RMJ 108 June 2

NL Central Division 

Tm	W	L	W-L%	GB
PIT	27	27	.500	—
HOU	26	29	.473	1.5
STL	24	29	.453	2.5
CHC	22	32	.407	5.0
CIN	20	35	.364	7.5

Half-an-hour later, at about noon, Gerry called back and said that Drayton wanted to meet with us at two o’clock. “He’s not happy,” Gerry said. “We have to understand that he’s losing a lot of money, and be sensitive to that.”

“But it’s just June,” I said. “You can’t win or lose a pennant in April and May. The Cardinals were lousy in April and May last year, and they almost made it to the World Series.”

“I know that, and you know that. But he doesn’t,” Gerry said.  “He just knows that we keep finishing second, and he keeps losing more money.”

Before I went to the park, I looked up the record. We are 26-29. Last year, after 55 games, the Cardinals were 26-29. The problem is, you can win the pennant in August and September, but you can’t recover the fan support you would have had all along the way. In the money end of the business, April and May are important.

           

The meeting with Drayton went pretty well. He was disturbed about attendance. He is fearful that his losses will mount. He has already coughed up $65 million. His projection for this year was 11 million. But what if we keep losing?

He answered this question himself:

“This is not for public consumption, but I can’t tolerate this past the end of June. If we aren’t winning, we’ll have to start cutting back on salaries.” He presented us with a lot of numbers, including the records of some other teams with payrolls that are similar to ours. Most of the teams had better records, including the Pirates and Expos, who spend only about half as much as we do on players.

Gerry pointed out that these teams may sink, and others fall as the season progresses.

“I’m not saying that the Pirates or the Tigers won’t win their divisions, but it is highly unlikely. There are teams that are not on this list that spend more money than we do, and have a worse record.”

Drayton came back to the attendance-and-revenue side. I think he understands that we have plenty of time to regroup, and we have a decent chance to win. But he just doesn’t have time to wait. The series with the Padres certainly didn’t help his confidence. 

Drayton has a lot of pet words and phrases. Accountability is one. Be a champion is another. He calls for bold and innovative leadership — for doing the unconventional, taking chances. This philosophy got me the manager’s job.

Drayton preaches morals, ethics, and strong Christian values. And he practices what he preaches. He is a fine gentleman. But he measures his own success in dollars and cents, like any self-respecting businessman.

I thought it was a curious choice of words, however, when he said that losing this kind of money was “immoral.”

Gerry felt the urge to end on a positive note. He brought up Chucky Carr. “Didn’t you say he had an unstable personality?” Drayton asked.

“Yes, I did,” Gerry said. “And there is some risk here. But I talked to him at length, and he said the right things. He knows this might be his last chance. I’m just hoping he means it. This guy has world-class speed, Drayton, and he’s got great instincts in the outfield. He just might provide a spark for this team. His speed in the outfield and on the bases is exciting. He could be a fan favorite.”

“When do you think he will be ready?” Drayton asked.

“Well, he went 2-for-5 last night in New Orleans. If all goes well, he could be with us in four or five days.”     

My heart sank when I heard these words.

Maybe it’s just because I think we are good enough to get going again on our own. Maybe it’s the fear of having to manage a problem child.

I don’t deny that my view of this situation is biased. If Chucky could hit, I would be excited. We need more speed at the top of the lineup. But Chucky has consistently created more havoc in the clubhouse and dugout than on the bases.

I hope I’m wrong on this one. I’ve been wrong many times before.

We finally had to adjourn the meeting, because I was holding up the whole team. They were in dress whites, awaiting the team picture. If I didn’t get down there soon, it would affect batting practice.

When I walked into my office, Cubby asked if I had my lineup. I hadn’t even thought about it, but the media was insistent, as usual. I understand; I’ve been there. I had to come up with something before I went down for the photo shoot. I knew I could change it if I had to, so I took a quick look at the matchups and jotted down a lineup.

I ended up with Ausmus hitting sixth; a sort of secondary RBI spot. Well, why not? He’s not exactly a power hitter, but at least he’s hitting over .300. Most of our power guys are hitting considerably less.

           

The photo shoot went well. Then batting practice. The coaches wanted to know what the meeting was about, and I was vague. “He’s just impatient that we start winning,” I said. “He can’t wait to see Chucky.”

“I thought you guys were joking about him,” Cubby said. 

“The joke is on us,” I said.

I noticed they weren’t laughing — just rolling their eyes up toward the Dome — or heaven. I’m not sure which.

