocaust. Listening to Dixit Dominus as I write, and I’m praying for His help in the morning.

SUNDAY, MARCH 16 ● Kissimmee, vs Detroit

I felt pretty good this morning, despite the restive night. I still had the desire, but not the ability, to pee. There is nothing like shared pain to strike the collective funny bone, unless it is the relief of shared pain. In this case, our “relief pitcher” was last year’s AA shortstop, Russ Johnson.

Russ is one of those guys who everyone likes. He is not long on speed or power, but as batting coach Tom McCraw said after watching him play five games in the Puerto Rican Winter League, “that little sonuvabitch is in the middle of every rally. He’s a guy you can win with.”

Little did Mac know how true his words really were.

Russ was on a championship team in high school; a championship team at LSU; and on the Texas League championship team, the Jackson Generals, last summer. His winter-league team finished first, but then lost in the playoffs.

This spring he has played mostly third base, because it is thought that he doesn’t have the range for shortstop. As a third-baseman, he has made all the routine plays and most of the spectacular ones. I would like to play him some at second, and then keep him as a utility player; Gerry wants him to play every day at AAA.

All of the Houston writers are impressed with him, and they want to know what his chances are. Well, he improved them yesterday after the cars had gone and the lame bus waited for a replacement.

As soon as the car caravan left Plant City, Russ slid under the bus, determined what was wrong with it, and fixed it. The bus got back to our Kissimmee complex just 20 minutes behind the cars.

How’s that for a utility man?

When Bagwell got to the ballpark, I told him about the bus breaking down. “Guess who got underneath and fixed it?” I asked.

He thought for a moment. “Russ Johnson?”

“You got it,” I said.

Bagwell shook his head and laughed. The story spread through the clubhouse, and before long everyone was laughing.

 

My pecker pain and the clubhouse fun came to an end at 8:30. That’s when we listened to a presentation on the evils of spit tobacco, by Joe Garagiola and Bill Tuttle. Garagiola is on a crusade, and his message is especially effective with ballplayers, as Joe was a player himself. And he chewed, like most of us.

Bill Tuttle chewed too, perhaps a little more than the average guy. There can be no denying he paid a higher price for his habit: fully half of his face was eaten away by cancer. After five bouts with the surgeon, he has no feeling on the left side of his face.

His story was even more gruesome than his appearance, and they brought photographs along so we could see him in post-op condition.

Many players prefer tobacco to sunflower seeds and gum. Now there are some new products that mimic tobacco with herbs and mint. I saw a lot of chewing and dipping today, but little-if-any tobacco.

Perhaps the most important thing Joe said was that if you make the choice to dip, don’t advertise it. The circular swell in a player’s back uniform or jeans hip pocket says it all.

“Do it if you must,” Joe said. “But don’t send the message to the young fans of America.”

 

This morning I felt like I was about to kick the dick pain. I had an interview with CNN, and I was even a little glib. Let’s see now, where does this put me on the media chart? CNN, New York Times, Sports Illustrated, Baseball Weekly cover. ESPN, Fox Sports. I could get one of the great stubbed toes in the history of sports if we fail. Fortunately, we have a pretty good team. 

 

Our team is a little smaller now. After batting practice, Gerry and I sent a few more players back to minor-league camp.

This cut wasn’t so tough. There were no veterans like Mike Gardiner in the group.

It was a tough cut for Blas Minor, however. He has a couple of years’ experience in the major leagues, and he has pitched well this spring. He was a victim of the system as much as anything else, and Gerry was upfront with him:

“We have some guys who are out of options, and a Rule 5 pitcher,” he said. “You know what that means: if we don’t keep them, we lose them. Since you have a minor-league contract, you are the odd man out. I want you to know, though, that I believe you can pitch in the big leagues, and that we are not going to keep these guys all year if they aren’t getting the job done.

“If you go down and pitch in New Orleans, you may end up in Houston before the end of the year. But if you want out, I don’t blame you, and I’ll try to find a spot for you on another club.”

“These guys have not outpitched you,” I added. “But they haven’t exactly been big-league stars in the past. I know you don’t throw quite as hard as some of them, but I believe that getting outs is more important that throwing for the radar gun.

“I have watched you with the Pirates and Mets, and I know you are a good competitor. If you were on my staff, I would not be afraid to use you.”

Blas wasn’t exactly glad of these tidings, but he is well-enough-aware of the option rules, and Rule 5. He took the news quietly, stoically. He impresses me as a very solid young man, and I wouldn’t be surprised if he supplants one of the others who has a “clerical advantage” over him now.

           

We beat the Tigers 4-1, with Chris Holt pitching marvelous baseball for five innings, and the relievers held fast.  

Gonzo was the hitting star. When I removed him from the game in the sixth, I had to apologize for aborting his “cycle bid.” Still, a double and a triple, two RBI and two runs scored, isn’t bad for two at-bats.

I pulled a double-switch with five players in the sixth inning, and once again I confused myself. This time I figured it out while I was walking to the plate to show umpire Rich Rieker.

“I’m not sure this all adds up,” I said. “But I think it does.”

“It’s all right down here,” he said. “We don’t keep track, and it doesn’t matter. But remember, during the season you need to check with us before you go to the mound and signal for a new pitcher.”

When I got back to the dugout, I reviewed the changes, and they were correct. But I sure appreciated a word of friendly advice from the umpire. So far, these guys have been rather civil. Of course, they don’t get much flak down here.

           

As the game wore on, I felt the need to pee. When I finally submitted to the urge, it hurt but I could not go. This painful impotency was starting to disturb me. Even though I have been told that my constipation has nothing to do with my infection, I asked for something to get things moving out the backside.

After I got home, I watched Stanford beat Wake Forest in the NCAA basketball tournament. The Metamucil started to work, but the infection roared like a lion. I was paining and straining, with no results, about every 5 or 10 minutes.

It was like dry heaves of the dick. I began to wonder if it was an obstruction, not an infection.

