Category: Rookie Manager’s Journal

SATURDAY, MARCH 8 ● Kissimmee, vs Cleveland

This morning, while the team was stretching, Vern and Alan Ashby were playing catch. “Check this out, Dierk,” Ashby said. As I walked over, I saw Vern cut loose a throw that sailed about six inches.

“Sign him up,” I said, as Ash flipped me the ball.

The telltale evidence was inside the “horseshoe” side of the stitching: the hide of the ball had been dimpled by an abrasive surface. It was the notorious scuff ball.

The theory of the scuff ball is that one side of the ball will have more air resistance than the other. Therefore, the ball will move away from the scuff. You can sail it or sink it, and it is equally effective either way.

The next Ruhle delivery sank about six inches. “Sign him up,” I said again.

I tried my hand at it, having never thrown the scuffer before. I couldn’t throw the ball hard enough to make it work – which, upon reflection, was quite humorous.

You see, my maternal grandfather, “Big Al” Keller, was one of my biggest fans when I was growing up. Al had played a lot of semipro ball, and when I was about 12, he told me that he would teach me the “emery ball” when I was able to throw hard enough. But he never did teach me the pitch.

When I was in the big leagues, I once asked him about it, and he just laughed. “You don’t need it now, kid,” he said.

“The emery ball required little or no skill on the part of the pitcher. An outfielder with good control and fair speed could have come in and pitched the emery ball. To be sure, a proper use of the ball demanded training, as in any other delivery, but at the same time a person did not have to be a good pitcher to use it. It really discouraged pitching as much as it did batting, for it required nothing else from a man than the ability to roughen a part of the surface of the ball and control the ball when he pitched it.”– Pitcher Walter Johnson

Later, after I retired, several people asked me if I had ever thrown spitters or scuffers. “No,” I replied. “I went from a point where I didn’t need to cheat, to where it wouldn’t help me, so fast that I never had a chance.” And that is the truth.

I didn’t have anything against it. The great tradition of the sport has always been, “if you can get away with it, do it.” There are plenty of corked bats around. But you still have to hit the ball squarely. Most of the players who hit home runs don’t need cork, and most who need it don’t hit the ball hard often enough to get the playing time.

Vern had had so much fun with the scuffed ball that he brought it over to the mound when Darryl Kile was doing his side work between starts. After Kile got up to speed, Vern said, “Here, try this one.”

Darryl threw a few pitches that sailed and sank, and he was having a great time, which is exactly what Vern wanted. Sometimes D.K. is a little hard on himself. Vern wanted to loosen him up.

I thought it was a great idea, but it came right back and hit us in the face during lunch break.

Vern and I were sitting in my office, and Darryl stuck his head inside. He was smiling, as if to show that he was only kidding.

“Hey, what was that scuffed ball about?” he asked. “Are you trying to say that my regular stuff isn’t good enough?”

I thought he was kidding, but Vern wasn’t so sure. “We were just having some fun. You know, watching the ball move. Sometimes it’s good to see how the ball can move.”

“Are you trying to say my ball doesn’t move?”

“No,” I interjected. “We were just screwing around. Don’t read something into it that isn’t there. It’s just for fun.”

The conversation went on for a while, and maybe he was satisfied — but then again, maybe he wasn’t. That’s Darryl “The Enigma” Kile.

When Darryl finally made his exit, I told Vern: “He’s your project, not mine.” 

As I was talking to Vern, Ash came in and said, “Come out here for a minute, Dierk. You gotta see this.”

When I got out to the locker room, I saw Vern’s uniform — shoes, cap, and all — spread out on the floor, with white wrapping tape surrounding the body like you would see at the scene of a murder.

“What the hell is this?” I asked.

“Vern took a header coming off the field earlier today,” Ash said, suppressing laughter.

“Who did this?” I asked, admiring the work.

“Derek,” Ash said. “Nice job, huh?”

It was, indeed, a nice job. Before long everyone, including the trainers and team doctors, was standing around gawking and laughing.

If we can keep this kind of spirit going, we will have some fun this summer.

 

The game was a beauty.  Shane Reynolds started, and he gave up only a solo homer to Kevin Mitchell in four innings. Charles Nagy was even better for the Indians. They added three in the fifth on Cory Snyder’s home run off Tom Martin.

In the seventh, we got a rally started with two outs. I didn’t expect it to keep going, so I penciled in my double-switch to bring in José Lima. But then we kept getting hits and walks, and I had to keep readjusting my lineup. By the time we tied the score, the lineup card in the dugout looked like the bathroom in a neighborhood bar. The scorecard had been scratched out and scribbled over so many times that it appeared to be a work of original urban art.

I showed it to Vern, to make sure I hadn’t messed up the switches, and he told me that I should just wait until the inning was over, then put the pitcher in his place and adjust for the rest of the changes.

“I know,” I said, “but I’m afraid it will take me so long to figure it out that I’ll be called for delay of game.”

“You’ll be all right,” he said.

And I think I will. But that inning was certainly instructive.

Richard Hidalgo led off in the bottom of the tenth. Catcher Jeff Tackett was on deck. Virdon asked him if he ever bunted.

“Sure,” he said.

Hidalgo reached on an error, and Virdon gave Tackett the bunt sign. Jeff laid down a soft bunt, but it went foul.

I said, “Take the bunt off.”

“I don’t know,” Bill said. “I like my chances in scoring position with two tries.”

“But I don’t like Tackett hitting with two strikes in the count if he fails,” I said.

