RMJ 182 August 16

SATURDAY, AUGUST 16 ● Houston, vs Philadelphia

I felt pretty good about our chances to get rolling again, with Darryl Kile on the mound and Tony Eusebio sound-enough to do the catching. Last time out, Kile beat the Mets, but he struggled doing it with Brad behind the plate.

Kile and Eusebio shut them down for the first five innings, while we were scoring three runs.

 

In the sixth, Kile walked Mickey Morandini on four pitches. Greg Jefferies hit a ground ball to Biggio, and it looked like a double play. When Biggio’s feed was wide, Bogar stretched to stay on the bag, and he didn’t even try to throw to first. If he had moved through the play smoothly, he probably would have gotten the call. But in stretching, he made it appear that he had been pulled off.

Dana DeMuth called Morandini safe, and Bogey was really mad. He argued briefly, and the guys in the dugout wanted me to go out. Everyone was sure that DeMuth had blown the call. I wasn’t so sure — and to be honest, I felt like shit: stuffed-up and achy.

I thought about going out to argue, but I decided to stay put; I knew DeMuth wouldn’t reverse his call, and I thought Kile could pitch out of it. I rationalized my lack of action with the thought that I didn’t want to break Kile’s rhythm.

I wasn’t too interested in arguing with DeMuth, either. His crew had worked our series in Philly and New York. I felt I had just about come to the end of my rope arguing with them. I didn’t want to get kicked out in this situation.

Kile struck out Scott Rolen, but Rico Brogna singled in a run to make it 3-1.

The Phillies touched Kile for three hits and another run in the seventh. Darryl was pitching a tough game, but the fact that he only had three strikeouts told me that he was without his best stuff.

When he came up in the bottom of the inning, there were men on second and third and only one out. A rookie pitcher, Wayne Gomes, was on the hill. I thought D.K. could put the ball in play, so I let him hit. With Biggio on deck, we had an excellent chance to lengthen our lead.

Well, Gomes reached back and threw some of the best breaking balls we have seen all year; he struck out Kile and retired Biggio. We came away emptyhanded, still clinging to a one-run lead.

At least I had Kile on the mound. The tradeout in letting him hit was that he could probably get the game to Wagner in the ninth.

I brought Spiers in to play third base, to make it a bit easier.  Rolen singled for openers, but then Kile got what looked like a double-play grounder off the bat of Rico Brogna.

As Rolen was advancing toward second, Biggio ran at him with the ball. Rolen retreated, Biggio threw to first, and Bagwell fired to second. But Rolen moves well for a big man, and he beat the tag play. Looking back, I’m sure Bidge would have flipped to Bogey for the force, to make sure that they wouldn’t have a man in scoring position if we missed the double play.

The Phils brought Kevin Jordan out to pinch-hit for Gomes. Jordan had homered off Wagner in Philly, but I decided to go with Billy again. Kile had thrown 123 pitches, and he looked weary.

During batting practice, Jordan was hardly getting around on the ball. I didn’t think he had a prayer, if Billy could throw strikes.

I was wrong. Jordan singled, and we were tied.

In the ninth, Morandini walked and Greg Jefferies homered. Bottalico shut us down, and the Phillies extended their winning streak to six games.

 

I was besieged again after the game:

Why didn’t I pinch-hit for Kile? Why did I bring in the lefthanded Wagner to face the righthanded Jordan? Why? Why? Why?

I admitted to being a little tentative — even somewhat indecisive. When your relief pitchers are struggling, it can really affect your thinking.

I said that I thought the players were a little tentative too.

“It’s easier to chase than to be chased,” I said. “We need to loosen up and play aggressive baseball, but instead, it looks like we’re just trying to hold our ground. I might say something to the guys about it tomorrow.”

Little did I know that one reporter, lurking in the background, would say something to them today.

 

Ryan was playing in a tournament as we played the Phillies. His second game was at 5:30, so I was able to go see him play.

When I got to my car, an hour and fifteen minutes after the game was over, approximately 100 fans were still waiting for autographs. I was the last one out, and Bogey had just finished signing.

I sure didn’t feel like running the autograph gauntlet, but I had time to kill and I couldn’t imagine too many guys stopping to sign after this tough loss.

I decided to do my duty. It was almost like self-inflicted punishment for not managing better and not getting out there to argue with DeMuth on Bogey’s behalf.

The second or third kid I signed for wanted me to autograph his program, his hat, and his glove. I signed them, but then I announced, “If you will please limit yourselves to one autograph per person, I will sign for everybody.  Otherwise, I may have to leave, and someone will get left out.”

This didn’t work at all. I don’t know why I even bothered.

If folks are willing to wait more than an hour, with 95-degree heat bearing down and more heat rising up from the concrete, they have to be crazy or consumed with the autograph fever.

I would sign for a kid, then move down the line. Then I would see the same kid farther down, handing me another item. If there were a hundred folks, I signed two hundred times: T-shirts, gloves, balls, programs, ticket stubs — everything.

Some people wait there without a pen and hand you something to sign, hoping someone will loan them a pen. Some folks don’t take the caps off their pens, which slows things down. Some thrust laundry markers at you, and your hands and wrists are usually marked black-and-blue by the time you finish.

I don’t really like signing, partly because I don’t like standing out there in the sun, and partly because the whole concept of autographs is distasteful to me.

I get the feeling that the autographs are more important to some of these kids than the game. They have books to tell them what everything is worth, and they are trying to add to the net worth of their collections.  

Oftentimes, you will see the same people out there day after day, wanting more and more. It seems sick to me, but I try not to think about it too much. 

 

Ryan’s team lost to the Galveston All-Stars. They had a couple of kids who had to be six feet tall and 170 pounds. This is the 13-year-old division, and Ryan is still 12. He is about 5’3” and weighs about 120 pounds; there is no way he can get that big in a year.

One of the Galveston kids hit a single, a double, and a home run. The double hit the wall in right-center; the homer cleared the left-field fence on a line. It traveled about 300 feet.

I don’t know if these kids have fake IDs, or if Ryan is kidding himself about being able to play high-school ball. I sure don’t remember any kids that size when I was in Pony League.

Ryan got a base hit and made a nice running catch in the outfield. It was great to finally see him play. He rode home with me, and we had a good visit.

 

Still feeling listless and blue, and still having trouble breathing, I went wineless again tonight, watching the Braves play the Cardinals on TV with Ryan. The Braves won, and the Redbirds are still 9-1/2 games back.