I called Dave Labossiere, and he told me to suffer through it.

“You should be better by tomorrow.” he said.

Yesterday, they told me I should be better by today.

Oh well, after the Bill Tuttle story, I found myself running low on self-pity. It is now 10 p.m. and things are starting to move both ways. Maybe I will be able to play golf on the off-day tomorrow morning with the coaches as planned, without looking for a tree to water.

We are playing a links course. There will be no trees.

SATURDAY, MARCH 15 ● Plant City, vs Cincinnati

Today we went to Plant City one way and came back another. It was a good day on the ballfield, but another tough day in the dugout. Actually, the manager and coaches usually sit on folding chairs outside the dugout on the home-plate side. This is done to accommodate the extra players at spring training, where most of the dugouts are rather small.

This day, I sat in the dugout because my antibiotic medicine specified that I stay out of the sun. I’ve had plenty of sun this spring, anyway. Since I was still feeling pekid, I opted for shade.

 

Just before the game, Barry Waters called to ask if I would like to join Drayton for dinner, and bring the coaches along. I told him I didn’t know; “I’ll be happy to go if I feel better,” I said. “But right now, I’m not feeling too swift.”

The game took me up and down. We took an early lead, gave it up, and then got it back and held it. About halfway through, I motioned for Drayton to come down, and I declined the invitation. 

Our AAA catcher, Eric Christopherson, got the big comeback hit, a two-run homer. I was really happy for him, because he has done an awful lot of catching this spring without getting many innings in the games. Brad Ausmus has done most of the work, because he needs to learn our pitching staff. Tony Eusebio has caught most of the rest of the innings, because he needs to get his mitt and bat ready for the big-league season.

And Randy Knorr, who was with us in the second half last year and served well, has done the rest of the work behind the plate. We dropped Randy off the roster this fall. I know it was a blow to him, but he has still returned with a good attitude, and he gives us great catching insurance. Though he has never hit a lot, his defense is excellent.          

           

One of the things the catchers find curious this spring is the lack of signs from the dugout. On most teams, the catcher gets a sign on every pitch; I expect them to think for themselves.

If I want the pitcher to hold a particular runner, I point at the runner. If I want a pitchout, I use one sign; if I want to pitch up, I use another. If the pitcher wants to hold a runner on his own, he can. If the catcher wants the pitcher to throw to a base, he can give him a signal on his own. We have no five-step program for holding runners.

I guess I’m just an old-fashioned guy.

The pitch up is a new idea, however, and I have been unable to communicate what I want on this pitch. Basically, it is a pitchout that the batter might swing at: letter-high, right down the middle. This type of pitch gives the catcher a good shot at throwing out a base-stealer. And because many hitters look for a fastball when a larcenous runner is on base, it also gives the pitcher a chance for a one-pitch out. When a decent four-seam fastball is letter-high, it is difficult to hit it anywhere but straight up in the air.

In this game, Russ Springer threw a fastball down-and-in when he got the sign. The runner had a running lead on the pitch. Even if we had pitched out, the runner would have been safe without sliding. When you are pitching out, you must stop the runner and deliver the pitch to the catcher quickly. Russ should have learned this in high school.

On the next pitch, he threw a letter-high fastball and the hitter swung and missed. We probably would have thrown the runner out if he had pitched up to begin with.

Later on, Trever Miller threw a pitch up so high that the catcher had to jump to catch it.

To me, this is a simple concept, and it should be easy to execute. It has been just the opposite.

             

After the game, we learned that our bus driver had backed into a pole at the stadium as he was positioning for the trip home. This maneuver rendered the bus inoperable. I offered to take two of the coaches who came over on the bus, and I called the press box to see if any writers or broadcasters were still around. Luckily there were, and I arranged rides for seven players. I wasn’t about to choose which players should stay and which should go.

“You’re on your own,” I said. The new bus would come from Orlando, and it would be an hour-and-a-half wait.

 

When I got home, I wasn’t feeling good at all. I lay in bed and read my book, Beach Music, hoping to fall asleep. I awakened to the telephone, and it was Judy. She and Ryan were in Fort Worth, and his team had won its first two games in a tournament.

Ryan’s excitement rang though the phone lines as he gave me the play-by-play account. He didn’t pitch, but he was on base four times in six at-bats. Tomorrow, he will toe the mound.

Judy was excited and distressed. She was up for the team, but down for our Rottweiler, Zeus. Zeus had taken to snarling and snapping, and he even bit one of our neighbors who was feeding him while we were spending Christmas with my parents in Los Angeles.

Our daughter Julia brought Zeus home one day. We didn’t really want a Rottweiler, but he was cute and Ryan loved him. We all grew fond of him, but he had grown to be a powerful adult dog.

We took him to several places for evaluation. The verdict went against him, and she had to put him down.

“I feel a lot better because Dr. Sean told me we had done all we could,” she said. “He made me stay with him, so I could see that it was painless, but it was still sad.” 

 

I felt enough better after the phone call to go out for dinner. I went to sleep early, but I woke up often for piss call. Didn’t do much leaking, but I sure felt the urge a lot.

FRIDAY, MARCH 14 ● Kissimmee and Winter Haven

This was not one of my better days, though it will likely be the one I remember the most.

For several days, I have been experiencing painful urination. Our trainer, Dave Labossiere, put me

in touch with our internist here in Florida. Dr. Link told me to wait another day and if the symptoms didn’t go away, he would prescribe an antibiotic.

Today was that day, and I should have been better prepared; it was also a day when we would play a split doubleheader: one game in Winter Haven and another in Kissimmee. I didn’t have much time to fill a prescription when I got to the ballpark, so as I left for Winter Haven, I asked Dave to get in touch with Dr. Link and call it in for me.

I was in serious discomfort the entire day. And to make matters worse, our starting pitcher, Donne Wall, didn’t have a thing working. The Indians hammered him for 10 runs in 1-1/3 innings. Fans were yelling at me, “Hey, Dierker, show some mercy! Get him out of there.”