“It’s your call,” he said. “You have to do what you think is best.”

Well, I had never seen Tackett bunt. His first attempt looked pretty good. But there was a young pitcher on the mound, and sometimes young pitchers just throw the ball in there if they think someone is bunting.

We took the bunt off, and Tackett promptly singled to right, sending Hidalgo to third.

“That’s why you have to go with your own thoughts,” Bill said.

Tommy Gregg came up. He has been hitting the ball real well all spring, but with no luck. His luck didn’t change; he hit a bullet to right, and the right-fielder charged and caught it. The runner at third could not score.

“Now you could pull the squeeze with Listach,” Bill said.

I liked the idea. Not that I thought it was our best bet, but sometimes in spring training you have priorities other than winning. We have been encouraging Listach to bunt since he got here, but he hasn’t gotten a single bunt down.

“It’s ‘make it or break it’ now,” I said. “Put it on.”

Well, we haven’t squeezed all spring, and I couldn’t even remember the sign. I knew it was one ear, and Bill wasn’t sure either. He gave Cubby about every sign we have, then wiped them all off.

“I can’t remember the sign,” he admitted.

“That’s okay,” I said. “Neither can I.”

I knew Listach had to be at least as confused as Cubby. He tried to bunt for a hit, but the pitch almost hit him. Luckily, the runner didn’t break. If we had squeezed, we’d have been dead. As it was, Listach chopped a ground ball to second and beat the rap on the double play. We won 5-4.

           

After the game, Gerry came by my office. “Well, that’s about it for Martin,” he said. “He doesn’t have the track record. We can’t expect him to be ready this year, and it’s a good thing it showed up early.”

“Yeah, I guess,” I said, not really agreeing. “But he did come back nicely after the home run.”

“A lot of guys do well when the horse is already out of the barn,” he said.

I hoped we would get a few more looks at Tom Martin. He may not have the track record, but he has better stuff than the other lefthanders who are in the running. It may be a long shot, but I’d like to keep trying.

I talked to Vern after Gerry left. He wants to see more of Martin too.

FRIDAY, MARCH 7 ● at Plant City, vs Cincinnati

 I’ve known a lot of players who hate to lose at anything. In baseball, it is important to be able to accept a loss and move on. The guys who can’t abide a loss often become lonely, bitter, angry, insecure, unfriendly. If you want to make your living in baseball, you better get used to losing, because the best teams get beat 40 percent of the time.

Somehow, my old broadcast partner, Milo Hamilton, has not been able to figure this out in his 43 years in the game. He takes each loss personally — doesn’t take the blame for it, mind you — but it eats away at him and spills out like venom.

He’s a tough guy to be around when the team is in a losing streak. Naturally, the reverse is also true: when we win, he is full of vim and vigor, and everything is hunky-dory.

Sometime around the seventh inning of today’s game with the Reds, I turned to Vern Ruhle and said, “Milo’s not going to like this.” The Perfessor gave me that inquisitive look, so I explained:

“He can’t stand losing, and here we are, two games under .500 and without a single hit against a bunch of mediocre pitchers.”

“Doesn’t he know that this is spring training?” Vern asked.

“Yes, he knows. In his mind, he knows. But it’s still eating his heart out. When we get two or three games under, he starts looking at the schedule and trying to figure out how we can get back to even. Well, tomorrow and the next day, we play the Indians. He’s pretty upset, I guarantee it.”

Vern just shook his head. “Well, maybe we’ll get a hit for him and win the game,” he said.

 

At this juncture, we were in a scoreless game. I was pleased that our pitchers were throwing hard and pitching well. And I wasn’t too upset about our lack of hitting, because the Reds’ hurlers were throwing well too. And I didn’t have my big guns on the trip.

Still, I was hoping that we would win. I am better-equipped to take a loss than Milo, but I also understand the importance of winning these “unimportant” games. You see, we have built a considerable amount of enthusiasm in Houston with our offseason moves. But fans are fickle; they don’t like losing, either, and many don’t even want to be associated with a loser.

Winning these games isn’t a big deal in the grand scheme of things, but it is certainly better for early-season ticket sales. In our camp, with all the new people, it is also important for our esprit de corps. That’s why this game was such a lift.

After ten innings, it was still scoreless, and we still had nary a hit. But in the 11th, Bobby Abreu hit a double and Russ Johnson scored him with a single up the middle. We held on and won the game 1-0.

Afterward, I asked the media, “Who needs Bagwell and Biggio?” 

Spirits were high in the locker room, and I know Milo was feeling a lot better up in the booth.

           

On the way home, I had another frank discussion with Cubby. He talked about his interviews with the Angels in a matter-of-fact tone. I know he had to be disappointed when he didn’t get the job, but you would never know it, talking to him. He’s a real pro.

“I think the thing that hurt me was that they wanted me to keep some of the coaches and let some of them go,” he said. “I was in agreement on that issue, but we differed on which should stay and go. There were a couple of guys I really wanted. One was Larry Haney. We never came to a meeting of the minds on coaches.”

It occurred to me that I had been lucky on that issue. Gerry and Tal made suggestions, but they also made it clear that they would not force me to take a coach I didn’t want. As a result, we seem to have a good staff. They all work hard and get along.

THURSDAY, MARCH 6 ● Kissimmee, vs Dodgers

Today, the Dodgers came calling. I have had the most intimate relations with this team; they were my childhood favorites. Vin Scully was the narrator of my secret dreams.

