RMJ 169 August 3

SUNDAY, AUGUST 3 ● Houston, vs Mets

Alan Truex has his little wedge out again. This morning’s paper was full of gossipy innuendo.

The only thing that really bothered me was something Chris Holt said about being unhappy about the pitching rotation. Unless I miss my guess, he did say that he wasn’t happy, but he probably said some other, conciliatory things that didn’t make the paper.

Vern and I have been trying to protect Chris’ shoulder by giving him extra rest when we can. We did it over the All-Star break, and we are doing it again, now, by moving Reynolds up a day and putting Holt behind him. This puts Shane on the fifth day, and Chris on the seventh.

It should help Shane build arm strength, and allow Chris’s right shoulder to recover. Including winter ball, he has been pitching for almost a year-and-a-half without rest. The strain shows when he drops his arm and pushes the ball.

After long rest, he has pitched well twice. We are hoping he will do it again.

Beyond those considerations is the knowledge that Shane has never won in Florida. He has been hit hard, outpitched, rained-on, and injured. I don’t normally go for rigging the rotation a lot, but this move was obvious.

 

When I got to the park, 50 fans were already stationed in the autograph area of the parking lot. I pulled in close to the entrance, unloaded the bags, and said, “C’mon, Cubby, let’s head for the clubhouse. Dennis can send someone up to park the car.”

It’s hard to explain the autograph thing. Most rookies are flattered, but it doesn’t take long to get tired of it. Some players treat it as a duty; part of the job. Some go by mood: they love the fans one day, shun them the next.

Some people, like Milo Hamilton, never weary of the attentions of the faithful. Milo is always ready. He carries a deck of Hall of Fame cards with his picture on the front.  

“Here ya go, pally,” he says. “Keep it for twenty years and it might be worth a quarter.”

He signs his name under his trademark saying, “Holy Toledo,” with a little picture of the pipe he smokes designed into the signature. Underneath, he writes “H.O.F. ’92.” When he signs a baseball, he uses up a fourth of the available space.

One day when we were in Philadelphia, he proffered a card upon a young lady who was working with us on the telecast.

“Oh, isn’t this nice,” she said, as he smiled. “What is this part? Happy Trails?

The smile turned down as he said in his stentorian tenor, “That’s ‘Holy Toledo, my dear. That’s my expression.”

We didn’t laugh then; it would have been rude. But we sure laughed later.

 

I wasn’t laughing too loud when I got downstairs and put up the lineup.

Gerry wanted to talk to me right as we were getting set to start Kangaroo Court. I thought it was something big, like a trade, the way he looked.

When we got to my office, he questioned the lineup. He favors Chuckie Carr, and Chuckie hasn’t been playing a lot in recent days. I’m not really trying to keep him out of the lineup; I explained to Gerry was that center field was one position I where I could get Howard and Mouton some playing time without taking Bell or González out of the lineup.

I played Howard against Stottlemyre twice, and today I penciled Mouton in against Brian Bohanon. I didn’t think it was a big deal, and I don’t think the coaches thought much about it, but it clearly got under Gerry’s skin.

More than anything, I think it is because he doesn’t have confidence in Mouton, and he wants to beat his old team — the Mets — so badly.

“Chuckie has done a good job for us,” I said. “He’s hit a little better than I thought he would, and his defense has been good — but not what I would call Gold Glove caliber.”

“But would you agree that we have been a better team since he’s been playing?” he asked.

“How can I deny that?” I said. “I don’t have anything against him. He’s done a good job for me. But I also like him coming off the bench. As a switch-hitter, he can pinch-hit leading off an inning, and the other manager can’t do the pitching-change trick to make me use another player. He can pinch-run and steal a base, and he can come in for defense when we have the lead.

“I like what he does for the team. It’s just that lately there have been some games where I felt I could use center field to get some guys some at-bats.”

“Well, don’t you think Gonzo needs a day off?” he said.

“Yes, I do,” I said, considering the suggestion. “I do, and now that I think of it, this would have been a good day. I probably should have done that.”

 

Gerry didn’t seem happy, but he did seem relieved to have gotten it off his chest. He’s not the type to let things build up inside. Confrontation doesn’t bother him.

I have a feeling that if he were one of my players, he would be down in the runway, smashing things, after a failed at-bat — just like Biggio and Ausmus. And that’s not all bad; a little intensity keeps the edge on a team. For the long haul, it’s hard to maintain that edge.

On the other hand, there are players like Bagwell, who keep their cool at all times.

I think a team needs a variety of personalities. Sometimes you need a guy to liven things up, shake things up, or cool things down. It takes all kinds.

 

Kangaroo Court is for livening things up. Our court is ruled by our catchers: Tony Eusebio and Brad Ausmus.

Ausmus states the charges. The defendants plead guilty or not guilty, and they plead their cases. Tony renders the judgement.

Today, as usual, everyone was guilty.

Relief pitchers were nabbed for taking food to the bullpen. José Cabrera was fined for going to Comiskey Park instead of Wrigley Field when he was called up from AAA. I was nailed for wearing my white jersey, instead of my black one, for a Sunday home game.