When he finally hit the 60-pitch mark, just 15 below his target for innings, I headed for the mound.

“I bet you thought I’d never get here,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was embarrassing. I didn’t have good stuff, and my control was worse.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve endured many ass-kickings at spring training. It happens almost every year, and it has happened to me more than once in this very ballpark.” The Red Sox were in Winter Haven when I was pitching, and they did knock me around a few times.

Even though the game moved swiftly after Wall’s exit, it was still a long afternoon because the first part of the game took so long. I tried to hold my bladder, but the increasing pressure finally got to me in the eighth inning. I had to rush down to the end of the dugout. No telling what the players thought; it looked like I was deserting them.    

I felt a little drowsy and a little dizzy as I drove back to Kissimmee with The Perfessor. We talked about our pitching prospects, which don’t look too promising at this juncture. We both agreed that the starters would have to eat up a lot of innings if we were to be successful.

           

When we arrived at Osceola County Stadium, it was twilight, and the western sky was saturated with clouds bleeding red with the passage of the storm.

A photographer from Sports Illustrated rushed up to me and asked if I had time to do a shoot for the golf section of their magazine.

“Sure,” I said. “Just give me a chance to take a leak, and I’ll be right with you.”

I headed for the training room, hoping the pills would be there. They were not.

“I’ve paged Dr. Link, but he hasn’t returned the call,” Dave said. “Here, let me call him again.”

“Let me know when you get him,” I said. “This situation is on the verge of becoming an emergency.”

“We can take you to the emergency room right now,” Dave offered.

“Naw, that’s all right,” I replied. “Only kidding.”

I made a few grunting sounds as I tried to squeeze out a trickle of urine.

“Are you all right?” Bill Virdon asked, as I headed for the shoot.

“Not really,” I admitted. But I’ll live.”

The thing that prompted this new wave of publicity was my advice to Darryl Kile that he work on his golf game to improve his pitching. I stood on the mound in various poses, holding a sand wedge next to a box of baseballs.

“This is a great sky,” the photographer said.

I looked around and was reminded of my own plight. The bloody hues were seeping down toward the horizon. “If you have any blood in your urine, or deposits on your shorts, come in right away,” Dr Link had advised me. So far, no blood or guts for me, but it was beginning to feel that way.

As soon as I finished the shoot, Gerry came up and pulled me aside.

“Sid complained about his elbow today.” he said. “We have to get our stories straight, and we may have to do some damage control.

“Where is it bothering him?” I asked.

“Right here, just above the elbow on the outside,” he said, pointing to an area above the joint in the meaty part of the outer bicep.

“I can’t imagine that being very serious,” I said. “If it were in the joint,” I’d worry.”

“Well, the problem is that he had this last year. They took some chips out of the joint this fall. But this may be the injury that prevented him from pitching all along.”

We consulted with our team arm doctor, Bill Bryan. Bill said it was an unusual injury for a pitcher, that the muscle involved was not ordinarily a muscle used in throwing.

“Yeah, but Sid doesn’t throw like most people,” Gerry reminded us, and I have to agree on that. His throwing motion is unique. Somehow he manages to throw overhand from way down low. I don’t think his motion could be taught; that’s how unorthodox it is.

“So, what do we say?” I asked.

Bill shot us a long medical definition, half in jest. 

“No, c’mon,” Gerry said, getting impatient.

“Why don’t we just say he is sore above his elbow, on the outside.” I suggested. “I can honestly say, I’ve never known a pitcher to have pain there, and I am not concerned that it is serious.”

“That’s fine,” Gerry said. “But we still have to deal with this quickly. In a few days we will go past the day that we can cut a guy loose without paying his full salary.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, it’s not my job to think about contracts. But now that he mentioned it, I could see where it might apply to some of our other players. It’s something we have talked about, but we haven’t discussed yet.

 

This game went a lot better than the afternoon affair. I wasn’t feeling too chipper, but Sean Berry was. He hit a double and a triple, and we won by one run. Our middle-inning relief candidates — Ramón Garcia, Russ Springer, and José Lima — were a bit shaky. But Billy Wagner and John Hudek pitched well.

Hudek retired the side on just eight pitches. Then he volunteered to pitch tomorrow in Plant City. I have talked to him several times about limiting his appearances and innings, hoping to get him through the whole year without an injury. But he just keeps pushing, in a steady but nonabrasive way.

He wants to be designated the closer, and that’s why he is a good one: he wants the ball when the chips are down. I love that attitude, but I am also aware of his tendency to get hurt. He pitches his heart out, and his arm off.

I talked to the writers briefly, and it was about 10:30. I was just about to get in the shower when Bagwell came in with a beer. I could tell he wanted to talk, so I asked Dennis if he had another cool one. Naturally, he did. 

I think Bagwell and Biggio want this team to win a pennant as badly as I do — and that’s pretty bad. It’s also admirable, because they will make millions, win or lose.

There comes a time in a player’s life when The Ring is the thing. It’s not about hitting .300 or winning 20 games; it’s not about making an All-Star team or making top dollar. There is only one thing an individual player cannot do alone: win a championship.

Jeff wanted to talk about Pat Listach. He doesn’t think the bunt-for-a-hit routine will work for him.

“They play so shallow, he doesn’t have a chance,” he said. “So Bidge ends up on second with one out. We might as well sacrifice. But in this day and age, with all the high scores, how can we sacrifice in the first inning.?”

“I agree,” I said. “If he isn’t able to get himself on a fair percentage of the time, it’s not a good idea for him to bunt. And I’m not committed to him bunting no-matter-what. If he keeps getting thrown out and doesn’t hit better, I’ll have to move him down in the lineup.”

“Gonzo could hit second,” he offered.

“Then who will protect Derek Bell in the lineup?” I asked.

About this time, Biggio came in. This is the type of interplay I am looking for, but I know it is dangerous. If you allow your players to make suggestions, you better accept some of them; otherwise, they will lose confidence in you. But it’s tricky, because some of their ideas will probably be good, and some not-so-appealing.

