RMJ 99 May 24

SATURDAY, MAY 24 ● Denver, vs Colorado

I awoke from a stupor to the jingling sound of the phone at 8:30. I started a pot of coffee, then went for a newspaper. Opening to the sports section, I learned that we had lost 8-7. The Rockies clobbered Donne Wall, and we fought back but came up short.

When I got to the ballpark, I had to walk across the clubhouse, and the players steered clear of me as if I had leprosy. Sorry about your Dad, they said, averting their eyes. The coaches, who have reached the age where they have dealt with death themselves, welcomed me back and made me feel better.

I told Bill that I wanted to talk to the team before batting practice. I wanted to clear the air.

 

I know you guys feel bad about my father. But I want to tell you that I am OK. Nobody wants to lose a loved one, but these things happen as you get older.

It was a heartbreaking time for the family, but it was also a heartwarming time. All the children and grandchildren were there, so my Mom had a lot of support. She is doing well, and she wanted me to come back and be with you guys. My brother and sister are still there with her, and I will be able to be back home for the funeral next Wednesday on the off-day.

I have noticed that some of you guys seem uncomfortable, because of the situation. This bothers me, because we have a job to do here today. I don’t want you guys to be thinking about me; I want you to be thinking about beating the Rockies.

I was going to save this speech for when we got home, but I will tell you now:

This stretch of schedule that we have played is the toughest I have been through in 31 years with this team. I am proud of the way we have played, even though I know we can play better.

Once we get through with this road trip, the schedule gets easier. Sure, we play some tough teams, but at least we don’t have so much tough travel.

We are approaching a stretch of games where we should be able to make a move forward. But we can’t limp into it by falling apart on this trip.

Coors Field has been tough on us, and Candlestick won’t be any easier. But we have to win some of these games if we want to hit the homestand with some momentum.

What I am saying is: forget about me, and redouble your efforts. It’s time for us to make our move.

That’s all I have to say.

 

Well, that must have been the greatest speech of my life. We went out and beat the Rockies 7-0.

Bagwell and Biggio hit home runs, and Darryl Kile pitched a masterpiece. He even survived a 40-minute rain delay.

Springer pitched the eighth inning; he hit 97 MPH. Wagner hit 98 in the ninth. The only thing that put a damper on the game was Bobby Abreu coming up with a sore wrist.

With a 3-2 count in the eighth, he grimaced after he fouled off a ball. Dave ran out to check on him, and after a moment, I came out to see what was going on. Dave told me that Bobby had been complaining of a sore wrist for a couple of days, and that he had aggravated it to the extent that he couldn’t swing.

“Can you throw?” I asked him.

“Yes,” he said.

“OK,” I said. “Just bunt the ball if it’s a strike. I need you in the game for your defense.”

The 3-2 pitch came, and Bobby swung, grounding out to second base. Later, I heard that he swung because he thought the Rockies would throw at him if he tried to bunt with a 7-0 lead; this is preposterous. Anybody who was watching the game, including Don Baylor, would know that he was bunting because of an injury.

Hopefully, Bobby will be all right in a couple of days. His hitting has tailed off, but his defense has been pretty good. Fact is, Bobby and Derek have been our best defensive outfielders — and that doesn’t say much for the rest of them.

Gonzo is fundamentally sound, but he can’t throw. Outfield defense is one of our weaknesses, and we can’t afford to have Bobby out for any length of time.

 

When I got back to the hotel, Judy was full of news. She had breakfasted at a coffee house and read the local tabloids, circling cigar clubs that featured jazz and swing music. She also bought tickets to a film that was showing at an art cinema.

We had dinner at McCormick’s Fish House, and we walked two miles to the theater. It was in a somewhat seedy area near downtown. The film was a documentary on Cuban music, featuring the mambo sound of composer and bassist Israel “Cachao” Lopez and his many contemporaries. Most of them were past-prime-time players at the time of the filming, but it was a fascinating study on a style of music I have come to enjoy.

Judy is a wonder when it comes to finding unexpected pleasures. She is also a connoisseur of the offbeat experience.

She tried to coax me into a local cigar bar after the film, but after walking a couple blocks deeper into the urban jungle, I bridled.

“I’m not ready for this neighborhood,” I said. “Maybe I’ve just lost my spirit of adventure, but I just don’t feel like dealing with all these freaky people.”

“It should be on the next block,” she said, “It’s supposed to be swing music. It’ll probably be a bunch of old people, like us. How bad could it be?”

“I don’t know,” I said, looking down the street at a bunch of young hooligans standing outside a bar. “I just know that I don’t want to walk any further down this street.”

“OK,” she said. “Let’s just go back. Maybe we can catch a cab.”

Almost as if on cue, a cab appeared at the corner. She started toward it, but I said, “Let’s just walk.”

She looked at me like I was crazy — and at this point, I would have to plead guilty. But I knew she wouldn’t mind. She’s always up for exercise.

On the way back to town, we approached a cheap hotel, just as a rough-looking character came out of the door. I guess I had her feeling uneasy at this point, because she crossed to the other side of the street.

We made it back without incident, and we spent an intimate night together in the cigar bar of our own hotel suite. She even found a French station on the radio.

C’est la vie.