RMJ 74 April 29

TUESDAY, APRIL 29 ● Houston, vs Colorado

“I’ve come to disturb you,” she said. How could she disturb anyone with her mellifluous, cheerful voice? 

It didn’t take long to pack for a two-day jaunt to Montreal. One nice thing about it is that we won’t have to wait for bags; you can carry everything you need.

I was still a little weary when Cubby came by at 9:30, and I was still rather relaxed when we got to the Dome.

My bio-weather map is fairly predictable: Fog in the waking hours; overcast and balmy, with soft, caressing breezes in the morning; sunny until bedtime. I have a little trouble getting the day underway, and I often find it difficult to turn out the lights.

Today, the bright sun greeted me in the morning, when I was still in a lounging mode. I had drawn up the lineup and had it posted, and I was reviewing matchup information regarding their relief pitchers and our hitters, when Bill came into my office, red-faced and out of breath.

“I just had it out with Derek,” he said. “I did it in front of everybody, because I wanted them to hear it.”

I had Thomas Howard playing center, and I figured Derek was mad about being benched — but that was not the bone of contention. It was that most dreaded drill: infield practice.

This has become oddly humorous to me. Almost every day, someone gripes about infield. The drill itself does not require much effort. I used to think it was somewhat enjoyable. Everyone took infield every day when I played, and I never heard anyone complain about it.

I may be wrong, but my suspicion is that the players don’t like to go down to the field half-an-hour before game time, because there will be a hundred kids behind the dugout seeking autographs. Nobody wants to sign for half-an-hour leading up to the game. But it is hard to sign for some and not for others. It is hard for a lot of guys to say, “Can’t do it now. Catch you later.”

The easiest thing is to not go down to the field. But that is not the case with Derek. He likes to sign and talk with the fans. With him, it’s always the attention thing.

“He told me he has a sore arm,” Bill said. “I told him, ‘that’s bullshit.’ I watch him throw every day. He doesn’t have a sore arm.”

“He’s probably just mad because he’s not in the lineup,” I said.

“But that’s no excuse for missing infield,” Bill replied, still in a huff. “If anything, it’s a reason to take infield: to get loose so you’re ready to play when the time comes.”

“You know that, and I know that,” I said. “But we don’t think like Derek. I’ll go over and talk to him. But I don’t want to fine him. The money doesn’t mean anything to him, and it may drive him deeper into his slump, if that’s possible.”

 “You don’t have to fine him,” Bill said. “You don’t even have to talk to him. As far as I’m concerned, it’s over. I think the rest of the guys know where we stand on infield. They were all there listening.”

I talked to Mac before I talked to Derek. Mac suspected that it was more about the lineup than infield. He advised me not to broach the lineup subject.

“That’s your prerogative,” he said. “He has nothing to say about that. But that doesn’t mean he can skip infield. And that’s what you need to tell him. This is a team, and he’s on it. He needs to know that you are depending on him, as one of the veterans, to be a leader.”

I thought this was good advice, and that was my focus.

Derek was hurt. Bill’s tirade obviously had some impact.

“He yelled at me in front of the whole team,” Derek said. “Nobody can talk like that to me. He embarrassed me.”

“Look, D,” I said. “You ought to know Bill by now. He’s old-school. He has one way to look at the world: through his own eyes. I see things a little differently, and you only see things through your eyes.

“We may not agree, but we are a team. It’s like we said at Vero that day: this is not Derek Bell and the Houston Astros; it is not Jeff Bagwell and the Houston Astros. This is just The Astros. It’s a team.

“You’re not going to like everything about your job. Nobody does. But how can we complain? We get paid pretty good to mostly do what we like to do anyway.”

“I know that,” he said. “But that’s no excuse to talk to a man that way. If I didn’t have a sore arm, I would have gone down there.”