There are a lot of ways to organize a lineup, and according to Pete Palmer, none of them make a significant difference. What Bagwell and Biggio are concerned about is Biggio getting to second with one out, with Bagwell coming up.

“They just pitch around him or walk him.” Bidge said.

It’s a good point. If you add on-base percentage to slugging percentage, you come pretty close to the total offensive value of a player. An intentional walk yields no slugging, but a 1.000 on-base average. In order to beat this, Bagwell has to go over 1.000 with his OB + SLG, or OPS as it’s now called.

Well, you know what? He has done that for a full season, and parts of several other seasons. But what does that say about Derek Bell, Gonzalez, and Berry?

If Biggio is saying what I think he is saying, it’s that he trusts Bagwell to drive in runs, but not Bell. Bagwell is better, but Bell knocked in 113 runs last year, and Berry drove in 95. If we are going to have a good offense, it can’t be based on just two guys.

These are the things I tried to tell them, in a diplomatic way. I’m not sure I succeeded, any more than I did when I told Hudek I wanted to limit his work to get him through the season. The modern athlete doesn’t accept his role on the team without asking why? I don’t mind explaining why, but I am learning that explanations may not be well-received.

We went on to discuss other options for shortstop and center field. Neither of them thinks Bell can play center. They could be right, but Bill still thinks Derek has a chance to play the position well. I have to go with Bill at this stage.

Bidge suggested that we go after John Valentin of the Red Sox. They are entertaining offers, if you believe what you read. But Valentin is a better hitter than fielder. He is not fast enough to be above-average on AstroTurf. Plus, he makes $3.5 million a year, which would blow our budget to smithereens.

 

I finally got into the shower at 11:30. Boy, was I beat. I’m glad these two guys care so much about the team, but I can see that their desire could be a problem.

THURSDAY, MARCH 13 ● Kissimmee vs Mets

Today the long string of sunny days was broken. We were delayed by rain for half an hour, then played four innings before a downpour washed the game away.

In a way, this complicates things, because we still have 19 pitchers in camp, and some of them haven’t worked many innings. We need to give them a chance to prove themselves, but we also need to get our starting pitchers ready for the season.

With a gloomy forecast for tomorrow, The Perfessor is getting a little worried. He watches over his pupils like a mother hen with her chicks.

In another way, the rain was welcome. We have had a lot of long, hot days on the diamond, and I think some of the guys needed a break.

We have a day off on Monday. Between the rain and the schedule, we should be fresh for the last two weeks of training.

           

Drayton McLane came in today. I knew he would be at the game, so I decided not to take my chewing tobacco out to the dugout. Instead, I put a slug in my mouth during the ten minutes between lunch and game time. Naturally, that’s when Drayton burst into my office.

Vern was there with me at the time, and he seemed even more uncomfortable than I was.

It’s not that Drayton is really intimidating or demanding; it’s his energy. He asks a question and hardly stops long enough to get the whole answer.

I have noticed that most team owners are energetic people. I suppose it goes with the territory. I have become accustomed to being with Drayton, and I enjoy his company.

But not with tobacco in my mouth.

I’ve only got two more days to chew, anyway. It is not really a habit for me, although I have gone through a few packs down here. I suppose it’s something about being down on the field.

When I was pitching, I didn’t chew, but lots of guys did. More than half the guys on the team smoked cigarettes when I first joined the Colt .45s. I jumped right in there, wanting to do everything the big guys were doing. From that day until this one, I have waged war with tobacco — winning mostly, but never conquering. I guess it will be that way the rest of my life.

The reason I am stopping on Sunday is that Joe Garagiola is coming through with his spit-tobacco show. Joe is a persuasive guy, and he uses an ex-ballplayer named Bill Tuttle to hammer his point home.

Tuttle picked up the habit as a youngster, and he kept chomping full-force after his playing days were over. As a result, he has lost a good part of his throat to cancer.           

The Brett Butler throat-cancer surgery convinced me to forego my occasional chew around the batting cage last summer, so I figure Sunday will be the end of it.

I knew I would have to quit before the season started, anyway. With so many games on TV and so many shots of the manager in the dugout, I knew when I took my first chew in February that it would have to be a spring fling. I don’t want to look like a slob on television, and I certainly don’t want kids to think chewing is cool.

Jeff Bagwell was a heavy chewer when he first came up. He gave it up because he was getting mail about being a role model. He quit cold-turkey, and so can I. It’s much easier than quitting cigarettes.

I still enjoy an occasional cigar. It seems that this is a socially-correct tobacco habit these days. But I can’t smoke a stogie in the dugout. Sunflower seeds and gum are less satisfying, but they will have to do.

I don’t expect it to be too difficult to quit. The nervousness associated with getting started is gone now. Of course, the regular season will bring new pressures. Why do so many of life’s little pleasures cause pain in the end? I don’t know. But since I am not looking forward to the end yet, I must cease.

           

Bill Worrell, the sports director for Prime Sports in Houston, came into camp today. I accused him of bringing the rain with him. Judy told me that we got four inches of rain in Houston yesterday.

I met Bill when I was 18 years old. I used to go out to the University of Houston, looking for girls, my rookie year. Bill was a broadcast major back then, and we have had some great fun together.

John Barleycorn got the best of him several years ago. With the help of Betty Ford, he has kicked that habit and is really doing well.

Bill covers the Astros and the Rockets. We talked basketball while I was on the Stairmaster. He still thinks they can win the title if they get everyone healthy for the playoffs.

Unlike some of my associates with the Astros, I hope they do win. It was such a wonderful thing for the city when they won their first title.

The economy wasn’t so good in Houston at the time. Things had been tough for a lot of people for a lot of years. It seemed to me that Houstonians, known for their braggadocio, were beginning to lose their spirit. The Rockets brought the spirit back, then multiplied it by winning two NBA championships in a row.

Some baseball people feel that we are competing for a slice of the entertainment-dollar pie; I feel that one team can feed off the other and make the pie larger.

