RMJ 110 June 4

WEDNESDAY, JUNE 4 ● at Cincinnati, vs Reds

I left my shaving kit in Houston. This wouldn’t be such a big deal if I didn’t have pills in it that I have to take every day. Two are for the heart problem I had last year. I think I was supposed to take them for a year, and the year is up, but I haven’t called the doctor about it; we have hardly been in town long enough to go see him.

I’m not real worried about it, because it was a freak thing: pericarditis, or inflammation of the sac surrounding the heart. They got rid of the inflammation and never found a reason for its occurrence. Said it must have been a virus. At any rate, I was given the OK to resume full workouts, and I have not had any more symptoms.

The other medicine is for depression. Actually, the symptom I get is anxiety attacks, which I certainly cannot afford in this job.

It started in the spring of 1977, my last year as a player. The medicine knocked it out right away. When I got myself settled into a post-playing routine, I stopped taking the medicine, and I started getting dizzy spells, so I started taking the medicine again. A few years later, I tried again. Same thing.

But last summer, when I was hospitalized with the pericarditis, I stopped the medicine again, with no dizziness. I thought I was through with the problem until one night in San Diego about a month later. Right at the end of the game, I had an attack in the broadcasting booth.

I got through the end of the game, but then my heart started racing and my blood pressure went up. I knew what it was, but I was afraid to get on a bus and a plane and fly three hours in that condition. They sent me to the emergency room, and after an hour or so I was all right.  When I got back to Houston, I went back on the medicine. Everything has been fine since. But I don’t want to miss my daily dose anymore.

I don’t really think a day or two would make any difference, but I don’t want to test it. I called Judy to FedEx the shaving kit, and it should be here in the morning.

 

They had a book fair at Fountain Square, across from our hotel. This is my weakness: I buy way more books than I can ever read.

Mostly, I like novels. Classics, modern and historical. No pulp fiction, no mysteries. Just good books by good writers.

I am just about finished with The Shipping News. It has been mildly disappointing. I find the protagonist to be almost the same guy I remember from A Confederacy of Dunces. One big difference: The Dunce was in New Orleans and this guy Quoyle is in Newfoundland.

I have been to New Orleans, and I have not visited Newfoundland. I presume, however, that these two places could only have been put on this planet by a quixotic God. You don’t need poetic license when you set your story in these locales.

Oddly enough, I bought no books here. There was mostly popular stuff: best-sellers, mysteries, science fiction. I would probably like these books too, and that’s why I’m afraid to try them.

I’ve got Miami, a Beat Generation book by Joan Didion, with me on this trip. I’m not sure I will like it, but it’s a short read. I’m putting off Ancient Evenings and The Mask of Apollo, hoping to find something on the light side.

I could go to Bruce Chatwin’s On the Black Hill, but his stuff is heavy with philosophy. I would prefer a new Kinsella, or maybe the last book of Cormac McCarthy’s Border Trilogy, but they aren’t out yet. I may have to read 92 in the Shade in paperback if I can’t find it in hardback soon.

 

I couldn’t find the right book today, but I found something far more precious: a win on the road. After two good early road trips, we have hit the skids. Need to get that confidence back, and with rookie Chris Holt coming off two bashings, I was concerned. The last time we faced Dave Burba here, he pitched a one-hit shutout.

That possibility ended in the top of the first, when Thomas Howard hit a home run. In the bottom of the inning, Deion Sanders made Holt throw eight pitches and then singled to right. I thought about pitching out on the first pitch, but I didn’t.

Good thing: Sanders ran, and Ausmus threw him out. When you throw this guy out without a pitchout, it discourages all thoughts of larceny. 

Ausmus has been such a boon to our pitching staff! The way he throws, we don’t have to pitch out much. We can dare most runners to steal. Sure, they make it half the time. But that’s not a good-enough rate to justify the risk.

Most teams don’t run much against us, which allows our pitchers to concentrate on getting hitters out.

Chris worked a rapid-fire game and gave up only a solo home run in seven innings. We got enough runs to win in the game in the third when the Reds elected to pitch to Bagwell with runners on second and third and two outs.

Give Bagwell an assist from González; Luis has been hot lately. I know Ray Knight was aware of this. If he was not hitting so well, Ray would have walked Bagwell for sure. Instead, he sent pitching coach Don Gullett out to talk to Burba.

This is something I would not do. I have a sign for my catchers to pitch around a hitter. Our pitchers are instructed how to do this.

When I was pitching, I didn’t want the pitching coach or the manager bothering me. If I felt good, I wanted to stay in rhythm. Can you imagine how Ray would feel if the hitting coach came out while he was hitting, and had a conference with him to tell him what to do? It doesn’t make any sense.

I’m not saying our pitchers will always pitch around hitters successfully, but I believe they will do better if they just get a sign from the catcher and then work the hitter on their own.

Anyway, Bagwell hit a double and we went up 3-0. It was 5-1 when we took out Holt. José Lima was shaky. He gave up a home run and a single in the ninth, and we had to get the last out with Wagner. I hope Billy will be available tomorrow, but he may not.

 

Well, at least we got the first one. That makes it a whole lot easier. I might not write it that way if I were doing a novel. But this is real life.

Baseball, it has been said, is a metaphor of life. If this is true, this journal may be stranger than fiction in the end.