Growing up in LA, I became accustomed to championships: the Dodgers, the Lakers, USC in football — and especially, UCLA in basketball. Even the Rams made the playoffs most of the time.

When I got to Houston, I found that championships were not traditional. And for most of my baseball life, I have looked up at the Dodgers, rather than look up to them.

In my pitching prime, it was the Dodgers or the Reds who were favored every year. We knew we couldn’t beat them when we got to spring training. The Reds were a blue-collar outfit, but the Dodgers were strictly Hollywood.

I hated them.

When the Astros finally got to the playoffs in 1980, it was by beating the Dodgers in their own stadium in the 163rd — and final — game of the year. That was sweet redemption. I have not felt such keen animosity for them since. But that doesn’t mean I like them.

Would I like to have been one of them? Maybe so. But going against them was always emotional for me.

I beat Sandy Koufax 3-0 in 1966. After that, I never beat them in my home town, though I beat them a few times in the Dome.

Now Tommy Lasorda has given way to a contemporary of mine: Bill Russell. Russell is a class act. It’s hard to get really mad at the Dodgers now. But it would still be sweet to beat them — even in an exhibition game.

Unfortunately, this one ended in a 12-inning tie.

 

Before the game, Bagwell, Biggio, and I got together for a photo shoot. It was for the cover of Baseball Weekly. Wow! I had made the big time. The photographer must have taken more than 100 shots. Hope he got one right.

I wasn’t in my most smiling mood, because while we were walking over to the shoot, Jeff told me that Derek Bell was once again talking about how he didn’t want to play center field.

“If he doesn’t want to play it, he’s not going to play it well,” he said. I had to agree.

When I got back to the clubhouse, I called Gerry about the situation. Gerry came down to talk it over with Derek, and then came by to visit with me.

“He’s feeling a lot of pressure, for whatever reason,” Gerry said.  “He told me if we would just leave him alone and let him play, he would be all right.”         

I sensed this was an indirect attack on Bill Virdon, and I suggested that we all get together and talk about it after the game.

In the meantime, Doug Supernaw, the country-and-western singer, had entered the locker room. Apparently he is friendly with some of our players. Biggio introduced me to him, and he asked if Doug could sit on the bench for the game.

I was getting a little testy, but I didn’t let it show. “Let me check with Gerry,” I said.

Earlier, I had noticed that Bagwell, Bell, and Biggio were not doing the stretching and running that precede each of our workouts. They were just standing around and talking, while all the other players were participating in the program.

When I called Gerry, I said, “These guys are just like little kids. They’re always testing you. First, they want to drive their own cars to the road games. They get permission once, because they say that they want to leave early and work out with weights. I give them permission the first time, and the second time they don’t ask; they just do it.”

I have no doubt that they actually will lift weights, but I have my doubts as to whether they will serve the team better by building big biceps or by being around to set an example for the younger players. So this is the moment I chose to make a small stand.

I called Bagwell and Biggio into my office and said, “I talked to Gerry, and Doug can sit in the dugout for a few innings. But we can’t start letting everyone’s friends suit up for the game. I hope you understand.

“On another subject, I have noticed that you guys don’t like to do the stretching and running at the beginning of practice. This bothers me.

“It’s not so much that I think you are lazy, or that I am afraid you won’t be ready for the season. I know both of you will play your asses off all year long for me. But what you are doing now undermines my authority.

“Put yourself in my shoes. You’re a rookie manager, and you’re trying to establish the authority of your leadership. The three biggest stars on the team don’t participate in group exercises. The guys who were on the team last year know what kind of effort you give all year long; but what about the new guys — the rookies, the minor-leaguers, the guys who came over in trades? What do they think?”

Biggio broke out in a big smile. “You got me there,” he said. “Guilty as charged. I see what you’re saying. It won’t happen again.”

“Is that all it is?” Bagwell asked.

“That’s it,” I said.

“Okay, you got it. Fair is fair.”

“I hope you guys understand,” I said. “I can do a lot of things to make spring training easier for you, because I am fully aware of the toll the regular season will take. But I really feel that my credibility and the credibility of the new staff is critical this year.

“We all want the same thing. And we’re not going to get it if we’re not all together.”

I felt better as they left. I think they did too.

One thing I learned with my second daughter, Julia, is that sometimes the ones who resist discipline the most are the ones who need to have the boundaries and limits the most. 

This is a hard thing for me, because it’s not my nature to give advice to people who can pretty well take care of themselves.

Derek Bell is a different story. I decided that while I was hot, I would try my hand with him too. I found him in the training room.

 “Hey, D,” I said. “I just talked with Bags and Bidge about the stretching. They told me that they were holding you up in a rap session when you were wanting to do the work. Don’t let them pull that shit on you anymore. You just be your own man.”

Derek gave me a quizzical look. “What d’you mean,” he asked.

Just then it occurred to me that they were probably talking about center field.

 “I’m kidding,” I said. “But I did talk to them about the stretching and running. You know, all the young guys look up to you guys, and they probably think when they get to the big leagues they don’t have to do the work anymore.

“I know how hard you play, but these guys don’t. Anyway, they said they’d give me a little better effort, and I hope you will too.”

Derek laughed. “You saw what we were doing?” he said.

“I saw it.”

“That’s cool,” he said. “Okay, I see what you mean.”

It wasn’t really such a big confrontation, but it was my first attempt to mold the team by working on the stars. I thought they all took it well, and I felt pretty good about it. But I still didn’t know if I have a centerfielder.

           

After the game, that very subject was addressed. Bill and Gerry joined me in my office.

