RMJ 88 May 13

TUESDAY, MAY 13 ● New York, vs Mets

Most of this morning lapsed in a veil of sleep. I came out of it when the phone rang in the middle of a strange-but-not-unpleasant dream: the producer of The Fabulous Sports Babe Show was on the other end of the line.

One moment I was on a ranch in the Rockies, hiking over dunes of snow, looking for my car; the next, I was the sleepy-eyed manager of the Astros, trying not to accept or reject an invitation to join The Babe on her syndicated radio show. 

It seemed like something I should do to help promote the team, and at the same time, it seemed like the course that would fill my plate to overflowing. I said that I had to talk to Gerry about some personnel decisions — which was true — and I promised to get back to them.

The decision I have in mind is what to do with Pat Listach.

I keep saying Pat is a great guy — because he is — but he doesn’t have a role on this team, now that Ricky Gutierrez is back. That could change if Ricky or Bill Spiers gets hurt. But in that event, we still have Tim Bogar.

Bogar would seem to be the odd-man-out, except for the fact that he has a strong suit: fielding. And he is used to being a role player. Every time I look at Pat on the bench, I feel guilty.

Another good pinch-hitter would help a lot more now.

 

I had lunch with my broadcasting agent, Bob Rosen. I passed along a floppy disk of my journal for him to review. He said he had made some preliminary phone calls, and the early reaction was promising.

“I guess it all depends on whether we win or not,” I said.

“Not necessarily,” he replied. “Although it would be better if you did.”

I mentioned that I must insist that he keep the contents of the journal confidential. Obviously, I will have to find some innocuous samples to share.

What I am concerned about is the players, like Listach, who might be affected by a book. 

Bob gave me an introductory education on the publishing business. The prospect of a book is exciting, but I feel that I must treat my managing duties as the number-one priority until I get the axe.

The axe will fall at some time, but I don’t think it will be sometime soon. It’s not that I am doing such a great job; it’s more the idea that Drayton, Tal, and Gerry put themselves on the firing line when they hired me, and I don’t think they will want to admit it was a mistake before they are absolutely sure.

Because I continue to believe that we have a good team and that we will continue to win our share of the games, I do not think they will be able to make that judgment quickly.

Tonight we played a decent game against the Mets, but lost 4-3. It has been more difficult for me to shrug off these last two weeks of lackluster play than it would have been from the booth. But I knew it would be this way. 

 

I tried to call my mother three times on Mother’s Day, and I failed. She was in Palm Springs, and she had forgotten to leave her answering machine on.

When I called her after the game tonight, she said, “I don’t know if I can make it through the whole year if you keep playing these one-run games. Your Dad cusses the TV every time the other team gets a hit.

“I never thought I’d be glad to see football season come along, but I don’t know how much more baseball we can stand.”

When Rick and I gave them the satellite dish for Christmas, I knew that it would be a mixed blessing. Even if we experience ecstasy in the end, there will be a lot of agony along the way.

I understand this. Sure, I have been pissed at times, discouraged at times, and it could get worse — even in a pennant-winning season. That goes with the territory. The agony and the ecstasy are the raison d’etre of my lust for the job. It heightens the sensation of being alive, by making every day an intense experience.

When The Sports Babe wants to talk to you, and newspaper reporters scurry along like a personal retinue, it makes you feel important. Who, I might ask, would demur at this attention? Not me. I’ve got a little ham and a little cockiness cleverly disguised in an outwardly modest persona.

My Mom and Dad always told me that I was blessed with brains and brawn, and that I could do anything, be anything I wanted to be. I have long since learned that this is not entirely true. And I have tried to humble myself before the Lord for at least a few moments every day.

But this job is an opiate. There is no doubt about it.