RMJ 193 August 27

WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 27 ● Atlanta, vs Braves

I arose at 9:00 so I could have breakfast and read the paper before I met Jim Gund for a photo session at International Records. Howard Cohen was most hospitable. He bought the coffee and waxed poetic, escorting me around the small-but-artful space that is his musical kingdom, taking care to position me for the camera.

Howard’s father, Milton, who is a remarkably spry veteran of 88 years on the planet, came out from the storeroom, gesticulating widely and speaking with live-eyed passion and infectious humor. Milton’s wife, Fay, sat behind the register, running the business, taking it all in.

Jim shot a couple of rolls, but I doubt it will make the cut at SI. It will seem, I fear, a bit too folksy.

Here’s a joke for you, as told by Howard:

 

It is the time of the High Holy Days, and the rabbi is feeling very emotional. He kneels before the Ark of the Torah in prayer and says, “Most high, most perfect God, I humble myself before you. I am unworthy of your profound holiness. I am but a grain of sand in the sea of your divinity.”

The sweet sorrow of this confession is more than the cantor Samuel can bear. Now he approaches the Torah and kneels alongside the Rabbi:  

“Dear God, hear my humble prayer. I am most unworthy of your grace. I am nothing, not a speck of dirt, before you.”

Sol, who has come by to make a delivery, and who is seldom seen at the temple, is filled with passion. He too, kneels before the Torah.

“God help me, for I, too am unworthy. I am nothing. Bathe me in your light and your goodness.”

About this time Samuel nudges the rabbi and whispers under his breath, “Look who thinks he’s nothing.”

 

Howard gave Jim a CD when we left. Jim accompanied me back to the room, where he posed me writing my journal and smoking a cigar. It was a silhouette pose, in front of the window — the type of pose that could be dreamy if the subject had a more comely profile and did not have a cigar. Forgive me for being unworthy. I forgive you, SI, for not using this shot. I may not forgive you if you do.

 

The Perfessor and I left for the Braves’ beautiful new ballpark at 2:30.

If you think the Braves are prospering on their excellent baseball organization alone, consider this: Almost every new stadium had been named after a corporation or product.  The price for this imprimatur can be as much as fifty million dollars. The Braves’ new ballpark is named Turner Field, after the owner of the team. This practice goes back to the days of William Wrigley, when owners weren’t desperate for money.

The Braves will never be desperate for money as long as they play on the Superstation TBS. They could finish last and make money. Without the Superstation, the Braves would not be perennial superheroes — and their new playpen might be named Teledyne Stadium.

The Braves will likely make a deal for a relief pitcher in the next few days, to ensure another division title. They won’t have to ask, “How much does he make?” They are like Nike: they’ll just do it.  That won’t stop them from mining amateur gold, either. They spend $14 million a year on scouting and development. We spend more than most teams, at $6.5 mil.

 

The impending pennant race has refocused attention on me, and us. I did interviews for ESPN, FOX, CNN radio, and a chat session for the Atlanta Constitution. Jim Gund was shooting photos all the while.

Just before game time, I saw Gonzo hand Bagwell a $2 bill.

“Put this in your shoe tonight,” he said.

Bagwell frowned. “What for?”       

“Don’t ask, just do it.” Gonzo replied. “I got one for myself, too.”

I assume both players carried amulets into the fray. The heroes and casualties were so plentiful that the game story should have been written by Homer. I suppose I could invoke the muse to help my unworthy pen, but I don’t know how.

With Greg Maddux going against Chris Holt, the odds against us winning were 11:5, according to USA Today. You will not see longer odds in a major-league baseball game.

As is so often the case, odds don’t mean much when a pitcher is sharp — and in this game, Holt was at his best.

We drew first blood in the fourth on a double by Ricky Gutierrez and a single by Bill Spiers. Tony Graffanino hit a hanging slider over the left-field fence to tie the score in the fifth.

It was still tied at 1 when Keith Lockhart reached on an error leading off the bottom of the eighth. Kenny Lofton singled to right, and Derek tried to throw Lockhart out at third, missing the cutoff man and allowing Lofton to move up to second.

With Mark Wohlers tuning up in the Braves’ bullpen, we drew the infield in. Jeff Blauser lined a shot back at Holt; he knocked it down and threw Blauser out. Chipper Jones was due, and I wanted him to bat right-handed, so I brought Tom Martin into the game.

