RMJ 70 April 25

FRIDAY, APRIL 25 ● Houston, vs San Francisco

I slept luxuriously until 11:00. Cubby called for a ride; he wanted to get to the Dome by 2:00. My preference would be 3:00 or 3:30, but I have found that when I arrive early, I don’t want for things to do.

This time there was a mountain of mail and about 50 photos and a dozen balls to sign. There was a scouting report on the Giants, and pitcher/batter matchups to review.

I still remember what Kirt Manwaring said about Giants manager Dusty Baker last summer:

“Dusty is just like one of the guys,” he said. “Sometimes he’ll come back to the back of the plane and talk about something that happened in the game. And he’s not a know-it-all. I remember one time he said, ‘What the hell was I thinking about trying to steal in that situation with Barry (Bonds) at bat? You guys ought to fine me for being a dumbass.’”

This gave me great appreciation for Dusty’s leadership style. When someone who works hard and has talent admits failure, it is so disarming.

I think John McMullen’s biggest failing when he owned the Astros was that he could not admit to making a mistake.

McMullen took the team from bankruptcy to respectability. He was a hands-on owner who had a good knowledge of the game, and he put his money behind the team. We won our division twice under his stewardship.

Like everyone else, John made a few mistakes. His image problem was the result of his adamant defense of himself. If he had just said, “OK, I blew that one. But I’m not going to quit. We’re going to overcome this mistake and move on to bigger and better things,” he would have been forgiven. 

For instance, there was a rumor that he was going to move the team to Washington, D.C.  When the writers asked him about it, he said he hadn’t thought about it, but if attendance didn’t improve, he might consider it.

All he had to say was, “this is the first I’ve heard about it,” even if it wasn’t. 

Same with firing GM Tal Smith, and raising the parking prices at the Astrodome. 

He was not a bad owner, but he was far from perfect — and he always managed to say the exact wrong thing when there was a microphone nearby.

I have emphasized the inevitability of our failures several times in team meetings. The point is to draw inspiration from defeat; seek out the joy of picking up a teammate.

If a guy doesn’t get the run in from third with no outs, the next guy gets him in. If I call for a squeeze and it backfires into a double play, pick me up with a two-out rally. This is the nature of winning teams: they do not dwell on failure; they do not deny it; they simply overcome it.

And that was the case in tonight’s game against the Giants.

             

In the first inning, the Giants scored a run on a passed ball by Brad Ausmus. In the second, Kile served up a fat pitch to Rick Wilkins with two outs and the pitcher on deck. Wilkins hit it out of the park: 2-0.

In the third, Stan Javier, led off with a triple. It wasn’t a good pitch, but Bobby Abreu got a glove on the ball and couldn’t hold it. A sacrifice fly made it 3-0.

All three of these runs could have been avoided. Still, it could have been worse, as Kile retired Barry Bonds twice.

In the bottom of the fourth, Biggio singled. I put on the hit-and-run, and Listach singled to left, moving Bidge to third with no outs. Bagwell then hit a 3-1 pitch into the pavilion seats to tie the score.

In the meantime, Kile settled down and was pitching a fine ballgame. We got a run in the sixth on two infield hits and two walks.

But the Giants have been overcoming mistakes themselves in putting together a record of 14-4. I knew they were far from finished.

In the top of the eighth, Kile showed some signs of slowing down. He was already over 100 pitches, but his control was excellent.

With two outs, José Vizcaino reached on an error by Listach. The next hitter was the dangerous Glenallen Hill.

Vern thought Kile was spent. We had Wagner ready. I went to the mound and Darryl wanted to continue pitching. I didn’t feel nearly as positive about it as I had in Atlanta and Los Angeles. I didn’t think D.K. had quite as much life on his fastball, and the Giants have been his nemesis team.

Biggio came in and exhorted Darryl to “pick Pat up.” Ausmus said that Darryl was still throwing well.

“Do you have a plan for Hill?” I asked.