In all, Tony assessed fines of roughly $500. I think we have a couple thousand dollars in the kitty. And I hope we clinch early, so the party can be celebration of victory instead of a celebration of the end of the season.

 

I guess I wasn’t in the best frame of mind when the game began. Holt’s comments and Gerry’s displeasure were still nagging me.

In the top of the first, Todd Hundley hit a two-run homer off Shane. I couldn’t help wondering what would have happened if Holt had been pitching.

Mouton got a hit-and-run single in our half of the first. We didn’t score, but at least he got a hit. Biggio was on first at the time, and he got a lousy jump. When he came back in, he muttered something beneath his breath. I couldn’t hear the words, but I assumed it was something critical about the play.

Bidge is pretty good at deflecting the blame for his failures to other players, umpires, coaches, and managers. That’s all right with me. If he keeps playing like he has this season, he will he go to the Hall of Fame some day.

 

Speaking of The Hall, Phil Niekro and Tommy Lasorda were inducted today. Niekro was long overdue, and Lasorda earned his spot as one of the game’s most-successful managers. 

Phil was a great all-around performer. He was a good fielder and hitter. He had a good pickoff move. And of course, there was the knuckleball. Some hitters are still having nightmares over Niekro’s knuckler.

It seems the writers have regarded him as a fluke — a “trick” pitcher. Year after year, they voted him down.

But I ask you this: How many knuckleball pitchers have won 300 games? How many great, Hall of Fame pitchers have failed to win 300? Phil should have gone in on the first ballot. So should Don Sutton, and he’s still waiting for the call.

Lasorda is one of the greatest ambassadors the game has ever known. As an opposing player, it was easy to dislike him, with all of his theatrics. His managing record speaks for itself. But if it didn’t, Tommy would be glad to tell you about it — and make you laugh.

 

I wasn’t laughing much during this game. Bohanan, a Houston native and journeyman pitcher, shut us out into the sixth. Biggio hit a home run off Juan Acevedo in the seventh. That made me smile — even laugh a little, under my breath.

Bob Apodaca, the Mets’ pitching coach, had barely made it back to the dugout after he talked over the strategy with his pitcher. He probably told him not to throw a fastball. Well, he threw a curve on the first pitch, and Bidge hit it into the centerfield seats.

Because of the way the lineup rotated, I used a variety of players, trying to catch up. In the top of the eighth, I put Chuckie into center field and moved the new pitcher, Tom Martin into the two-hole, where Mouton was playing. I only gained two spots in the move, and Bill advised me that I was running out of players, but I did it anyway.

“What scares me,” I told Bill, “is that Mouton hasn’t played in a while, and he gets kind of jumpy. Martin is a fly-ball pitcher. I think I want Chuckie in the game anyway, regardless of where he hits — or the pitcher hits — in the lineup.”

“I hear you,” he said with a smile.

Well, I lucked-out again. Alex Ochoa hit a long fly ball to right center. Chuckie streaked across the outfield and made the catch on the dead run. Mouton is capable of making the same catch, but he doesn’t always take the best route or get the best jump. Everything had to be perfect on this one.

Greg McMichael came in and retired us in the eighth.

In the ninth, Bill Spiers made a brilliant pickup on a topspin liner, and he turned it into a double play. When our first two hitters failed in bottom of the frame, it looked like extra innings.

Not to Biggio, it didn’t.  

He singled and stole second. Howard pinch-hit and drew a walk. McMichael pitched carefully and walked Bagwell. The bases were loaded, but Gonzo immediately fell behind 0-2. McMichael came inside, and Gonzo was looking outside. He leaned out, the ball came in. It hit him on the leg, and we won the game as Bidge scored for the 100th time this season.

 

This win was a big relief. For one thing, we seemed flat. With 36,000 people on hand, we could have raised the roof, but we did not.

For another, I didn’t feel as sharp myself. I was hoping that Mouton and González would perform well. I was especially worried that James would mess up a play in center. I was a little preoccupied; I felt just the least bit out-of-focus. It’s not that I made any mistakes; it’s just that I didn’t feel real confident.

I am not confrontational by nature, but I think I need to talk to Gerry about our pregame conversation. I am generally open to suggestions — even criticism. But in sports, confidence is everything. It would have been better if we had talked after the game.  

 

The 8-2 homestand left us six games up on the Pirates and 8-1/2 over the Cardinals. It’s a great place to be, but I am still a little concerned about the psychology of being so far ahead.

It’s like a pitcher with a 6-0 lead in the fifth inning: you let your guard down a little, and a guy hits a three-run homer. Then you try to get your edge back, and you can’t.

I think I’m going to talk about chasing a goal tonight – say, 90 wins. We would have to go 29-22 to get to 90. That is not unrealistic, in terms of our capability and what it will take to win the division.

I don’t know if I can get the team to buy into an arbitrary goal when they are this far in front, but I sincerely believe that it is easier to chase than to be chased.

Take it from Satchel Paige: “Don’t look back; someone might be gaining on you.”