RMJ 91 May 16

FRIDAY, MAY 16 ● Philadelphia, vs Phillies

We went to the other end of the baseball spectrum tonight: winning what should have been a laugher, but which turned out to be the opposite.

In the first inning, Craig Biggio hit a home run — the 100th of his big-league career. We went on to score seven runs, by far our top inning of the year.

Chris Holt was a little wild, but he managed to shut down the Phillies in the bottom of the frame.

In the second inning, Holt came up with runners on first and second and one out.

“What do you want to do?” Bill asked.

“Bunt them over,” I replied. Then I thought about it.

I was asked to bunt in a similar situation at Candlestick Park. I squared around, and the first pitch was low. Then I heard Charlie Fox, the manager of the Giants, yell, “Knock him on his ass!”

I looked down and got the bunt sign again. I squared around, and lefty Ron Bryant knocked me on my ass.

I looked again: same sign. Same result.

Now it was 3-0. I did not look for a sign. I did not square around. Bryant threw a strike. On the next pitch, I grounded out.

By that time our manager, Harry Walker, was yelling at Fox — and

Fox was firing back. We went on to win the game easily.

Afterward, Harry and Charlie got into it in the walkway that leads to the locker rooms. They had to be separated by their players.

The point of the dispute is the unwritten baseball law that you should not embarrass the other team. Charlie thought my bunting when we were already 8 or 10 runs ahead was rubbing it in; I wasn’t sure what to think, but I knew I didn’t need the extra runs, and I didn’t enjoy having pitches thrown at my head.

Harry was yelling at Charlie, “If you promise not to hit home runs, I’ll promise not to bunt.” Charlie’s reply was not so civil.

So now, I am the manager in a similar situation. What do I do?

After Bill asked me and I called for the bunt, I asked him, “Is this showing them up?”

“In the second inning?” he said, incredulously. “No way.”

I thought it was a respectful move. After all, we were giving them the second out of the inning.

Holt came through, then Biggio hit a three-run homer. We went on to score four runs to make it 11-0. I wasn’t sure how Phillies manager Terry Francona was taking this beating, but I was feeling pretty good.

When Kile and Wagner shut the Mets out 1-0, neither Vern nor I so much as left the dugout. Wouldn’t it be nice, I thought, if I didn’t have to leave the dugout or make a hard decision two days in a row?

It looked like it would go just that way. Holt left with an 11-3 lead after six innings.  At that juncture, I took Ricky Gutierrez out of the game so his bruised elbow could be treated, and I put Ken Ramos in left field so he could make his major-league debut and get the butterflies out. 

Ramón Garcia came in to get a couple innings of work, and before he got the third out of his first inning, the Phils had scored four runs — three coming when Scott Rolen hit Garcia’s curve ball into the seats.

Vern and I looked at one another in disbelief. We have been trying our best to get Garcia to stop throwing the curve. It is his favorite pitch, and by far his worst. 

I went to the mound to change pitchers, and when The Chief departed, I asked Ausmus, “Why does he insist on throwing that fucking curveball?”

“I don’t know,” Brad said. “I just can’t figure out what he’s trying to do. He mixes up his pitches, but he’s got no clue how to work a batter.”

Tom Martin came in and got the third out. He made it through the eighth too, but only after the Phils got two baserunners.

I was sweating bullets; the momentum of the game was clearly turning, and I didn’t want to have to use Wagner. Bagwell turned the momentum in the top of the ninth inning with a solo home run.

When John Hudek went out to pitch the bottom of the ninth, I was as anxious as I have been all year. It was cold, and I was shivering from the inside out.

Two weeks ago, I would have trusted Hudie with a one-run lead. Now, I felt desperate with a five-run cushion. My fears were realized when Hudek immediately put two men on base.

His best pitch is a riding fastball. He normally throws it 92-95 MPH, and he gets pop flies and strikeouts. Tonight, he was throwing it in the high 80s. At that speed, he could easily get touched for a homer.

When the second runner got on base, I told Vern that if another runner reached, I wanted him to go to the mound and stall for time while Wagner started throwing.

Luckily, it didn’t come to that: Hudie pitched out of it, and we won 12-7.

           

There was no real exhilaration as we poured onto the field for the congratulatory high-five celebration. Everyone shared my fears to some degree: if we had lost this game, it would have been devastating.

Watching SportsCenter in the postgame locker room, I learned that the Giants had coughed up a nine-run lead in Montreal:

I started a discussion with the coaches about when I should start putting in the reserve players, and in which inning I should stop trying to score more runs by stealing and hit-and-run tactics.

After several coaches spoke up, I realized that there was no rule-of-thumb.

