RMJ 212 September 15

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 15 ● Houston, vs San Diego

 

Judy and I stayed up late, and Cubby came early, as usual.  

Sometimes I wonder if he is bored around the house. Seems like he always shows up about ten minutes before our agreed-upon departure time.

The extra time came in handy today. I had to stop by Norton Ditto’s and sign some baseballs for a promotion. Cubby is a clothes horse; I introduced him to Dick Hite, and they started talking about labels and styles.

It was almost 3:00 when we got to the Dome, and I knew the crowd was going to be small, because there weren’t many autograph hounds in the area. I signed for ten or twelve of them, then made my way to the clubhouse.

Dennis Liborio told me that a young fellow named Ty was waiting for me outside. I remembered telling him that I would meet him at 2:30 to help with the taping of a promotional announcement he was doing on the Astrodome Museum. I guess a young man has to start somewhere, but I can’t imagine getting too charged up about a museum for a stadium that is about to be replaced.

Not that it is a bad idea; the Dome will still host events after the Astros leave, and the museum will reflect the many events that have been held here. But still, you’d think the museum idea would have been done years ago — not now.

That’s the way it usually is, though. We either get more runs than we need, or not enough. When I get to the park early, I usually have nothing to do, or too much.

Today, it was too much.

 

Gerry came down, and we spent a considerable amount of time talking about the incident involving Tank and Bill. We came to no real conclusion. Gerry said I could fine Tank for cussing at Bill, but I can only fine him $499 without facing a grievance procedure. Any fine will piss him off, and it won’t make Bill any happier.

Perhaps I should be more confrontational, but fighting the player’s union is like fighting a skunk: there would be little satisfaction, even in victory.

We decided to do nothing.

 

I still hadn’t reviewed the scouting reports and matchup information on the Padres. Batting practice was already underway, and I had to do a live shot with Channel 11 at 5:15. I went down, came back up, and by the time we had our meetings to discuss the Padres, I had almost finished studying them.

I have generally found the scouting information to be accurate, and the matchups to be useful, but information has its limits in the game of baseball.

For example, we may tell a pitcher to start a certain hitter with breaking balls, and to throw fastballs inside when he is ahead in the count. But what if the pitcher is José Lima or José Cabrera? They don’t throw many breaking pitches.

And what if we throw breaking pitches and get behind in the count?

Most of the time, the pitcher goes with his own strength, rather than following the scouting report — and with good reason. He must have confidence in himself, first and foremost. If the report suggests something he is capable of doing, great. If not … well … just pitch.

A lot of the players don’t even listen to our presentations.

 

Mike Hampton had a lot of confidence going into tonight’s game. Coming out in the fifth inning, he had none left, and he was down 3-0. He just couldn’t seem to get the ball where he wanted it, and the Padres touched him for eight hits.

John Hudek nearly wiggled out of the mother of all jams: bases loaded, nobody out. He got Wally Joyner to hit into a 1-2-3 double play, then got Greg Vaughn on a pop up. Unfortunately, his first pitch to Vaughn got by Ausmus, and a run scored.

Pete Smith was pitching a flirtatious game for the Padres. He tantalized our batters with pitches just beyond the edges of the plate — pitches so tempting and irresistible that we eventually bit, even though we could never quite sink our teeth into them.  

In the first inning, Smith walked the bases loaded and escaped unscathed. Bagwell manufactured a run in the third when he singled, stole second, and scored on a base hit by González. It was Baggy’s 29th steal of the year, and he got it with more with smarts than speed. The throw had him beat, so he slid to the outfield side, dodged the tag, and grabbed the bag with his left hand as he went by, spinning himself around.      

In the seventh inning, we staged a rally. I pinch-hit with Bobby Abreu, and he walked. Biggio singled. Bell hit a deep fly ball, advancing Bobby to third. Biggio stole second, Bagwell walked, and Bochy brought a lefthander in to pitch to González.

I don’t like to hit for my regulars, but I did. Tony Eusebio was my choice, even though he is a double-play candidate. Tony ripped one to deep short, and Craig Shipley knocked it down but had no play.

Now we had the bases loaded, with the tying run on second. Bochy brought in a righthander to pitch to Berry, and I pinch-hit with Spiers.

“Look where Vaughn is playing,” I told Bill. “If Billy hits one halfway decent, it will go right over his head.”

Billy hit one halfway decent, but on a line, straight to Vaughn on one hop. If it had been off to the side at all, it would have plated two runners. As it was, Cubby had to hold Bagwell at third.

So far, my countermoves were working. This trend came to an end when I hit Howard for Hidalgo. Tank popped out. Ricky struck out. I used up almost all my bullets and I didn’t get the kill.

When Ausmus walked to open the eighth, Bochy went to his closer, Trevor Hoffman. Hoffman slammed the door, and we lost 4-3.

 

It was as tough a loss as we have had all year. Getting so close and not getting closure is worse than just getting stomped.

Going in, it looked good: Hampton against Smith. Most of their good hitters out of the lineup.

That’s why I would never bet on baseball. There is just no way to predict what is going to happen.