“Look,” I said. This isn’t about infield. It’s about being a winning team. That’s what bothers Bill. That’s what we all want. You are a veteran player, and whether you like it or not, the young guys watch everything you do. If your arm hurts, go down and do a little running. At least be a part of the team. That’s what’s important to me.”

We continued in this vein for a while, and I had the impression that he had settled down. Not long after that, I saw him clowning around on the bench.

The sad thing about the ongoing saga of Derek Bell is that he seems so full of joy most of the time. I’m glad he is disturbed about his slump; it reveals his competitive nature. But I hate to have him abuse the coaching staff over it.

Oh, well. At least I was wide-awake when the game started at 12:35.          

           

I know some of the coaches were a little concerned that we were sending Donne Wall to the mound to snap a three-game losing streak. Most of them did not see Donne last year; they only saw him get massacred this spring. I felt pretty good about it; I saw him beat the Rocks twice last year. I also thought we would hit Roger Bailey.

I was right about Donne and wrong about Bailey.

Last year we creamed Bailey in his only start against us. This time around, he was sporting a 3-0 record and pitching with confidence. His fastball was in the 88 MPH range, but he spotted it well and had good breaking stuff and a terrific changeup.

Donne gave up a run in the second inning, and we got it back in the third inning when Bagwell hit one of those changeups into left for a single, driving in Biggio. Sean Berry gave us the lead with a solo HR in the fourth. It was sweet revenge, because in the second inning, Bailey had drilled Sean in the elbow.

I had to take Sean out of the game two innings later, because his elbow was swelling. Then I had to take Donne out in the seventh, because he pulled a groin muscle.

This is where I made my first real mistake as a manager.

When I went to check on Donne, Russ Springer was already warming up. It was obvious that Donne couldn’t continue, so I motioned for Russ. Then I remembered something that Bill had told me:

“I always keep the lineup card in my hat, in case something happens while I’m out on the field. That way, I can go over the changes with the umpire without going back to the dugout.”

On this occasion, I took the lineup card out and realized that the pitcher’s spot would be third in the bottom of the seventh, and that I might want to double-switch. If I put Bell in for Gonzalez, he would be batting third in the seventh, and Springer would be batting eighth.

“Let’s see here,” I said. “I might want to make another move.”

“You can’t double-switch the pitcher,” homeplate umpire Bob Davidson said. “You’ve already called him in.”

“I know,” I said. “But I didn’t come out to change pitchers. I came out for the injury.”        

“That’s true,” he said. “And in this case, you can cross the foul line. But you still have to tell me about the switch before you call for the pitcher.”

He started to say more, but I realized that I had no argument.

“I understand,” I said as I left the mound. “I just messed up.”

This was a case of the team picking me up.

Springer struck out Dante Bichette to end the inning. I pinch-hit Bell for him, and we did not score. But then Bagwell blasted a home run to lead off the bottom of the eighth, and Hudek closed the deal. Bagwell’s home run was one of the most-impressive I have seen him hit. It certainly wasn’t the longest, but he hit it on a line and it had overspin. Until that moment, I didn’t think it was possible to hook a line drive out of that part of the ballpark.

Hudek was impressive too. He hit 94 on the gun — his top reading of the year. He struck out two of the three batters.

           

After the game, I was talking about Hudek to one of the writers, who told me that Hudek had told him that he was pleased with the way things were going.

“I know how he’s going to use us now, and I feel great about it,” is the way the writer reported it to me.

I’m not sure this enthusiasm will last all year, but I am hopeful that John finally realizes that I have confidence in him and that I will give him save opportunities. I think he now realizes there will be enough opportunities to go around.

 

On the flight to Montreal, one of the players sent me a cold beer in a paper sack. Gosh, it sure is nice to know the guys are thinking of me while they ignore the rules. Sometimes ignoring the rules can pay off, like when Gonzo ran through Cubby’s stop sign in San Diego and scored.

As long as there is no incident, we will have no problem with the beer. At this point, I would say our chances are about 50-50.