I’ve been waiting 30 years for Houston to become a real sports town; I think it will take more than one team winning to make it happen. Bill thinks we are going to win, too, and that’s a nice thing to say. His slant is that I wasn’t meant to win in the booth; that it is more fitting that I win in the dugout. Sounds like Hollywood to me.

But then, I was born in Hollywood, so why not?

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 12 ● Port St. Lucie, vs Mets 

For various reasons, I took almost all of our key position players to Port St. Lucie. 

I took Sean Berry, because it was his coming-out party. He finally got the go-ahead to play third base and make the necessary throws.

I took Pat Listach, because I think he needs more innings in the field to get his shortstopping down after a long layoff at that position.

I brought Biggio and Bagwell because that gave us the chance to have our whole starting infield in the game for the first time.

I took Derek Bell, because he did not make the trip to Winter Haven.

I took Thomas Howard, because his sore arm put him a little behind the other guys in at-bats.

I took Brad Ausmus, because he needs at-bats and needs to learn our pitching staff.

And I took Luis González, who has been on virtually every trip, because I didn’t want him to be lonely in Kissimmee and because I wanted him to play a little first base.

Tommy Gregg is just about worn out from caddying for Bagwell. Tommy’s not complaining, because he’s trying to make the team. But his ankles are aching as if they didn’t have any feet attached.

When we arrived at the clubhouse this morning, it looked like Opening Day. The bus was ready to go, but the players were grumbling.

Gonzo broke the ice.

“What is this, the great grudge match with the Mets?” he yelled. “Cubby, did you sleep in your uniform? You’re the one who’s behind this, I know. You and Mac. Going back to your old stomping grounds, and you want to kick ass. I just figured it out.”

“I didn’t make out the list. He did,” Cubby said, pointing at me.

“I just did it the way you told me,” I said, hamming an innocent expression.

“Where’s Mac?” Gonzo asked. “He’s not getting out of this one.”

“He’s already down there,” I said. “He can’t wait to get at ’em.”

 “All I know is, this is horseshit,” Gonzo said. “Making everyone take a long trip just so you can show off for your friends.”

The guys were getting a pretty good laugh. Once again, I was grateful to have Luis, the live wire, on our team again. We lost more than a ballplayer when he went to the Cubs; we lost a whole clubhouse atmosphere.

Gonzo gets along with everyone. Because he speaks Spanish, he is great at getting the Latin guys involved. He fits right in with the Blacks and Whites as well.

How the Cubs could let him go, I don’t know. We got him for a million dollars, which in this market is a bargain. He drove in 79 runs for the Cubs last year, even though he was platooned much of the time. He has midrange power, and he walks more than he strikes out. If he hits the same way on our club, he’ll drive in 100 runs.

           

Derek Bell continued his hot hitting, driving home a pair with a single in the first inning. Everyone hit pretty well today, and the pitchers — Shane Reynolds, Billy Wagner, and Chris Holt — performed admirably. We won the game 6-3, and had some fun doing it.

When Bagwell came to bat in the fifth, I told him it would be his last inning. “If you get on,” I said. “I’m going to pinch-run with Gonzo.”

“Wait a minute,” Gonzo said. “I’m not loose yet.”

 “You better get loose, because I’m getting on,” Bagwell said, laughing as he went to the on-deck circle.

“You’re shittin’ me, right?” Gonzo said in a pleading tone.

 “No, I’m not,” I said.

 Bagwell made a bid, but Carl Everett caught his fly ball near the right-field line.

As it turned out, Berry didn’t get any plays at third, but Gonzo showed well at first.

Also in the fifth, I told Ausmus to “hit and get,” meaning he could shower and skedaddle.

“I’ll hit, but I can’t get,” he said. “I rode over with Gonzo.”

The whole bench got a kick out of that.

The way it works is that the proven players get certain privileges, like driving their own cars, that the rookies either don’t think they deserve or are afraid to ask for. In this case, Billy Spiers got caught in the double-switch as well. He rode over with Biggio, Bagwell, and Berry. Those three players came out after the fifth inning. I told them they could leave.

“Do you have a car at the complex?” I asked Billy.

“Yeah, but I came over with Bags, Bidge, and Sean.”

“I guess it’s your turn in the barrel,” I said. “I’ll give you a ride if you need it.” 

“That’s all right,” he said.

 As Billy ran out to third base, I saw Bagwell walking up the runway toward the clubhouse. “Do you want to wait until we come up to tell Billy, ‘hang with ‘em,’ or do you want me to tell him for you?”

“Tell him for me,” Bagwell said. “I’ll feel sorry for him if you don’t tell him to hang in there.”

It is difficult to get this kind of camaraderie going when you are losing. And I know there will be times when we will scuffle this year. But it is great to get a little banter going early, in the spring.

I noticed that Thomas “Tank” Howard was grinning aver the antics. He hasn’t really assimilated into the group yet. But a few more days like this (he went 3-for-4 with a couple of RBI and two runs scored) and he will fit right in.

They say it isn’t important to win games in the spring. And it isn’t, in any tangible way. But when you have as many new players as we do, and a whole new staff to boot, it doesn’t hurt to win.

TUESDAY, MARCH 11 ● Kissimmee, vs Cleveland

Well, we had a few meetings today, but I was not the keynote speaker in any of them. 

Mark Belanger of the Players Association came by the coaches’ room to explain the benefit plan and the distribution of licensing money. Cubby and Mac were especially interested in this information, because they have been active coaches throughout this decade.

During most of that time, each member of the plan was to receive a check for roughly $50,000 per season. It was more than that before the strike in 1994, and has been less since. Actually, members get substantially less in years leading up to a new labor agreement; the rest is set aside as a war chest.

Now that the new agreement has finally been signed, the money that was withheld is going to be distributed. This has income-tax ramifications, and that’s what Mark was trying to explain.

