RMJ 87 May 12

MONDAY, MAY 12 ● Miami, vs Florida

Cubby, Ash, and I played golf at Weston Hills. We left the hotel at 7:30 and teed off in a drizzle at 8:15.

I could get a hernia playing with these two guys. They hit it a ton — 300 yards or better — when they catch all of it.

The rain stopped on the fourth hole, and then came down in a torrent just as we finished.  The course was more than a match for us, despite the long drives.

We returned to the hotel feeling damp and limp. A bite to eat was bound to lift our spirits; at least that’s what Ash and I thought as we stopped at the Riverfront Cafe for lunch.

Maybe this should have been our second clue that this was not to be our day, but we didn’t pick up on it. We had plenty of time before we needed to go to the ballpark, and the terrible service was no more than a minor inconvenience. It really shouldn’t take 45 minutes to get a cup of soup, but it did. And when it came out in a custard dish, I had to laugh.

“You think that’s funny?” Ash said. “Look what they give you to eat it with.”

I rolled the silverware out of my napkin: a knife and a fork.

 

A tempestuous downpour darkened the afternoon, and assured us that there would be no batting practice or infield practice on the field, so we took the bus to the ballpark.

By the time we got there, the sky had cleared and the prospects for getting the game in looked good. We had Shane Reynolds going against Pat Rapp.

I felt pretty good about the matchup, and we started out well, with a 3-1 lead courtesy of a homer by Bell and a sacrifice fly by Bagwell.

The head groundskeeper said there was a big storm coming in.

“I’m going to tell the umpires that when it starts, we need to cover the field before it gets too wet,” he said.

As Shane went out to pitch the bottom of the fourth, it started drizzling. Before the inning got started, the game was delayed, and the tarps came out. Now it was a waiting game, and anything could happen, because you are never sure what your starting pitcher can give you the second time around after a delay.

The odd thing about this rain delay is that it quit raining shortly after the tarps were in place. It rained hard for about ten minutes; the rest of the time, it either drizzled or did not rain at all.

Finally, after an hour and 20 minutes, they removed the tarps and we resumed the game. Ten minutes later, it started drizzling again, and the showers continued until the soggy end.

I know it seems petty, but I suspected the grounds crew of delaying the game so that it wouldn’t go five innings. I think they tried to restart the game right before the big storm was going to hit, hoping to get washed out.

It’s hard for me to convince myself that they would really do this, because when it’s 3-1 in the fourth inning, it’s still anybody’s ballgame.  Let’s just say the timing of the forecast we got from the groundskeeper was not accurate. The decisions to not play when it wasn’t raining — and to play when it was raining — were also curious.

On top of that, the grounds crew spread a drying substance called Turface on the mound each time the Marlins took the field, and they did not do it when our pitcher went out to warm up. I suppose this is what they call the home-field advantage, and it really worked: after the delay, it was all fish — and we were cut bait.

We had a rested bullpen, but Shane Reynolds is our ace, and he wanted to continue pitching after the delay, so we let him. He said he could not remember trying to pitch after a long delay; I’m sure he has done it somewhere along the line. I’m sure I did it too, but I can’t remember.

Perhaps this is a sign that we have filed the disastrous event deep in our subconscious. If that is the case, this one will be hidden away for sure. It could have been different if Craig Biggio had just caught one ground ball.

The play in question came with one out and the bases loaded in the bottom of the fourth. Pat Rapp, the pitcher, was due, and Leyland pinch-hit with Jim Eisenreich. That was convenient for him, in a way. It is always hard to decide whether or not to let your starting pitcher continue. In this case, the situation made it an easy decision,

Eisenreich hit a sharp ground ball right to Biggio, and it went through his legs for an error. They ended up scoring five runs instead of one, and they ended up beating the tar out of us.

At one point, Russ Springer hit Bobby Bonilla with a pitch, and Bonilla started walking to the mound with a threatening glare on his face. Jeff Conine came out and stopped him, and there was no incident.

At that point, I was so mad, I didn’t care if we had a brawl. This is bad judgment by any standards. It’s a long season, and someone invariably gets hurt in these melées.

It’s usually not a punch that does the damage; I got a spike wound one time when I was trying to hold Bobby Valentine down on the ground.  Many players have been crushed on the bottom of the pile.

In view of our reversed fortunes, I wasn’t feeling any sympathy for Bonilla. I wasn’t too proud of my ability to rally the troops, either. We just seemed to go comatose after Biggio’s error, even though there was still plenty of time for a comeback. I made a mental note to have a short team meeting before our series with the Mets. 

I’m getting a lot of publicity for being a laid-back guy — a Parrothead, if you will — but I don’t abide losing easily, and I want them to know that.

 

We arrived in New York at 4:30 a.m. and got to bed a little after 5:00.

I had one more thought, riding the bus to the hotel: because we have no way to manipulate the weather to our benefit because of the Dome, I thought we would have our grounds crew pour a bucket of water on the mound in the top of each inning the next time we host the Marlins.