RMJ 214 September 17

WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 17 ● at Pittsburgh, vs Pirates

We arrived in Pittsburgh at 10:30, and even though I was bone-tired, I wasn’t sleepy. I suppose the enormity of this series with the Bucs had me wired.

I read Goat Brothers until two a.m. and finally wrestled myself to sleep. I didn’t get up until 10:30, which left a little less time to worry about the game.

In my mind, this was the most-important game of the year. Jason Schmidt was pitching for them. He has a great arm, but for some reason, we have hit him hard. Shane Reynolds has been a Pirate-killer.

I liked our chances going in, but going into the ballpark, there were some ominous signs. A picket line was set up outside the stadium. Our cab driver told us that the ushers had gone on strike.

As we entered the stadium, dark clouds loomed overhead. It started to rain.  That’s when I learned that the grounds crew was honoring the strike. I walked out to the field to see if the tarp was on. It was. We would have to hit in the cages.

This is not the ideal scenario. When you start a series on the road, you like to get out on the field and get used to the setting. In a series like this, you like to run around a bit and burn some nervous energy. What’s more, I had Richard Hidalgo in center, and he has never played on wet turf.

Playing line drives in the outfield can be tricky when it’s wet. The ball sort of hydroplanes, and it seems to pick up speed. Balls skip by veteran outfielders under these conditions; for a rookie, it could be a nightmare. Fortunately, Shane is a ground-ball pitcher.

 

Most of the players were at the park by 3:00. The game was pushed back 30 minutes for ESPN. The wait seemed endless as I sat in the dugout, watching the steady drizzle. Finally, the rain stopped.

I went back to my office, and the stadium operations manager came in to tell me that another rain cell was coming, and that the game would be delayed until 8:05.

I walked over to share this information with Shane. He looked distressed.

Earlier this year, he had a fine game going in Miami when the rain came. He tried to come back out and pitch, and he got hammered. Shane is a creature of habit. On the day he pitches, he has a routine that is organized practically down to the minute. He is the last guy I would choose to deal with an uncertain start time.

After the last downpour, the skies cleared. A makeshift grounds crew started removing the tarp. Here in Pittsburgh, where rain is a constant companion, the tarp operation is mechanized. I could tell right away that the new crew didn’t know how to operate the rolling machine. I was afraid they wouldn’t be able to get it up in time for the game to start as rescheduled; that would bother Shane a lot.

After two or three tries, the tarp was finally removed. It looked like it was ripped in the process, and I was hoping it wouldn’t rain again. Luckily, it didn’t.

 

Luis González got us started with a homer in the second inning. You would have thought it was a game-winner the way the guys reacted in the dugout, with high-fives all around.

I wasn’t so giddy; Shane looked a little shaky to me. It wasn’t his stuff I was concerned about; it was his body language. He just looked nervous out there, like he was expecting something bad to happen.

Instead, something good happened: We scored four runs in the third, and the last two were lucky. One came on a close call at the plate that went our way and started an argument that came close to getting Jason Kendall and Gene Lamont ejected. Umpire Bill Hohn showed admirable restraint, letting them blow off steam and stay in the game. The last run came on a misjudged pop fly.

Shane seemed to be hitting his stride, and I was feeling good about the game, but the Pirates have been a miraculous team, and they still had a lot of outs left.

When we added another run in the sixth and two more in the seventh, it looked like it was over. That’s when we had a little scene in the dugout.

Spiers was on second and Hidalgo was on first. The count on Gutierrez went to 3-2. Bill asked me if I wanted to start the runners and I said, “Yes.”

Biggio was nearby, and he pitched a fit.

“Somebody’s going to get killed,” he said.

So here we were again, with the question of how much is too much. When do you call off the dogs and quit trying to score? Our guys obviously thought the time was nigh. Spiers missed or ignored the sign to run. Gutierrez hit a chopper to third. Joe Randa fielded the ball and ran at Spiers. Then he threw to second for the force on Hidalgo, and they got Billy in a rundown. He stayed in it long enough for Ricky to advance to second, but he didn’t move up.