Gerry was upfront and direct, as usual. He said that Derek told him he could play center if everyone (meaning Bill) would just leave him alone and let him play. He told me that when he was in San Diego, he was fine in center. Nobody bothered him, and he just did his job.

I was thinking that if he had done his job so well in San Diego, he wouldn’t be playing for us.

Bill said, “Nobody has been bothering him, as far as I know. I do insist that he does his work, but that hasn’t been a problem. He works hard. I haven’t even said anything to him about the plays he’s messed up. In fact, I have gone out of my way to compliment him on his good plays.”

“Well, maybe there’s something else behind it. Maybe he wants his buddy Thomas Howard to play center; I don’t know. It has to be something other than what he’s been saying. I mean, for him to say he’s uncomfortable? I’ve never known anyone more comfortable than he is. Easy come, easy go, you know what I mean?”

“I know, but I also know my daughter Julia,” I said. She wakes up in a new world every day. And I think Derek is a lot like that. He can’t put his mind to a long-term task and stick with it. He has a different impulse every day. And he’s completely impulsive. One day it’s this thing; one day it’s that.

“He’s not a bad guy, but he’s not a dedicated guy, either. I think we have to keep pumping him up. I mean, let’s face it: if he plays center, we have all sorts of other options. If he goes back to right, we’re somewhat limited as to what we can do with the rest of the outfielders. And we still don’t have a pure centerfielder. What do you think, Bill?”

“The only two guys I see with the ability to play center are Derek and Richard [Hidalgo],” Bill said. “I still think he can do it, but he has to want to do it.”

 “Well, let’s stay the course,” Gerry said. “If we all keep encouraging him, it might work. If it doesn’t, he can always play right.”

 

I left a little drained; it had been a long day. But I wasn’t finished yet.

A group of 21 men from our church in Houston were at the game. They wanted to have dinner, and I had already agreed to join them. As it turned out, this was an island of calm in a sea of trouble. We laughed a lot, and we took many photographs.

WEDNESDAY, MARCH 5 ● Lakeland, vs Detroit

I didn’t ride the bus to Lakeland today. Instead, I picked up Cubby and we had a good discussion about managing.

I told him that I was not feeling very adept in the dugout yet. I talked about the process of relaying the signs, and about my problems with the lineup card.

“It’s frustrating,” I said. “Up in the booth, I would pencil a double-switch onto my scoresheet without hardly looking down. Now, I look at that card in the dugout as if it were a Rubik’s Cube. It can’t be as tough as I’m making it.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it too much,” he said. “It’ll start coming to you as you go along. You’ll get the hang of it.”

I was really feeling good about this guy. He seemed to have no ego problem; no bitterness. After five championships in eight minor-league seasons, he has had three interviews for big-league jobs. The last time he was a finalist, and the Astros’ old skipper, Terry Collins, beat him out.

Terry has an electric personality; Cubby is low-key. All he needs is a situation where a team is looking for a steady hand. But the Angels wanted to jack their team up — to add a little spark to their leadership. That’s what the Astros wanted when they hired Terry. When they hired me, they wanted to settle things down.

One of these days, Cubby will be in the right place at the right time. I think he will do a good job. One thing that might hurt him in interviews is that he isn’t big; isn’t fiery; isn’t glib. He’s just a regular guy.

I think many teams are looking for a media star, and he doesn’t fit the description. That’s too bad for him, but it could be just right for me. With all of his credentials, he could undermine me without feeling guilty. But I don’t think he will do that. I think he is a very solid guy.

 

I threw the baseball for the first time before the game today. Just played catch with Alan Ashby. It sure was fun. There are few things as enjoyable as a good game of catch. My son Ryan is old enough now that I can throw hard to him. I wonder how much longer I will be able to let him throw hard to me.

The game with the Tigers was disappointing. They came up with two runs in the bottom of the ninth to beat us by a run. It wasn’t the losing, or the score, that bothered me the most; I was concerned with our pitching. Not so much with the results as with the stuff: the raw ability.

Our offseason trades were supposed to have increased our firepower. I thought we would be deep in hard-throwing young pitchers. So far, all I have seen is the young pitchers. They may be hard throwers before the year is out, but they are not throwing hard yet. Maybe they will start throwing harder, but I doubt it. My hunch is that our scouting reports were a little optimistic on some of these guys.

Jeff Bagwell asked me if I wanted to go have a few beers some night and I said yes. Bagwell has already accomplished almost everything a player could ever desire. He was Rookie of the Year in 1991; he’s been an All-Star; he was the MVP of the league in 1994. 

Jeff is a serious-minded athlete. He is driven to succeed. The only thing he doesn’t have is a World Series ring, and that is the only thing he wants. I believe he can help me a lot in the clubhouse, if he endorses our program. But he is a thinking man, and he’s not going to just go along for the ride.

We need to come to a meeting of the minds, and I need to entertain some of his thoughts. I don’t mind that at all, because he will doubtless have some good ideas. But there will come a time when I will disagree with him, and insist that we go another way. It’s inevitable. That’s why I want to know what he is thinking, and establish a friendly-but-respectful relationship.

The other day I told him that I had been a fool, just like him: we both married beautiful blondes shortly after becoming big-league ballplayers. We both bought the sizzle and then didn’t like the steak. We commiserated and had a good laugh about our folly.

I look forward to spending a little more time with him.

 

This evening, Pat Murphy, our computer whiz, came over to see if he could get me set up on the Internet. His efforts were unsuccessful, but we did enjoy a nice cigar together.