“Fastballs in, breaking balls down and away,” Brad said.

By that time, plate umpire Bob Davidson arrived on the scene.

“He’s still throwing good. Leave him in there,” Davidson said.

“OK,” I said. “Go get him.”

Kile’s first pitch to Hill was a fastball out over the plate. Hill hit a long fly to right, and Bobby Abreu leaped against the scoreboard and came within inches of catching the ball. It went for a triple. The score was tied, and Bonds was due.

I went to the mound again. When Kile gave me the ball, I said. “You made a mistake. Don’t worry about it. Bagwell doesn’t get a hit every time. We just have to pick each other up. You pitched a helluva game. Billy’s going to shut them down, and we’re going to win.”

 As Wagner made his way to the mound, Brad asked me if I wanted to walk Bonds.

“What do you think?” I asked.

“I think you gotta walk him. He’s the man.”

“But if we walk him, he’ll steal second, and then if Kent gets a hit it’ll be two runs, not one. Kent is hotter than Bonds right now.”

Brad shook his head and grimaced. It was not an easy call.  

My instinct was to pitch to him. I asked Billy, and he wanted to pitch to him too.    

“Go get him,” I said.

With a 1-1 count, Bonds dribbled the ball in front of the plate. Brad picked it up and threw him out.

We did not score in the bottom of the inning, and Billy walked one and struck out the other three in the top of the ninth. I was not going to pitch him in the tenth. I was hoping there would be no tenth.

Even in a tense game like this, there is room for comic relief. As we came to bat, The Perfessor asked me if I wanted Springer if it stayed tied, or Hudek if we got the lead. 

“If we get the lead, we win,” I said. “This is the bottom of the ninth.”

Vern had a sheepish look on his face. He had driven to his home in Texarkana on the off-day to see his son play a high-school game and to catch up on relations with his wife, Darlene. He left straight from the Dome and didn’t get home until noon. Then he slept two hours and got up for his son’s game. He slept about six hours that night and drove straight to the Dome.

“What the hell did Darlene do to you last night?” I asked. You’re still in la la land.”

Bill was standing alongside, and he got a good chuckle out of it. Vern laughed at himself too. As I said, self-effacement can be disarming.

“C’mon, let’s win it right here!” Vern yelled.

Gonzo just about broke out of his slump with a game-winning homer. Javier caught it with his back against the centerfield fence. Berry then had a tough at-bat, drawing a walk on a 3-2 pitch. Bobby Abreu, who had missed two chances to make run-saving catches, singled Berry to third.

Now I had another decision to make. Dusty had a lefthander throwing in the bullpen; I had Thomas Howard and Tony Eusebio ready to pinch-hit. Ausmus was the batter. He is hot right now, but clearly not in an RBI league with either of my potential pinch-hitters.

The pitcher’s spot was next. I decided to let Ausmus bat, because if I hit with Howard, Dusty would go to the bullpen. Then if I went to Tony, who is in a slump, I would have used up the two guys I’ve got who can hit Rod Beck, the Giants’ closer. I had to consider that this game could go into extra innings.

Brad brought this internal discourse to a rapid conclusion by ripping the first pitch into left for a game-winning hit. We poured out onto the field to congratulate him.

It was a great homecoming.

 

While I was meeting the press, I just about embarrassed myself. After the TV guys left, I started to disrobe while talking to the print media. One of the reporters was Jody Goldstein of the Chronicle. I just about pulled my pants down right in front of her. I caught myself, and let my zipper linger at half-mast, playing it cool.

I am sure she has seen naked men in locker rooms and elsewhere, but I amused myself by being modest and nonchalant at the same time.

           

When I got home, Judy was fired up. She wasn’t sleepy at all. We sat on the porch and talked for a long time, then enjoyed a romantic interlude of rare sensuality. It was a night I will never forget.

But I know that when I wake up tomorrow, it will still be April — a long march from October.