Brad wanted to walk Jones and try for the double play with Fred McGriff, but I did not want to load the bases. Sometimes it takes a few pitches for a relief pitcher to get used to the mound, and McGriff has a good eye and might draw a walk. The double play is a one-in-ten shot.

“Don’t give him anything good to hit,” I told Martin. “Strike him out or pop him up. If you walk him, you walk him.  

“We can’t afford a fly ball,” Brad said.

“No, we can’t afford a deep fly ball,” I corrected. “A popup or a short fly ball will work just fine.”

Martin got Jones to foul back a couple of pitches. On a 1-2 count, he tried a curve ball, and it was a good one. Jones went down and hit a hard ground ball, and it just got by a diving Gutierrez. Gonzo missed the cutoff man, and Jones moved up to second.

The crowd roared approval, but Martin didn’t quit. Down 3-1, he retired the next two hitters.

Our prospects looked rather bleak as Wohlers came lumbering in from the bullpen. The crowd screamed for Astros blood, but Spiers shut them up with a leadoff triple. Ausmus hit a sacrifice fly to make It 3-2 Braves.

With a 2-1 count on Carr, Bill turned to me and said, “I hope he throws him a strike, because he’s going to be swinging.”

Wohlers delivered the strike. Carr swung. The ball arched over Andruw Jones and into the seats in right field. The game was tied.

Russ Springer came in and walked the first batter in the bottom of the ninth. Then he found the range and blew them away with a fusillade of 95 MPH fastballs.

We got a couple of baserunners in the tenth inning, but did not score. In a way, we now had the advantage, because they had used their only lefthanded reliever — Alan Embree — and Wohlers was also through for the night. But each time we failed to score, they had two more innings to win it.

Bobby Cox was running out of players, and so was I. The Braves had rookie righthander Kerry Ligtenberg on the mound. He has good stuff, but he has trouble holding runners.

With one out, Biggio walked and stole second and third. Derek Bell brought him home with a looping single to right. Our dugout erupted. Then the skies emptied. The game was delayed for half-an-hour by rain.

Mike Magnante came on when the rain ceased, and he got the first batter. But then Danny Bautista got an infield hit. It was really frustrating, because Billy Spiers was playing in for the bunt at third. With two strikes, he moved back. Bautista dribbled the ball down the line, and Billy made a great play but missed the fleet Bautista by half a step.

Cubby asked me if I wanted to guard the line. I said, “no.” I have never believed in the “prevent defense” in football or in baseball. I believe in playing for the most-likely occurrence.

Magnante struck out Andruw Jones, but then the least-likely occurrence occurred. On a 3-2 pitch, Greg Colbrunn hit a bouncer down the third-base line, fair by inches. Bautista was running. He scored easily, and we were tied again.  

Tony Graffanino flied out, and we came up in the twelfth.

We went down without a murmur, and John Hudek came into the game. Hudie survived a hit and a walk, and we came up again in the 13th.

With one out, Biggio was hit by a pitch. Bell came up, and I told Bill to give Cubby the don’t run sign. I was just hoping that Derek wouldn’t hit into a double play. If Bidge had stolen and Derek made an out, they would walk Bagwell. Derek made the out, and Bagwell came up. This time he came through with a homer, and we led 6-4.

Hudie went back to the mound and was greeted by a Bautista single. Andruw Jones followed with a fly ball to the wall in center. Then Michael Tucker drew a walk. At that point, Hudie looked exhausted, and I considered bringing in José Lima; Vern wanted to give Hudie one more hitter.

The first two pitches to Graffanino missed by a mile. I couldn’t wait. Lima came in and threw ball three, then he got two called strikes and after three foul balls, Graffanino popped out.

Now last night’s hero, Javy Lopez, came up representing the winning run. This time Lima did not quake. He struck out Lopez on three pitches.

 

At 12:45, five hours after it had begun, the players and coaches who were still in the dugout spilled onto the field in victory.

Lima was jumping up and down; just about everyone else wore the wan smile of one who has faced death and survived.

Biggio was covered with dirt from head to toe. Gutierrez was limping. Eusebio, who came in in a double-switch and had to catch the last two innings — and will have to catch Kile tomorrow with an injured knee — trudged to the mound to congratulate José. González, Carr, and Bell walked in from the outer garden. The infield dirt looked like a mine field.

The troops gathered behind the mound to press the flesh in victory. They exited stage left, a slow procession of weary heroes.