RMJ 173 August 7

THURSDAY, AUGUST 7 ● Philadelphia, vs Phillies

Up and at ’em again: another day game.

I just knew we would win this game.

Mike Hampton has been money in the bank lately, and their pitcher, Matt Beech, has made 21 consecutive starts without a win.

I was a little worried, because Beech played his college ball at the University of Houston, and he would obviously be motivated to beat the Astros. Still, I felt great. The guys were lively in the pregame clubhouse, playing loud music and screwing around. I expected we would give Beech an early shower.

 

He did not look very impressive in the first inning, but he did get us out. Then we took the field and started a series of misadventures that would set the stage for another loss.

Hampton got it going it by walking Mickey Morandini. All four pitches were high and wide. Gregg Jefferies followed with a single through the hole to left. Ricky Gutierrez could have made the play with any kind of quick reaction, but he looked like he was wearing concrete sneakers.

Scott Rolen followed with a bloop single to right. Jefferies headed for third, and he had it made. Rolen rounded first, and he would have been a dead duck if Derek had thrown the ball to first or second. Instead, he made a futile attempt to nail Jefferies at third, and his throw was wild. Jefferies scored, and Rolen headed for third.

Gonzo chased the ball down and threw to Bogey covering. Bogey applied the tag. Rolen was out by a mile, but Dana DeMuth called him safe. Dana was in no position to make the call; he was in foul territory behind the bag. In making the tag, Bogey blocked his view.

My view from the inside was perfect, and it was such an obvious out that I felt I had to argue it.

Dana is a good guy; he remained calm. I pointed to the bag and pantomimed the play.

“Stop pointing, and tell me what you saw,” he said.

I stopped pointing and said, “I saw what you couldn’t see, because your view was blocked by Bogey. I saw him tag Rolen out. It wasn’t even close.”

“Well, I’ll tell you what I saw,” he said. “I saw him miss the first tag and by the time he tagged him the second time, he was in there.”

If he saw that, he better have his vision checked, because there was clearly only one tag. I don’t fault him for missing the call, because he couldn’t see the tag. And I really don’t fault him for being in the position he was in, because the ball got away down the third-base line, and I’m not sure he could have been in a better position.

What made me mad was that he made up an excuse.

I knew home plate umpire Gary Darling had a better angle to see the play. And I thought about asking DeMuth to confer with him on the call. But then I remember what happened with Larry Vanover and Ed Montague in Chicago on a similar play. Vanover refused to ask for help, and Montague said he didn’t see the play.

What’s the use? I thought. He’s not going to ask for help, and Darling isn’t going to overrule him.

 

I have two pet peeves about umpires.

First, they consistently position themselves on the front side of a tag play, so that the ball passes them before the infielder catches it. When the infielder turns to make the tag, most of the time he blocks the umpire’s view.

This is clearly visible on a steal of second. The center field camera almost always has a clear view of the play, and the second-base umpire, who is on the infield side, frequently has a blocked view.

The only reason I can think of for inside position is fear of the ball. If the umpire is on the outside and the ball skips through, it could hit him. I understand fear of the ball; it is hard, and it travels fast. I was afraid of it too.

But I still think the umpires should take an outside position.

My second complaint is their reluctance to ask for help and to give help. The object should be to get the call right. But the practice is to maintain dignity by supporting each other. This is never going to change, but it still bugs me.

 

We exploded for four runs in the second inning. Biggio’s 17th homer was the big blow. I figured we would chase Beech in short order, and Hampton would settle down and pitch a good game.

It didn’t work out that way; Hamp continued to struggle. He ended up walking six batters. Beech was wild too, but he hung in there.

In the seventh inning, Rex Hudler hit a two-run homer to tie the game. Hampton finished the inning, but I wasn’t going to send him out there for the eighth. I thought I had communicated this to Vern; I thought Magnante was warmed up and ready. Apparently I did not get this message across, because Magnante stopped warming up. I ended up double-switching Mike into the game. He was not quite ready when he came out of the bullpen.