The other thing I learned was that only five coaches qualify for the pension plan. Alan Ashby is the odd-man-out in our group. Some teams apparently pool funds and share equally. This would be fine with me, but this possibility has not been discussed.

What really surprised me is that there is another designated coach who does not receive pension benefits, but who does qualify for licensing money. I didn’t know if we had designated a coach for this slot, but later found that Bill Virdon was our man because he is already taking his pension.

It’s hard to think of him as a 65-year-old man. He just doesn’t look or act that old.

           

When Belanger finished, he joined Donald Fehr, who was reporting on similar issues in a players meeting.

While this meeting was in progress, the coaching staff got together with Gerry and his assistants, Matt Galante, and Tim Purpura. Seems like there are some trade winds blowing, and Gerry wanted us to speak up on the shortstop situation.

Pat Listach has been disappointing, in the field and at the plate. He is not quite as fast as we thought he might be, and some of the guys, including myself, are getting a little worried. Pat was with the Brewers last year, and his manager was a friend of mine, Phil Garner.

Phil told me that Pat would probably look a little clumsy in the field, “but if you just let him play, he’ll do the job.” Well, he hasn’t done it yet. But he is bound to be a little rusty.

Should we try to cover ourselves, with Ricky Gutierrez out until May? Our schedule in April appears to be difficult. We don’t want to panic, but we don’t want to stumble out of the gate, either. 

Most of the coaches were concerned about Pat, but when we learned that it would cost one of our best prospects to get Manny Alexander from the Orioles, we were inclined to be a little more patient with Pat. Alexander is a great fielder, but he has never hit much.

Matt brought up Jay Bell, who is with the Royals now. They are interested in Derek Bell. But I am not interested in getting an old – granted, good, but still old — shortstop for a young outfielder with superstar tools.

I mentioned Walt Weiss, another old shortstop. His name didn’t seem to excite anyone.

About that time, someone came in to inform us that the players’ meeting was over. We adjourned without coming to any conclusion.

Later, Matt told me that he had called Garner, and that Gar said we should be patient with Pat. I agree. He may not be quite what we hoped he would be, but Ricky will be back with most of the season left. By then we will have a better feel for Pat, and we will not have to make a desperation trade and lose prospects in the bargain.

           

As the players split into batting-practice groups, Vern and I started the cutdown process.

The first guy we talked to was Mike Gardiner. Mike is a 31-year-old righthander who has had some big-league experience. Last year, he pitched for AAA Tidewater (Mets) and had a sensational year. His problem in our camp was that the numbers were against him.

After he signed, we made a trade with Detroit that brought us three pitching prospects. Then we drafted another pitcher in the Rule 5 draft. We then signed free agents Russ Springer and Tommy Greene.

All of these guys throw harder than Gardiner; that doesn’t necessarily mean they can pitch better, but there is certainly more upside when you have a good fastball.

The other number that got him was our scarcity of position players. After three or four guys got injured, we didn’t have enough bodies to play the three “B” games on our schedule. If we had played these games, Mike would have pitched at least three times. As it was, he pitched only once — coming in in the middle of a wildfire inning. He got burned in that frame, but he settled down and got ’em 1-2-3 in the next.

This guy was a starter last year, and he went 13-3 with a 3.21 ERA. It was not a fair way to judge him. We have seen him throw on the side, and we are somewhat aware of what it will take for him to succeed in the major leagues. I think he is a little short of stuff, but I cannot be certain.

We couldn’t see him getting any more chances to pitch in major-league camp, with our starters pitching more innings each time out. In minor-league camp, he could get ready for the season. If he continues to perform well, there is a chance we might need him.

But that’s not what he wanted to hear. All he wanted was a chance. He was led to believe he would get a taste of the action, but he didn’t even get a sniff.

Mike was a victim of circumstance. As he unburdened himself of a career of similar frustrations, all Vern and I could do was listen and agree. Mike said it was horseshit, and I have the feeling that blue language doesn’t often pass his lips.

Mike is dedicated, sincere, and a professional in every sense of the word. The word may not have come naturally to him, but it was the right word.

Horseshit!

We could only nod our heads. What could we say?

 

After that, it got a little easier; the other seven pitchers knew they would not make the first cut.

There were some positive things that came out of these discussions:

We were able to tell these guys what we thought of their ability, and what it would take for them to make it big. They seemed to appreciate the time we spent working with them, and the advice we were offering.

To be honest, I don’t think any of them will be impact pitchers in the major leagues. I have been wrong before, and I hope I am wrong again this time. When you only get to see a guy throw on the side a few times and pitch a few innings, it’s hard to render judgement. With the older players, it’s a little easier. Their track records speak volumes.

           

Darryl Kile pitched well today. Jeff Bagwell had a couple of doubles, and Derek Bell hit his fourth home run. Craig Biggio scored three runs. The Killer Bs were stinging the Indians, and we won easily 10-4 to go over .500 at 6-5.

Listach played better at short, and he contributed a two-run double. He also laid down a bunt, and it took a perfect play to nip him at first base.

It is nice to know that you don’t have to outsmart the other manager every day. Most of the time, it seems, the players will win or lose on their own. I might be able to finish .500 in absentia. Still, the best managers make $1 million a year or more. I guess it’s because the pennant can swing on those few games where the manager makes a difference.

I still don’t feel like a master strategist, but I am beginning to feel more like a leader — even without the pep talk. Perhaps all this winning has gone to my head.

           

I worked out after the game today, and I seem to be making some progress on my weight-loss-and-conditioning program. Afterward, I answered some mail and was just ready to leave the park at about six o’clock when Vern came in. He had been across the hall at a minor-league coaches’ meeting, helping them with their pitching evaluations.

“Let’s go get some dinner,” I said.

“Well, I was going to eat with Paul (one of our clubhouse helpers), but I can do that another night.”

“Bring him along,” I said. “Do you think I like to listen to you all the time?”

Vern laughed. He’s starting to get to know me, I guess.

“Let me take a shower and tell him to get ready, and we’ll go.”

