RMJ 197 August 31

Tm	W	L	W-L%	GB	RS	RA
HOU	70	65	.519	—	637	565
PIT	68	68	.500	2.5	594	646
STL	62	73	.459	8.0	552	554

SUNDAY, AUGUST 31 ● Chicago, vs White Sox

August isn’t over until it’s over. A fat lady sang the National Anthem at Comiskey Park, and we lost for the 17th time this month. Dog days, indeed. These dogs have been nipping at our heels and wreaking their foul breath in our faces.

I was hoping for some comic relief to loosen things up before the game. I thought it might come from Derek, when he came bounding out of the dugout with towels stuffed into his uniform to make him look like a football player. He had an ear-to-ear smile, and he was running tricky pass-patterns, but no one seemed amused.

I thought it was pretty funny, and I know it would have been a big hit if Bagwell, Gonzo, or Ricky would have done it. But the guys are not amused by Derek these days; I think they blame him for most of our troubles.

He has been a great disappointment to me, but I can be philosophical about it. You can’t expect everyone to have a good year, and you can’t expect a guy who is having a bad year to be popular — especially if he is one of your high-paid players.

 

Today it was the vexing deliveries of James Baldwin and the hitting of Albert Belle that did us in. Belle went 3-for-4 with two RBI, and Baldwin was just wild enough to keep us confused.

It seemed like he was either missing the strike zone by a foot or throwing a slider right on the corner. He walked four batters and hit two more, but we couldn’t get the key hit. We stranded 11 baserunners, and it easily could have been 12, if not for the last out of the game.

The obvious lack of hitting prompted Bidge to do something irrational in the ninth. He was on second and Billy Spiers on first with two outs and Derek at the plate. On the second pitch to Bell, Bidge set sail for third. He was thrown out on a close play, and the game was over.  

After the game, he told the Chronicle‘s Carlton Thompson that he was wrong.

“It was a stupid play,” he said. “You don’t make the last out at third.”

I had just finished telling Carlton that it was not a stupid play, despite conventional wisdom.

“Bidge is an 80-percent base-stealer, and he thought he could make it,” I said. “Usually his judgment is good. In that situation, he has to be sure, and I believe he was. But the catcher threw the ball right on the bag. It’s just one of those things.

“If we get the double-steal, one single will tie it. If not, we need two hits or an extra-base hit. The way we’ve been going, I’ll take my chances on Biggio stealing.”

 

After the reporters left, I called Russ Johnson in and told him he would be going back down to New Orleans for the playoffs. He took it well. What a great kid. I just wish he was a little faster, or a little more powerful. He will be a good handyman at the big-league level, but my guess is that his best position will be second base — and we have a pretty good second-baseman.

 

The flight home was quick and smooth. I had one last duty to perform in August, and I dreaded it.

Barry told James Mouton to report to my office. Bill accompanied me for moral support.

I think James was stunned when I told him he would be going down. But he just isn’t hitting that well — or, for that matter, fielding that well.

I know I must have looked like I was carrying the weight of the world, and not just two suitcases, as I walked across the parking lot to my car. I was stopped halfway by Russ Johnson’s wife — a pretty girl who was also pretty perplexed.

I talked to her briefly, and I learned that she had just driven in from New Orleans, only to learn that Russ was joining the New Orleans team in Des Moines. I went back to the clubhouse and made a few calls, but I got no answers. When I came back up, Tim Purpura was there, and he came over to help her out.

The rewards of being a baseball wife can be great, but the wives earn everything they get — believe me. When a husband gets the call to change teams, he flies; his wife is left to pack up the kids and the car and drive across country.

In this case, she has to turn right around and drive back.

When Scott and Becky Frederickson thought they would be spending the summer in Taiwan, they rented their house to Cubby and Jan. Then Scott got released and signed on with the Pirates, so Becky is spending the summer here in Houston with her mom and dad, a brother, and five dogs.

 

I got home in time to see Judy and Ryan. Family time will be short — three days — this time around. But at least we will start September at home.

Our opponents, the Brewers, are trying to catch the Indians, and they are only 3-1/2 games back. They don’t have as talented a team as Cleveland, but my old buddy, Phil Garner, has them playing inspired baseball. They will be tough to beat.

The way we are playing, the Little Sisters of the Poor would be worthy competition.

 

It is high time for a new song. A September song. A song for the fruitful harvest of the long summer’s labor.  

Let the music begin.