Mike Lieberthal hit a slow ground ball to short. The play at first was close, and Charlie Reliford called him safe. Bagwell argued briefly; I did not go out. Lieberthal went to second on a wild pitch. Kevin Stocker looped a single to center, and Chuckie Carr made a strong throw home. Tony Eusebio applied the tag. I didn’t see the play well, but I saw Gary Darling start to call “out” and then change to “safe.”

This is quite suspicious in the eighth inning of a tie game, but I let it slide because I didn’t really see it — and Gary could have just anticipated “out” and then seen “safe.”

Now we were down 5-4 and Botallico came into the game to close. In the meantime, several of our players came down from the clubhouse, and they said that the replays showed Lieberthal out at first and at the plate.

I was fried. But this ordeal wasn’t over yet.

Bill Spiers tied the game with a single, and he tried to move up on the throw home. The Phillies cut off the throw and nailed Billy going into second. I saw Billy throw his hands up and say a word to second-base umpire Paul Schrieber before departing.

I thought Billy was just upset about being thrown out; I was wrong. He was mad about the call, but he left the scene because he didn’t want to get kicked out of the game.

Cubby had no such fear.

I looked away, and when I looked up, Cubby was arguing with Schrieber. I started out, but I didn’t get far before Cubby was tossed out of the game by Dana DeMuth.

At this point, I was furious. I wasn’t sure of the call, but Cubby’s reaction made me think we had been “jobbed” again.

Don’t get me wrong: I had no sense that there was any intent. Just one of those things. But, of course, at this point it was four of “those things.”

Schrieber was a gentleman, to say the least. I unleased a barrage of epithets that would make a sailor blush, and he remained calm. I was impressed with his demeanor, and I knew he wasn’t going to change his call; I finally ran out of gas and headed back.

As I passed DeMuth, I said, “You guys are four-for-four now. You’ve missed calls at all three bases and home plate, too. I’m not making it up. We saw the replays.”

As I turned toward the dugout, he followed me, but I didn’t know it. He may have said something, but with the crowd jeering and guffawing, I didn’t hear him.

This is one case where my hearing loss saved me; if I had turned back around, I would have been ejected. I probably would have done it anyway, but I didn’t know he was chasing me.

Russ Springer pitched two good innings, and Tom Martin pitched one. But we couldn’t deliver a big hit, and Martin finally lost it in the eleventh.

 

The writers and radio reporters were quiet and respectful with their postgame questions. I could not see the locker room from my office, but I heard screaming, cussing, and destruction.

When I went back out there, tables were overturned and broken; stools were scattered around the room; and players were pacing around — with no clubhouse attendants to be seen. No one was eating the postgame spread.

It was worse than Tuesday’s loss to the Marlins. It was about as bad as it gets.

Dennis Liborio came in and gave me a piece of paper with directions to the golf course. Joe, Tim, and Steve had already gone, to make sure we didn’t miss our tee time. I couldn’t care less about golf at that point, but I didn’t want to abandon my friends, and I wasn’t that wild about riding the team bus to New York anyway.

It took almost an hour to get through rush-hour traffic. I caught up with them on the fifth hole, and we made it to 16 before it got so dark we couldn’t see the ball.

About this time, the course marshal came out to chase us back in. Joe yelled to him. “I guess it’s time to quit.”

“It’s after time. Get on the cart path and come in now,” he said, as he turned his cart toward the clubhouse.

It’s a good thing he didn’t get any closer to me. I had been marshaled enough for one day.

 

After golf, we had dinner. We started for New York about 10:00. It was not a straight shot. Joe had to take Tim home, so we took a triangular route. We did manage to have a few laughs along the way, and we finally pulled up in front of the Grand Hyatt about 1:30 a.m.

 

One last word about the umpires:

I have generally been pleased with their professional conduct. They have been far less confrontational than I expected. I can’t really get a good look at the calls from the dugout, but my impression is that they are right almost all the time.

But I am a little wary about the upcoming series with the Mets, because this same crew will be at Shea Stadium. Who knows what might develop?