Bill said that he would keep the pressure on until at least the seventh inning. He said that it pissed him off when the other team started playing behind his baserunners at first, because they expected him not to run, as a courtesy:

“If they’re going to play behind the runner and take my hitter’s hole away on the right side, I feel like I should run. I didn’t always do it, because I wanted to let a sleeping dog lie — but I sure felt like it.”

Tom McCraw was more blunt.

“This is professional baseball, not The Amateur Hour. You should try to win at all times, no matter what. If the other team doesn’t like it, fuck ’em.”

The locker room was quiet. It was almost as if we had lost the game. Some of the players were watching the Braves and Cardinals play.

When we got back to the hotel, Gerry and I stepped into the bar for a beer. The Braves game was still scoreless in the eleventh. We watched and talked about big-market and small-market teams, and about Drayton’s expectation that we “get a little more out of our players than the other team.”

“He thinks we can win with a $30 million budget,” Gerry said. “And we can, if we get lucky. But he keeps bringing up Montreal and Pittsburgh as examples of low-budget teams that are winning. Well, they may be winning now, but you know as well as I do, they won’t win the championship in the end.

“The Expos are amazing, the way they lose free agents year after year and keep bringing up great-looking rookies. They continue to field good teams. But what have they won? Nothing.”

Tom McCraw came over, and we started talking about the hit-and-run play. I mentioned that Biggio had suggested that we hit-and-run more often in New York. At one point, I told Bill to put on the hit-and-run, and he said, “there’s two outs.” I told him not to put it on, and then asked him between innings, “Why wouldn’t you put the hit-and-run on with two outs?”

“Because they can’t make a double play with two outs,” he said. 

“Then you’re saying it’s a defensive play. And yet Biggio wants to use it, because he thinks we need to be more aggressive. Which is it?”

I clearly do not have the perspective of a position player; I need coaches who played positions, just like Bill needed a pitching coach when he managed. But Bill has opinions about pitching, just like I have my own feelings about offense.

I want to play for the big inning until late in the game, when one run will win it. It seems to me that hitting-and-running is a play that could lead to a big inning if the batter gets a hit; it could move a runner and avoid a double play; or it could backfire if the hitter misses the ball and the runner is thrown out stealing.

My impression is that it is a play designed in the dead-ball era when home runs – indeed, any runs — were scarce.

In this era, I believe the hit-and-run is an anachronism, unless you have a good base stealer at first and a weak contact hitter at the plate. This situation does not occur often, so I find myself disinclined to use the play at all.

Tommy was wary when I asked if it was an offensive or a defensive play.

“It depends,” he said. “If you’re going against a Greg Maddux, who gets all those ground balls and is hard to score on, it’s an offensive play. If it’s some guy you have a chance to hit hard, I don’t like it.”

This is exactly what I wanted him to say, in front of Gerry. I know Gerry is frustrated that we don’t bunt much, and we don’t run much.

The reason we don’t bunt escapes me. I give them the bunt-option sign all the time, yet we don’t have a single bunt hit that I can remember; our opponents have bunted safely eight or ten times. 

The running game is different; I know why they don’t run. It’s either because of a pitcher who has a good move to first or is quick to the plate, or a catcher with a good, accurate arm.  More often than not, one or more of these scenarios is operative.

So far, only the Pirates have struck out more than we have. This means that we swing-and-miss a lot. If we don’t trust ourselves to steal, and we are having trouble making contact, why would I want to hit-and-run?

On our club, Brad Ausmus is a good hit-and-run hitter. Biggio is good at it too. But Biggio is also our second-most-powerful hitter. I want him to pick the pitch he wants to hit, because of the likelihood of an extra-base hit. If I make him hit-and-run, I take away his power potential.

So that leaves me with one guy – Ausmus — and I have used him several times in this role.

I hate to have our offense seem static, but nothing kills a rally faster than a runner being caught stealing on a busted hit-and-run.

I think Gerry was fascinated by our observations. Fact is, I think he is like most folks in the sense that he regards the hit-and-run as an aggressive play. But I suspect most managers think of it is a way to avoid the double play.

Several years ago, I read through the Elias stat book page by page, and I found that the best ground-ball pitchers induce one double play in five opportunities. Strikeout and fly-ball pitchers, like Hudek or Nolan Ryan, get the twin-killing about once every 15 or 20 tries.

In my opinion, hitting-and-running to avoid the double play is ridiculous against all but a few special pitchers, and with all but a few special hitters. In other words, I generally don’t like the play. Even the psychology of it bugs me; everyone has a built-in excuse for failing. The batter can say it was a pitch he couldn’t handle; the runner can say he wasn’t able to get a good jump, and that he was depending on the hitter to make contact.

I have instructed our runners to try to get a base-stealing jump on the play. But this is a nontraditional approach, and I have noticed that they are slipping back into the traditional don’t get picked off! mode.

I’m not big on meetings, but I think we need one to talk about this play.