Pat isn’t the only one who is into the cigar craze. Craig Biggio wants to use stogies as the currency-of-choice in our Kangaroo Court this year. He may get some opposition, but I’m all in favor of it. 

Sometimes a manager will fine a player, then give the money back at the end of the year if the player behaves. If we use cigars, they will know that their fines are not coming back; they will see them go up in smoke.

Murph and I had pasta for dinner, then we went to The Boo for a beer and another cigar. We missed Bagwell by 15 minutes. As far as I know, he is the first player to enter this sacred place. Guess he really did want to shoot the breeze, and I’m sorry I missed him. But it’s a good sign.

I don’t think he would have done the same for Terry. Our time will come.

TUESDAY, MARCH 4 ● West Palm Beach, vs Atlanta

La Russa and Cox, back-to-back. One day to the next. This one in the home of the Braves.

When the season starts, it will be back-to-back-to-back-to-back: 13 games in a row against two of the best teams — and two of the best managers — in baseball.

I talked briefly with Bobby before this-afternoon’s contest. He was cordial as usual, and his camp seemed lively but loose. Several pitchers who were not working this day were already leaving for the golf course when we arrived at 10:15.

The Braves can afford to be lenient with their key players, because these guys have played together and won together for the past four or five years. Each season, it seems, GM John Schuerholz makes a few adjustments to fine-tune the team. And each year, Bobby Cox steers it steadily through the twists and turns of the season.

They have their act together. They don’t need a lot of practice.

I have heard people say that Bobby isn’t that good; that anyone could manage the Braves to a pennant. I disagree. I think he handles the big-name players with aplomb. You never hear a discordant note in the Braves camp, and that is a tribute to Bobby and his coaching staff. The players have confidence in their own ability, and the staff supports them. Sure, they have a lot of ability, but believe me, there are managers who could screw up that team.

You will never read a critical quote from Bobby in the Atlanta paper. If a guy dropped an easy fly ball to let the Braves’ opponent to score a winning run, Bobby would say it was a tough chance; that anyone could have missed it. This type of approach, though it may be slightly dishonest, is often availing.

 

This day, the Braves won a close game. West Palm is a long trip from Kissimmee, and I gave most of the regular players the day off. On top of that, we didn’t get any breaks from the men in blue.

Our young shortstop, Carlos Guillen, was called for missing the bag as he turned a double play. (I’m not sure he did miss it, but the umpires are going to call everything close this year after the Robbie Alomar incident at the end of the 1996 season.) The Braves ended up scoring a run that would not otherwise have scored in that frame.

Later, the first-base ump called a Tommy Gregg home-run ball foul. It may well have been foul, but it was close. The Braves’ right fielder, David Justice, told Gregg that he thought it was fair. It really hurt, because there were two men on base at the time — and as it turned out, we didn’t score in that inning.

We were one run down in the eighth with Bobby Abreu at bat, Richard Hidalgo on first, and Thomas Howard on third. Abreu hit a long line drive to left. The Braves’ left fielder made a sensational catch. Howard tagged and ran home, and Hidalgo, who was rounding second, turned and hightailed it back to first. The relay got to first base about the same time as the sliding Hidalgo. The umpire called him out. Our first-base coach, José Cruz, thought he was safe.

But that wasn’t the worst of it.

At home plate, the umpire started waving his arms, indicating that the run did not score. That’s when I went out for my first confrontation with an umpire.

It really wasn’t an argument at all. I had been watching the play at first and didn’t even see it well. I didn’t see the action at home plate at all. The umpire told me that Howard never touched the plate. I wasn’t watching that part of the play, so I couldn’t say much.

When I got back to the dugout, Thomas told me that he was standing on home, watching the play at first. He argued a little, but not much, and I was glad. No sense provoking the umpires at spring training.

This was a game we could have won if any of the calls had gone the other way. I was philosophical about it after the game.

“Better now than on April 1,” I said.

 

I also saw a bit of irony in the game. Last year, when we tried to send lefthander Dean Hartgraves to the minors, the Braves claimed him on waivers. He ended up pitching an inning in this game. On our side was Tom Martin, a lefty we signed after he was released by Atlanta.

Tom pitched another good inning. He is fighting for a job in our camp this spring, while Hartgraves battles for a spot on the Braves. I like Martin’s stuff better, but Hartgraves may be a more-accomplished pitcher.

The players were laughing and cutting up in the back of the bus on the way home. They weren’t taking it too hard, and neither was I. It will be different when the bell rings.

MONDAY, MARCH 3 ● Kissimmee, vs St. Louis

We open the regular season with 13 games against the Braves and Cardinals. This will be quite a test. And for me, quite a challenge, going against two of the managing legends of the sport: Bobby Cox and Tony La Russa. One writer, Jim Maloney, asked me how I felt about that. I said that I was glad the Braves came first.

“Bobby Cox is a low-key, even-keel kind of guy,” I said. “His team may kick our asses, but he won’t throw down the gauntlet, like La Russa.”

I’ve seen a lot of good competitors in my day, and there is no stereotypical personality trait. As a pitcher, I was deadpan all the way — no emotion. My teammate Don Wilson liked to challenge the other team. He would yell at them and throw pitches at them. The angrier they got, the madder he got — and the better he pitched.

I think La Russa has some of the Don-Wilson-style competitor in his bloodstream. He’s also one of the finest managers in the business.