Paul is from Canada. This is his spring avocation. When we decided on Mexican food, he went along. But when we got there, we found that he had never been exposed to the fine food from south of the border.

Vern asked me what my biggest surprise was, so far.

“You,” I said. “All of you guys. The staff. Minor- and major-league both. I’ve been away from the field for 18 years. Things have really changed — the dedication and professionalism. The long hours, the knowledge. That’s been the biggest surprise for me. And it has been a pleasant one.”

Paul ordered chicken with rice and beans, and he was somewhat surprised that it was hiding under salsa and cheese. He dug in and found it, however.

I guess the North American Free Trade Agreement is working, after all.

MONDAY, MARCH 10 ● St. Petersburg, vs St. Louis

I was still a little miffed when I woke up this morning.

On the way to St. Pete, I discussed the matter with Cubby again. He seemed to think that if I wanted to speak out on the lack of hustle, I should have my say.

“Better too soon than too late,” was his advice. I think I’ll take it.

Tomorrow is the last day in camp for eight of the pitchers. I might as well share my thoughts with everyone who has been in camp.

When we got to the ballpark, I discussed the issue with Bill, Ash, and Vern. Vern was a little surprised, but no one advised against speaking up.

 

Naturally, the game was one of those uplifting affairs that will be hard to follow with hard words.

It was obvious from the beginning that John Hirschbeck, the home plate umpire, was going to have

a large strike zone. If the pitchers could hit their spots, the hitters would have trouble hitting the pitches. That’s pretty much the way it went.

Donovan Osborne started for the Redbirds. Derek Bell homered off him in the first. After that, Osborne was practically flawless.

Donne Wall had first-inning problems too, but he escaped with one run. It stayed that way until the top of the tenth.

In the interim, I learned a valuable lesson about counting the extra men.

Because this is a relatively long trip, I brought a skeleton squad, and could have come up a man short. By the seventh inning, I was out of players, except for pitchers. If someone got hurt, I was going to have to play a pitcher in the field. Luckily, no one was injured.

In the top of the tenth, Ken Ramos led off with a walk. When Hidalgo popped up, Billy Wagner had to hit, though he was not going to pitch any more.

I put the bunt sign on. After one failed attempt, he put down a good one, and the third-baseman threw the ball away down the rightfield line. Ramos came around to score the lead run, and Wagner made it to third.

On the second pitch to Eric Christopherson, I signaled for the squeeze play. Cubby did a double-take, then relayed the sign. Eric acknowledged, and all systems were GO. The pitch came in high-and-tight, and Eric did a miraculous job of getting the bunt down. The players on the bench leapt to their feet with joy.

It was a real charge, but in the midst of it, I had a sickening feeling.

I had sniffed out a good situation, but I forgot who was running at third. I can ill-afford to lose Wagner, and this is a play where the runner can get hurt. The chances for injury are not great if the hitter acknowledges the sign, but still, there is some risk.

I doubt I would have signaled for the play if I had considered this possibility. It was just another example of how lucky you can get if you are aggressive.

 

After the game, Vern told me that there was to be a Players Association meeting at 9:30 in the morning. That made me think twice about my meeting with the players.

I called our equipment manager, Dennis Liborio, when I got home and confirmed the meeting. We had asked them to hold it at 9 a.m. so we could start our practice on time. I guess they either ignored our request or denied it. I wouldn’t be surprised either way.

Now the question is: Do I have my meeting anyway, and miss even more of the workout? Or do I save it for later? I will make that decision tomorrow. But I will record my thoughts now, so that I am prepared.

           

Those of you who are with the club this year will find that I am not big on meetings. But a few things have been bothering me lately, and I would like to bring them to the surface now, before they become habits.

My biggest concern is that we are losing our vital energy. I know it has been hot. We haven’t had any rain days to let the body recover. But all of you know it will be hot this summer too, and if it doesn’t rain, we will have to go through a stretch like this again.

So far, Bill Virdon is the only one who has called anyone on lack of hustle. The straw that broke the camel’s back for me was day-before-yesterday in Winter Haven. After the game, the remaining players were told to jog up and sprint back six times. Some did, but some didn’t. A few guys, including some rookies, just jogged up and back.

Bill said that we would keep running until we ran hard. Still, several players slacked off. I know the guys who were running hard didn’t appreciate their lazy teammates one bit that day. I was really pissed when I heard about it.         

But it’s not just the things I have heard, but also some things I have seen. Bill is the only one who has been outspoken, but I have talked to the other coaches, and they have all seen things they don’t like regarding teamwork and hustle.

Let me go over the list, without mentioning any names. I’m sure you will know if I am talking about you.

1. We have players who don’t do their stretching and warmup running before practice. This is especially destructive when it is veteran players. What do you think the guys who are in big-league camp for the first time think when they see this? I’ll tell you: They think that this is what you do if you’re a big-league ballplayer. You defy authority, because you are bigger than the team.
2. I have seen a guy make a sensational play to get a pitcher out of trouble, and I have seen that pitcher walk right by that guy without shaking his hand or patting him on the back. I have also seen a guy who made an error fail to acknowledge a pitcher who saved the unearned runs from scoring. This is a team, in case you haven’t noticed. If you don’t care about your teammates, maybe you better take up another sport — because you will not be welcome here.
3. I have seen players beg off from running, because of injuries. Then when I asked the trainers about it, they have told me that the player is healthy enough to run.
4. I have seen guys struggle with their fielding or bunting, but when I asked the coaches if they are doing any extra work, they tell me “no.” Still, we have guys who want extra hitting.

It seems to me that a lot of guys are only interested in the individual things that will make them money. They are not too keen on team plays that don’t show up on the stat sheet. Everyone pays lip service to The Ring, but no one wants to sacrifice for it. We go through the motions on fundamental drills and bunting practice, even though these little things can be the difference between first and second place. We have already won two games this spring by putting down bunts. The little things count for The Ring, even if they don’t count on your paycheck.