With two outs, Brad hit a line drive to left-center. Turner Ward cut it off just in front of the warning track. Ricky jogged into third; he didn’t even consider trying to score. Brad stopped at first. Normally, he would have gone to second. Then Shane made the last out. If Billy and Richard had run on the 3-2 pitch, we would have scored two more runs.

I could tell Biggio was agitated when he ran out to his position. I was hoping my point wouldn’t be proven in this game, but it was. We won the game, and that’s the only thing that matters.

As it turns out, this little scene gives me something to talk to the players about. They are always concerned about embarrassing the other team.  I don’t want to rub it in either, but with three innings left, a lot can happen.

Yesterday afternoon, we scored nine runs in the space of three innings. Tonight in New York, the Braves scored nine runs in the first inning. If our lead had been ten runs, or if we had only two innings left to play, I would have been content to call off the dogs. I still thought we would win the game, but I was not happy with the actions of our players.

In the bottom of the eighth, the Pirates scored two runs on a homer by Al Martin. In the ninth, Dale Sveum hit a two-run homer with one out. Now it was 8-4. I brought Billy Wagner into the game, and he walked the first batter. Mark Smith, a home-run hitter, came up to pinch-hit. If he had connected, our lead would have been two runs, and they would have the top of the order coming up with just one out.

I didn’t feel desperate, but I wasn’t comfortable, either. I doubt Biggio, Spiers, Gutierrez, and Ausmus felt much better.

Billy got the last out, and we moved 4-1/2 games in front of the Bucs and reduced our magic number to seven.

It was a great win, but the receiving line was far from exuberant. I hope this lesson will help us as we move through the last eleven games of our schedule.

 

After the game, a group of mediaphyles gathered in the hotel bar. I got to talking to my old pal and longtime beat writer Neil Hohlfeld. Neil is here to write columns for the Chronicle. He was taken off the beat several years ago because he knew too many people in baseball and knew too much about the game. When you have played baseball for many years, as Neil did growing up, and then covered it for most of your adult life, you come to know that the art of playing baseball well and understanding the game is a lifetime venture.

You realize how difficult it is to pick up a ground ball between hops; how fast you have to think and act to hit a pitch coming in at 90 MPH; how hard it is to make a quick, accurate throw from deep short. When you know how tough it is, you tend to be less critical. This is what cost Neil his job. He was not a shill for the team, but he was not a gossip-monger or a hatchet-man, either. 

Anyway, I liked having Neil around because he liked to drink beer and talk ball. It was like old times, talking about the game and catching up on the progress of our respective families. I haven’t even seen his youngest son. We agreed to get together whenever this madness is over.

 

Our conversation wound its way around to this journal, and I expressed my ambivalence about having it published.

“I don’t want to jeopardize my managing career,” I said. “But if it’s worth publishing, this is the year. You only have a rookie year once, and you only fight for a championship every so often.

“The problem is that there I have written things that will piss people off. I have talked to most of the guys I have criticized, but that was private. It could be a dicey situation. If I publish it, guys will worry about what I might write next. 

“You can’t do it,” he said. “Keep it for yourself. Don’t publish it.”

“You’re probably right,” I said. “It’s not like I need the money. It’s just that I think a lot of baseball fans would enjoy it, just as I have enjoyed so many books about the sport.”

“I know what you mean,” he said. “But you can always publish it later, after you get fired.”

We both laughed and went on to different subjects.

About fifteen minutes later, Neil said, “You know, I’ve been thinking about your journal, and maybe you could do it, if it was edited carefully. Even without the stuff that is critical of players or owner or whomever, it could still be good. I’d read it for you if you want me to, and mark the danger zones. I’d do it for free.”

I was nonplussed. After reading the article that Darryl Brock gave me about publishing houses, I have not been confident that I would get hands-on help from a baseball/literary person, at any price. Now I had the perfect person — for free. No one knows the sensibilities of the clubhouse better than the beat writer.

Yes, I think we will get together when the string runs out. I’ll make sure of that.