As we prepared to play the Redbirds, our nemesis team from the year before (2-13), I asked their beat writer, Rick Hummel, about this theory.

“I think he tries to get the guys stirred up,” Rick said. “He likes to make it seem like the whole world is against his team. Then he calls for a circling of the wagons.

“I have to hand it to him. At first, the players weren’t buying it, but they’re with him now.”

I have to admit, I am not a fan of this contentious approach. I prefer the more-civilized style of Cox. I’m going to have to deal with both. The Cardinals came calling today, and we visit the Braves tomorrow.

Hummel asked for my reaction to something La Russa said earlier this spring, to the effect that the Cardinals were the champions of the Central Division and that they weren’t going to give up the crown without a fight.

Ray Knight, the manager of the Reds, cut out the article, highlighted the quote, and displayed it in the Reds’ locker room.

I never saw the exact quote; I only read about Knight’s reaction. To me, it’s sort of juvenile — like pro wrestling. I don’t care what these guys say, unless they single us out.

“It doesn’t bother me a bit,” I told Hummel. “If he starts calling us names, that may be different.”

But this whole La Russa psychological-warfare routine does bother me. I didn’t like it as a pitcher when a beanball contest developed. I did, however, have to deal with it. If I have to deal with it this year, I’ll do my best. But it is not what I would choose.

Ray Knight likes to fight. I’ve seen him in action a few times, and he’s pretty good at it. Perhaps the war between the Reds and the Cards will become as famous as the War of the Roses.

I hope they leave us out of it — and that they battle for second place.

           

Today I met La Russa at home plate. He wore a disarming smile, and we talked briefly about mutual acquaintances.

The Cardinals thumped us with a nine-run inning. I doubt they will see either of the pitchers they saw in that frame when the regular season begins.

I had Bill Virdon relay the signs to Cubby at third base. I kept the lineup card and made the appropriate changes.

I pulled my first double-switch in a five-player changeover in the fifth inning. It worked pretty well, but I could have gained more octane by switching two other positions in the batting order.

Later, I needed to make a double-switch to prevent the pitcher from hitting when we were behind. I couldn’t figure out how do it quickly enough, and Billy Wagner did indeed have to hit, so he could get his two innings in.

I could have easily avoided that scenario by changing catchers when I changed pitchers, but no matter how I studied the card — and I did study it — I couldn’t figure it out. From the booth, I could have done it in a flash. This aspect of lineup changes is going to be a little more challenging that I thought.        

When the Cardinals come calling on the first homestand, I expect a charged atmosphere. It will be light-years away from The Big Bamboo.   

SUNDAY, MARCH 2 ● Kissimmee, vs Kansas City

We opened at home today. Everyone was pumped to wear the white uniforms and trot it out there. I was a bit disconsolate, however. My lefthanded-hitting utility infielder, Bill Spiers, dove for a ball at Winter Haven and hurt his shoulder.

This is exactly how Sean Berry hurt himself last year. Berry sustained a slight tear of the rotator cuff, and he played in pain all season. At first, Spiers’ injury was thought to be less severe. But when he couldn’t lift his arm yesterday, he was injected with cortisone.

I am quite familiar with the cortisone shot. By the end of my pitching days, my shoulder had been punctured more times than a pin cushion.

Usually there is soreness from the shot the next day, but some relief from the injury. Billy had no relief, only pain. He is one of only a few left-handed hitters on our roster, and his bat and versatile glove are precious.

But ever since his second year as the Brewers’ regular shortstop, he has been hurt. A chronic back problem has dogged him for the last five years. Now this. I’m holding out hope that he will still get better. If it’s not a tear, he should be improved tomorrow.

           

During the off-season, we picked up Sid Fernandez. El Sid’s had had enough elbow and knee injuries to keep an orthopedic surgeon in business. Now he has another ailment, which turned up when the team took physicals last weekend.

It started with an irregularity on his cardiogram. That, combined with a blood pressure reading of 180/100, had our trainer in a Red Alert mode. He instructed Sid not to work out until further tests could be arranged.

Next thing you know, there’s El Sid, working out. Seems everyone is disturbed about this except the patient. If he really does have a heart problem, we need another starter. I believe Chris Holt is ready, but he might be able to help us in the bullpen if Sid can make the call.

That was not exactly the way I wanted to start my day.

           

When Bob Boone and I met with the umpires before the game, Bob asked to play the bottom of the ninth, even if we were leading. National League umpire Jeff Kellogg approved the request, and he offered to stay the extra half-inning. That was refreshing, after the treatment we had been getting from the junior-circuit arbiters.

While I was at home plate with the lineup cards, Boone asked me about a mutual friend, Bob Gallagher. Gallagher and Boone were teammates at Stanford, and I roomed with Bob for two years with the Astros.

It was kind of nice to know that you can relax and visit with the other manager and the umps. The first two days, I was too nervous to say much. But this time I was downright loquacious. I asked Boone about Mike Magnante, a lefty who pitched for the Royals last year.

“Mike was a decent pitcher for us last year,” Boone said. “But his problem is that he can’t get lefthanders out. They hit about .340 off him last year, and if they weren’t hitting him, he walked them. His best pitch is a screwball, and that gives righthanders a lot of trouble. But we needed someone to come in and get a lefthander out.”

Unfortunately, so do we. But I’ll try to keep an open mind. Maybe we can sneak up on a few teams before they find out.

I can see it now: the other team has three lefty hitters in a row. I bring in Magnante from the bullpen, and they pinch-hit with three righties.

Naw, I could never get that lucky.