I called for a team meeting after batting practice. This would be my first pep talk. It went something like this:

           

Look, I know you guys want to win as bad as I do, and I think we are giving a good effort. Sure, there have been a few times when I think we could have hustled more. And we have messed up a few fundamental plays. We all know that these things are inevitable. We try to keep them to a minimum, and I think we have.

It has been suggested that we come out early and work on fundamentals before batting practice. I do not think this is necessary, but if it becomes necessary, I will do it. 

I’m an easygoing guy most of the time, and I hope you guys don’t feel any pressure. But I can assure you that I do not tolerate losing well. I have been on losing teams that were short on talent; that’s one thing. This is another.

I’m not saying this is the greatest team ever assembled, just that it’s a good-enough team to have a winning record. And we should be able to stay in contention and have a good chance to win our division. Does anybody disagree?”

No hands were raised.

“Throughout my career, I have heard the words relax and concentrate. I imagine you guys have heard these words too. Relaxing is about being poised — ready to act, but with a loose body, not a tense one. Concentrating is about focus. Just because we are relaxed, that doesn’t mean we are lazy. We have to be aware of game situations and be prepared for any eventuality. This takes concentration, and oftentimes makes it hard to relax.

But let me put it this way: Losing is a big part of the game. There is failure at every turn. We all know this. Baseball is more about failing than succeeding. Sometimes the fear of failure prevents success. This is where we are right now. We know we are better than this. But stuff just keeps happening and we begin to doubt — we get worried — and our worry creates tension, which makes it hard to relax, which makes it hard to concentrate.

This is all about losing. But you know what I say?

We know we’re going to fail a lot. But we can still succeed in the end. The secret is to look failure in the eye and laugh at it. Bust through it. Pay it no regard. Go for the win in every case. And then if you lose, so be it. Go for the win tomorrow.

This was my philosophy when I pitched. I wanted the decision, win or lose. I didn’t want to pitch six innings and get the hell out while my ERA was still intact and I wasn’t on the hook for the loss. But I have seen pitchers with that attitude. And I’ll tell you, none of them were worth a damn. If you want to win, you cannot be afraid to lose.

So let’s look at it this way: What do we have to lose?

We’re all in the major leagues, making a lot of money, with nice houses and new cars. If I have a bad year, I can go back to the booth. If you have a bad year, you don’t get a raise. So what? You’re already making way more money than you could make outside of baseball. And if you enjoy the competition — if you get a thrill when you do succeed — then you are light-years ahead of the guy who just goes off to work every day and nobody ever tells him he’s doing a good job, much less cheers for him.

Think about it: Even if you get sent to the minor leagues, you’re still making good money and playing baseball. And you still have five months of the year off. So what is there to worry about? Bottom line: nothing. There is nothing to worry about in the big picture — only little failures along the way. Failures that everyone has to deal with.

You know what I see when I look down the bench? I see grim faces. I see guys who look tense. Look like they are not having fun. This is not what I want to see. I know it’s not like a picnic in the park, but it is still a game. I would really like to see a little more life, a little more joking around, and a lot less tension. If you feel pressure from me, tell me, because that is the last thing we need.

Does anybody have anything to say?

I looked at the coaches. Nothing. Then I turned back to the team. Ausmus had his hand raised. I was hoping for support. What I got was better.

“Yeah, Brad,” I said.

“I have a new car,” he said.

“What?”

“I have a new car,” he said again.

Some of the guys started to laugh.

“See what I mean, guys?” I said. “This guy hit .230 last year and he has a new car. How bad could it be?”

The room exploded in laughter. It was the perfect conclusion to the meeting. 

           

I headed for the dugout about 10 minutes prior to the game, as usual. There were several players chuckling near the clubhouse door.

“Check this out, Dierk,” one of them said.

Hanging from the ceiling, near the door, in plain view, was a stuffed monkey with Gonzo’s gigantic fake dick strapped around the waist. The monkey was holding a sign that read Touch me for luck.

I gave the dick a merry honk, and I felt a lot better. The game made me feel better still.

 

I didn’t have much hope for Donne Wall’s pinpoint control. And I didn’t feel good about him beating the Dodgers and Hideo Nomo without it. To my surprise, he was sharp. He worked seven innings of shutout baseball, striking out nine.

Still, we were without the services of Springer and Wagner; both had tender arms from overuse. But José Lima came through like a champ. He shut out the Dodgers the last two innings, and recorded his first National League save.