RMJ 58 April 13

SUNDAY, APRIL 13 ● St. Louis, vs Cardinals

On Saturday night, St. Louis was vibrant; Sunday morning was cold and clear. The streets were deserted. I didn’t even see a bird as I walked through the park out in front of the Gateway Arch.

 

I was looking for two things: a haircut and a cigar. It didn’t take long to realize I wouldn’t find either. Downtown St. Louis was about as exciting as an intentional walk.

I took an intentional walk to the ballpark about 2:00, out of sheer boredom. ESPN invented the Sunday-night game to give the sports junkie one last fix before he must return to the workday world. I enjoy Sunday Night Football in the winter, but I don’t care much for Sunday Night Baseball. After Tiger Woods, our game with the Redbirds seemed rather insignificant.

Going in, I thought we had a real good shot at beating them. Alan Benes beat us a couple times last year, but I thought he was hittable. On our side, Mike Hampton had a better lifetime record against the Cardinals than any other team.

I don’t know if we were just as dead as the city, or whether Benes killed us. I think it was probably a little of both. 

Benes pitched shutout ball for the first seven innings, and Hampton ran into double trouble in the fifth, giving up four runs on four consecutive doubles, a ground ball, and a sacrifice fly. Four consecutive doubles ties a major-league record. Remarkably, they came on four consecutive pitches. The Cardinals took Benes out after seven, and we made a token comeback. We ended up losing the game 7-2.

 

Afterward, a few guys stayed around to commiserate. If there wasn’t anything to do on Sunday morning in St. Louis, there wasn’t going to be much on Sunday night.

The last two players in the clubhouse were Biggio and Bagwell. The Perfessor and I had just finished reviewing tape of Hampton’s double jeopardy, and we were on the way out when I noticed the right side of my infield.

“I’m going to stick around a little longer,” I told Vern.

This was an opportunity I’ve been looking for since our third game in Atlanta, when Lemke and Klesko pulled balls through the right side of the infield in double-play situations. I believe Biggio needs to play farther off the second-base bag and cut off part of the hole against lefthanded hitters. But this is a sensitive area. He is an infielder and an All-Star. He thinks he knows where to play, and he plays there for one reason: to win.

“If I were pitching with the second-baseman that close to the bag, I’d try for a fly ball or a strikeout,” I told him. “I’d try to keep him from hitting that hole, but that defeats the purpose of trying to get a double play.”

His contention is that the hole is going to be there anyway, as long as the first-baseman is holding the runner. This is clearly correct. What I am talking about is a matter of degree: the size of the hole.

“Look,” I said, pulling out a legal pad and a pencil. “Let’s pretend this is the infield and instead of running counterclockwise, we run to third first, and so on. 

“Now you are a righthanded batter. What would you try to do if the third-baseman was standing next to the bag and the shortstop was ten feet away from second?”

“I’d pull the ball through the hole,” he said. “That’s why lefthanded hitters have such an advantage.”

“Exactly,” I said. “But if we don’t cheat for the double play on the pull side, we close off part of the

hole.

“I know what you’re saying,” he said. “But if the ball is hit to short with me way off the bag, I can’t get there in time to make the double play.”

“That’s OK,” I said. “As a pitcher, I am happy to get an out and keep the runner on first. I have no problem with the force play. What bothers me is runners on first and third, without getting anyone out.”

“Hey, if that’s the way you want it, you’re the manager. We’ll play it the way you want it. It’s just that I’ve always been told that you have to get the double play when you have the chance.”

This process was beginning to track like the seams of the ball: round and round with artful curves, but never going anywhere.

Bagwell joined in at various intervals and added his insight, but he didn’t really change anything. The only conclusion we came to was that no matter where we played, there would be holes in the defense.

I asked Bidge to consider moving a little, to at least present a less-inviting image to the hitter.

“We’ll sort of keep track mentally and see how it goes,” I said.

The conversation then turned to the number-two-hitter spot. Biggio and Bagwell are concerned about this spot, because they hit first and third, respectively. 

Several times when we have rallied, the opposing team has pitched around Biggio because a weaker hitter — say, Pat Listach or Brad Ausmus — has been behind him. This dilemma is similar to the one I just mentioned to Biggio: you have to give up something to get something better.

If I move a stronger hitter to the two-spot, the end of the lineup is weak, and the opposing pitcher has a chance to have some easy innings.

I have been toying with the idea of putting Bobby Abreu up there. He is fast, has a good eye, he can bunt, and he hits the ball with authority. Actually, I have had this idea for some time, but Bobby is a rookie. I wanted to get him started at the end of the lineup, where there is not so much pressure.

If he hits second and Eusebio plays, we still have some clout down at the bottom. But then we give up our leadership behind the plate.

It is not an easy question to answer.