5. I have seen veteran players fail to advance an extra base when it would have been easy. I know the same players would advance during the year. Why not now? What do the young guys who will be playing in Tucson and Jackson think when they see this? Is this the kind of baseball we want to play in our system? Or do we think we can just turn it on when the bell rings? Well, let me tell you a little story:

I was a very young pitcher when I won 20 games. The next spring, I was on top of the world. I thought I could just coast through spring training, playing golf and having fun. Well, I started off 0-4 in April, and it took me the whole season to turn my record around, even though I started bearing down in May (exaggeration for emphasis). Luckily, we didn’t finish a game or two out of first that season. Think how I would have felt if we did.

When I was a player, the Red Sox were known as a “country club” team. They had lots of privileges, and short work days. I believe we can have short work days, if they are intense. I believe we can have lots of privileges if we earn them.

So far, no one has been shy about asking to drive to and from the road games. No one has volunteered to stay for the whole game after they have been excused. To tell the truth, it is a long season, and I don’t expect a lot of false hustle. I’m happy to give you guys a little slack.

But it’s about time you give me, your coaches, and your teammates, the best you have to offer when you are on the field. I’m going to tell you this right now — and if I fail to live up to it, I want you to call me on it:

I will never criticize you in the media. What I have said here, stays here. If we are to be a good team, we have to pull together like a family. We may have our disagreements, but when it comes down to it, it’s us against the world.

I think we have a chance to win this year. And it’s likely to take most everyone in this room to get it done. Some of you may start in the minors, and come up to help us win. That’s why it is important that we establish our commitment to excellence here at spring training — even though the games don’t count.

I am not managing to win, but I am trying my best to get myself and the team ready. That is my commitment. I’m expecting you to help me by doing your part. 

Are there any questions?

 

I don’t know that it will come out quite like that, but that is the gist of it.

I have been thinking of it for two days now. It only took me five minutes to write it.

SUNDAY, MARCH 9 ● Winter Haven, vs Cleveland

I can’t tell one day from the other down here. Every day starts at 6:30 or 7:00 a.m. for me. That, in itself, is a body blow. I have no time for a leisurely reading of the newspaper. I have no time for the pleasure of ruminating while eliminating. In other words, this schedule has me constipated.

I’ll be glad when we start playing night games.

In recent years, I have found that my body clock is slowing down. Frequently, we have a day game on the last day of a road trip. We call this getaway day. This is when I find myself rushing around to get packed and checked out of the hotel. I get to the ballpark and have many things to do. Before I can get really comfortable, it’s showtime. Sometimes I don’t get around to my daily duty until after we get back to Houston that night.

This spring, every day is like getaway day. I suppose I could get up an hour earlier, but that is not my style.

So tonight at 10 p.m. I am writing, and still waiting for nature’s call. In another hour I have to go down to the lobby to tape an interview for Channel 2 in Houston. Tommorow I will pick Cubby up at 8:00 for a trip to St. Petersburg.

I suppose I’ll get around to it sometime. At least it’s not critical to the team’s success.

           

What is critical is our preparation for the opening of the season. And in that regard, I am unhappy tonight.

Earlier, I was just plain pissed. I jogged four miles when we got back from Winter Haven instead of my normal two or three. 

The source of my discontent is the effort of our athletes. I realize that it has been hot, and we have not had any “rain days” to let the bodies recover. But I still can’t condone laziness.

The disturbing thing is that today it was Bagwell and Biggio again. And Listach.

Pat has been having a little trouble catching ground balls lately. Today he had a tough time, and instead of taking more work, he took less. The other guys were having some difficulty on the hard infield at Chain O’Lakes Park too, but they stayed in there and got their work done.

Pat has been a disappointment so far. He is not as fast as was advertised. And he is not hitting or bunting very well.

           

Still, I thought it would be a good day. I wore one of my Hawaiian shirts to lift my spirits — and our

record above the .500 mark. And I asked José “Cheo” Cruz to take the lineup card out, for good luck.

At first, it seemed a good move. Biggio opened the game with what should have been an easy double, but he stopped at first. That didn’t bother me too much.

Listach got a bunt down, then Bagwell singled Biggio home. The throw went through to the plate, and Jeff should have gone to second, but he stopped at first. Gonzalez doubled down the leftfield line, and Bagwell stopped at third and was stranded there. If he had moved up on the throw home, we would have scored two runs instead of one.

I know Biggio and Bagwell will make those plays during the season, but what does their lack of hustle say to the other players?

Rookie Bobby Abreu was sullen when he didn’t get in the game until the seventh inning. When it came time to run sprints after the game, some of the players — including Abreu — went through the motions.

Oscar Henriquez, a supremely talented 21-year-old pitcher, had some problems, loading the bases, but was saved by Russ Johnson’s spectacular play. Henriquez never even acknowledged Johnson. He acted like he was mad that he didn’t strike everyone out.

Later, when it was time to run, Oscar was signing autographs. When I confronted him, he said he had to change his shoes. Then why was he signing autographs?

Bill Virdon made the team run extra laps until everyone ran hard. This created a rift between the guys who were running hard all along and those, including Abreu, who were loafing.

I was talking with reporters at the time, and when I heard about it, I was really fried.

When I was taking a shower, Johnson, a rookie who has played his ass off this spring, asked if he could ride home with his wife. Tommy Gregg and Mike Gardiner came up with the same request. I let them all go, but that’s about all I can let go for now. When the whole squad is together again, day after tomorrow, I’ll have my say.

I hate to do this so early in the spring, because I know that you can’t play the “mad card” too often. It loses impact. But I believe the players need to know what the staff is seeing. And the staff needs to know that I will take a stand.

I have been preparing my speech all night long, and I will probably write it in these pages tomorrow. So far, the hours have taken the hard edge off what I plan to say. I hope that the one-day interlude will soften it a little more. But I can’t keep watching this and not say anything.

If I were a veteran manager, I might let it slide. But the credibility of our staff is at stake this spring. And the message we send the minor-leaguers who will disperse to other clubs next week is also important.