 

We played bombs-away again today. Richard Hidalgo has only been retired once this spring; he’s on fire. And Derek Bell hit a long home run to give us an 8-5 lead in the seventh. But the Royals came back with two in the eighth, and we failed to score.

I brought in Tom Martin, a young lefthander, to protect the one-run lead. This is what you look for in spring training: a chance to test a young man, who is a candidate for the team, in a pressure situation. Martin came through like a champ: 1-2-3. He had a smile as broad as a longhorn steer as he came off the field in a swell of teammates.

“Well, now, I’m a .667 manager,” I told our beat writer Carlton Thompson, as we walked toward the clubhouse together. “That ought to shut you up.”

 

We shared a laugh. Winning is so wonderful. I guess that was the internal message I was hearing as I interviewed for this job. I think it was Joe Torre who said something like, “winning makes the beer taste better, your wife look prettier, and your jokes seem funnier.” There’s nothing like it.

The only thing that took the edge off was that I felt inept again. I know I can do this job, but I wonder how long it’s going to take.

 

Deron Snyder was here again today. He wants to meet me at my watering hole, The Big Bamboo Lounge. I guess he wants a little background atmosphere. Not a bad idea. And if it’s atmosphere he’s seeking, he’ll find it there. The only way I can explain it is to say that you feel like you are entering a time warp.

The place is right on Highway 192 — the most crassly commercial strip I have ever seen. This road leads into Disney World but is not on the Disney property. It offers a cacophony of neon lights, featuring motels, T-shirt shops, one-hour-photo stands, and factory outlets. There are more factory outlets on this ten-mile strip than there are factories in the state of Florida. The one I like the best is the Shell Factory Outlet. I wonder where the shells are made?

But the Bamboo, well, let’s just say it’s an outlet of a different kind — a little hole-in-the-wall. A dirt parking lot, with large declivities that fill with water every time it rains. A cinderblock house converted in a lounge so serene that I have never heard anyone so much as raise their voice in all the years I’ve been a customer.

When you walk in through the screen door, the strains of big-band music greet you. Thousands of artifacts grab your eyeballs in a dizzying trip back through time and across many tropical lands. You feel like you have stepped into a bar in the South Pacific during World War II.

Several years ago, when the proprietor, Bruce Muir, turned 70, I wrote a song about it:

           

            There’s a crazy little bar down in Kissimmee

            Hunkered down in the shadow of Walt Disney

            Well, I’ve been all around and I’m telling you

            There ain’t no place like The Big Bamboo

           

            Oh Big Bamboo, I’m so bamboozled

            By your Island charm

            And your big-band music

            By your artifacts

            Odd and amusing

            C’mon let’s go

            Let’s go Bamboozing

 

            Yes, I’ve been all around and I’m telling you

            There ain’t no place like The Big Bamboo

 

            Oh Big Bamboo, ever so humble

            You’re my hideaway

            In the neon jungle

            And your clientele

            Odd and amusing

            C’mon let’s go

            Let’s go Bamboozing

 

            There’s a crazy little bar down in Kissimmee

            Hunkered down in the shadow of Walt Disney

            Well, I’ve been all around and I’m telling you

            There ain’t no place like The Big Bamboo

            No, there ain’t no place like The Big Bamboo

            My Magic Kingdom is The Big Bamboo

 

            I met Deron there, and he liked it plenty, I could tell. Most everyone does, unless their shirts are starched and stuffed. But who wants those stiffs in there anyway?

SATURDAY, MARCH 1 ● Baseball City, vs Kansas City

I can’t believe the weather. Day after day since February 16, it has been sunny and warm.

This was another beautiful baseball day, at a place called Baseball City. When the Royals moved here, it was with an ambitious master plan for a combination amusement park and stadium.

The midway fell first. It just couldn’t grow in the massive shadow of the Disney empire. And I suppose a lyrical view might have it that the gods were angered at the Royals. Not only had they defied the entertainment deity, they had also blasphemed the sport. How in the world could the Royals — a sixth-generation ballclub — have the audacity to name their spring training home Baseball City?

Sure, they had been a first-rate team for a decade or so, making several trips to postseason play and winning one world championship. But Baseball City in central Florida? C’mon.

Alexander Cartwright had Hawaiians playing baseball before it ever reached the Sunshine State. The Royals couldn’t even coax their own loyal fans to visit Baseball City in great numbers.

It is an excellent facility, but it was doomed from the start. Homer would call it hubris. I would say it is typical of modern baseball folly: a monument to overarching optimism. A stadium in the middle of nowhere, with no Shoeless Joe, no Kevin Costner to deliver it. No, this is not a Field of Dreams. But it was the scene of my first victory as a manager.           

           

Before the game, Gerry came down to the field with some bad news. He had discussed the beer issue with Tal, and Tal blew a gasket. He wouldn’t even entertain the thought of beer on the plane going to another city. I don’t know if it’s because he doesn’t drink much; because he doesn’t want to broach the subject with Drayton; or whether it stems from his close relationship with Bill Virdon.

Bill told me that the only real trouble he ever had as a manager was when the team had beer on the plane. I understood what he was saying, because I’ve seen it myself: broken seats, crying flight attendants, fighting teammates, cursing at coaches. I’ve seen it all. I’ve also seen a team handle the beer situation sensibly when told they would all lose the privilege if one of them screwed up.

My intent was not to bring enough beer for someone to get tanked. If they did that, it would probably be on their own stash. In that case, I would not have a problem with discipline. But my feeling is that the players would handle the offender themselves.

