RMJ 189 August 23

SATURDAY, AUGUST 23 ● Houston, vs Colorado

Bill Ceverha, the producer of the CBS Radio Game of the Week, was waiting in my office when I arrived at ten o’clock. He was looking at his watch when I came in, as if I was his teenage son returning after curfew.

He made it a point to tell me that he had driven in from Dallas this morning. A quick calculation told me that he had to leave no later than 4:30. As far as I was concerned, that was his problem, not mine.  

I understand the lineup anxiety that grips many broadcasters; I was one of them for 17 years. They really can’t put the finishing touches on their game preparation until they get the lineup. I happen to know, however, that they can do everything they have to do in an hour-and-a-half; I have to post the lineup for the players earlier than that.

But on a quick turnaround, it’s hard to do it much earlier. The players didn’t have to report until 10:30, and I had to wait to see if Chuckie’s arthritic knee and Derek’s scraped ring finger would keep them out of the action.

The problem with Fox and CBS is that they only do one game a week, and they want everything to run smoothly. They have time to overprepare, and they usually do — recording all kinds of sound bites that they seldom use. Most managers don’t realize this, but I do.

I don’t feel obliged to jump through hoops for them, but I can put myself in their place and know that I would like to have the lineup early and get my interview out of the way.

I hope they think I am being helpful, but I don’t like being made to feel like I’m obstructing their show. When I was broadcasting, I never thought it was my show.

It certainly didn’t turn out to be my show today.

 

In the top of the ninth, Hudie got wild and walked the first two batters. Just what I wanted to see. Andres Galarraga, the league’s RBI leader, came up and I knew he wasn’t up there to bunt.

I asked Cubby if he wanted to put on the wheel play. He looked at me as if I were crazy, until he realized that I was kidding.

Bill usually gets a grin out of it when I suggest something that is ludicrous; Cubby and Vern aren’t that way. They are all business. I think Cubby will eventually catch on to my odd sense of humor, but I don’t think Vern ever will.

We were all relieved when Galarraga hit Hudek’s first pitch to third, and we turned the double play.

I had Wagner warming up in the bullpen, hoping Don Baylor wouldn’t pinch-hit with Larry Walker. When he did just that, I had a decision to make.

Walker is having a signature season, and he could win the Triple Crown (leading the league in home runs, runs batted in, and batting average). But he has not been swinging that well lately.

My first thought was that Hudek should pitch around him (throw pitches just out of the strike zone, hoping to get him to chase a bad ball) with a right-handed hitter, Vinny Castilla, on deck.

When I gave Brad the pitch-around sign, he pointed at third, which told me he was afraid that Hudie would pitch so far around him that he might throw the ball to the backstop and allow them to take the lead without earning it with a hit.

I had enough time to ponder that and think again about Wagner. Because of a double-switch, we had our best on-base hitter, Bill Spiers, up first in the ninth. Bill would be followed by Biggio, Bell, and Bagwell. I felt pretty good about our chances to score, and I thought Billy could get Walker out.

I asked Vern, and he said, “That’s what you got him ready for.” He was right about that. But I’m sure he remembered the long home run Castilla hit off Wagner earlier this year. If Wags didn’t get Walker, he would have to face the rematch with two men on base.

I decided to go against my first instinct, and bring Billy into the game, hoping for a confidence-building outing.

It looked great at first, and Walker took two feeble swings and got down 0-2. I was a little concerned about Billy, because he kept stretching his legs. He threw a pitch way high, and Brad barely caught it. Then there was a foul ball. A few more fouls and three balls later, Walker walked.

Castillo got down 0-2 as well. Then he blasted one deep into the mezzanine seats. We were down 6-3.

“Who do you want to pitch the tenth if we tie it?” Vern asked, after Billy got the last out.

“Billy,” I said, hoping that the hitters I thought could get us one run could somehow get three. “I want Billy to finish.”

“He can’t,” Vern said. “He pulled a groin muscle.”

“Great,” I said. “Let’s get Lima ready. We don’t need Wagner. We’ll just win this thing with Lima. We don’t need Berry. Russ Johnson can hit home runs, can’t he?”

I was feeling sorry for myself, but at least I was trying to make a joke of it. I won’t stay down long, but this was not one of my better days.

 

I was curt, but polite during the post mortem. When one cameraman overstayed his welcome to ask, “What about Sean Berry? I saw him limp out of here a minute ago. Is he worse than you thought?”

“No,” I said. “It’s the same as I thought. It was a pulled calf muscle last night, and it’s a pulled calf muscle today. It will be a pulled calf muscle tomorrow, and he will limp. That’s what you do when you have a pulled calf muscle. And that’s why we put him on the disabled list.”

This answer had the desired effect of discouraging further questions.

I went into the training room, where Dr. Bryan and Dave Labossiere were explaining their diagnoses on Billy. It was better than I thought: a hip-flexor injury. Could be better in a few days. I hope so.

If Billy didn’t throw 98 MPH; if he weren’t fearless; if he hadn’t already saved 19 games; or if we had Mark Wohlers or Robb Nen, I wouldn’t be so anxious to get him back out there. But I still believe he can deliver the goods for us, and I want him back in the saddle as soon as possible.

 

When I got home, I flopped on the couch. This one really hurt. It helped when Ryan came home and wanted to work on his pitching and fielding. An hour later, I was better.

We had some dinner and then watched a Disney comedy about a boy who lost his dad. Two city slickers, his sister and one of his old friends, were named in the will to take care of him. When they went to the little town for the funeral, everyone was friendly, but very wacky.

At first, they were hard-hearted and wanted to leave immediately, without the boy. But then, after a few tickles and a tender moment or two, they became wacky and friendly like everyone else.

It was pure schmaltz, and I ate it up. I laughed and got teary. I thought about my Dad and my son.  

And the pennant race skulked away, like a thief in the night.