If the players are allowed beer, I can come back and have one with them and talk a little baseball. If not, I have to hide out up front, because I know they will be drinking anyway. Like I said, I’ve seen it both ways — many times, both ways.

Gerry understands where I’m coming from, because he has been on teams himself. Tal has not. Neither has Drayton.

“Tal said that if a guy can’t take a two-hour plane trip without needing a drink, he’s got a drinking problem.” Gerry said.

“I’ve heard that one before, too,” I replied. “And you know what? They are going to bring their own anyway. And if I have to bust them, I will compromise my own position and the camaraderie of the team. It’s a lose-lose situation.”

“We just won’t have a rule.” Gerry said. “We won’t provide it; we won’t prohibit it.”

“You know the thing that gets me most about this, Gerry? It’s the fact that if a guy really does have a problem, I’ll probably find out about it if I’m back there, and maybe we can help him. Some of these guys will bring it on, no matter what. Most of them are fine with it, but some really do have a problem.

“And you know what? Some of the best players I’ve ever seen have had that problem. And you know what? There are lots of different kinds of problems. We can’t solve the drinking problems with a rule. But we can create some other problems for ourselves with that rule. That’s what bugs me.

“If we get off to a good start, the team chemistry will develop, no matter what. But if we don’t, we’re going to have to circle the wagons. And we’re going to have a tough time doing it with a cooler of Gatorade.”

“I hear you,” he said. “But this is a battle we can’t win.”

“Well then, why doesn’t Tal come down and manage the team?”

“C’mon, you know better than that.”

 “I know. I like Tal, and he probably was the one who got me this job. But now that I have it, I want it to be just right. I want it to be my vision of a team — not somebody else’s.”

 “I hear you. There’s just not much we can do.”

 I suppose the only thing that will make things better is winning.

 

I sure felt better after the game than before. Once again, the pitching was shaky. But the hitters came back to life. Biggio hit a three-run homer, we played a reasonably crisp game afield, and we won.

When the last out was made, the players from the field came in as the players from the dugout went out. There was a convergence of high-fives, and for the first time I could really feel warmth from the team. I was congratulated with some real honest smiles, some handshakes, and a few pats on the back. I know it was only a practice game, but the win sure felt good.

I thought I played my cards pretty well. I was patient, didn’t try any gimmicks; just let the players play, and they performed well.

           

When I got back to my townhome, I strapped on the jogging shoes and went for a run. There’s a dirt road nearby, just off the main highway. It weaves through some orange groves, and the fruit is in blossom. As I lumbered along, several dogs charged out to protect their homesteads. I didn’t mind stopping to let them sniff me. I never mind stopping when I’m jogging. But I didn’t mind jogging today, and that’s unusual for me.

With the win and the warm, fragrant breeze, I was at peace. I wondered how often I would be able to say that in the coming months.

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28 ● Winter Haven, vs Cleveland

The injury list has doubled now. Still nothing serious, besides Gutierrez; just a lot of assorted aches and pains. Seems just like I remember it from my playing days: no matter how much you work out before you get to Spring Training, you still get sore.

The hitters won the battle for the fourth consecutive day. This is a little discouraging. You can win without great hitting, but you cannot win without good pitching.

Shane Reynolds started today at Winter Haven, and he pitched reasonably well for two innings. Mike Hampton ran into some bad luck with bloopers and choppers, then threw up a windblown homer. José Lima, who came over with Ausmus in our big offseason trade with the Tigers, tried too hard to impress, got everything up, and had a horrible first inning. We lost the game 9-2 as the Indians staff shut down our hitters for the first time all spring.

I kept the scorecard for a souvenir, but I’m not sure I’ll save it.

  

 

I lost my first big-league start too, and I had a decent career. And I’m not so sure I wasn’t a better pitcher on my 18th birthday than I was a manager at 50. I am certain that I know enough baseball to manage, but this game was illuminating. It’s not going to be so easy at ground level as it was in the broadcast booth.

For one thing, the movement of the players to-and-fro, and the dugout conversations, interrupted my internal dialogue. I found it hard to concentrate. I was late getting signs to Cubby and to our catchers. I was afraid of making a mistake on a double-switch.

These maneuvers seem elementary when you are not distracted. But when the distractions are combined with considerations like this guy can’t run and this other guy can’t play in the field but can hit, it creates a rather intricate web of possibilities. I did not feel particularly adroit in weaving these strands into a neat design.

Oh well, they say that you are going to win 54 games, lose 54, and the other 54 will decide your fate. This was not one of those that I could have changed. And at least it’s a start.

           

I was glad to see Mickey Herskowitz after the game. Mickey is one of the class acts among sportswriters. He’s been at it so long that he covered my pitching debut when he was a young-but-already-veteran writer.

He asked me some questions about starting as a player and now as a manager; insightful questions that begged personal expression. I told him that I felt inadequate, and immediately thought that it was too strong a word. But I also thought that it was an honest description of my feelings. And I certainly hoped that I wouldn’t have to use that word again.

Maybe I won’t, but I have a sense that this job is going to be more difficult than I anticipated — and I thought it was going to be difficult.

Gerry came by my office in Kissimmee after the bus got back. He was curious as to how I felt, and I told him the same thing I told Mickey. He laughed, and I immediately felt better.

Gerry is an intensely competitive man. But he also has a disarmingly sensitive side. He can be tough, and he can also be understanding. I’m sure I will see both sides as we go along.