RMJ 217 September 20

SATURDAY, SEPTEMBER 20 ● Cincinnati, vs Reds

We decided not to take batting practice today, and the writers decided to sleep in as well. As a result, I had plenty of time to relax before this afternoon’s ballgame.

I went with a righthanded-hitting lineup against righthander Bret Tomko. I had never seen him pitch, but the numbers say that he is better against lefthanded hitters.

After I finished filling out the lineup, I started filling out a crossword puzzle in the Cincinnati Enquirer. It was labeled “advanced” but I was able to finish it without help and without the slightest concern that any of my answers were wrong. I took this as a good sign.

 

Matt Galante is in town for the series, and I visited briefly with him. He has such an easy way with people. I wish he could have been a part of this season. By all rights, he should have been considered to manage the team. But he wasn’t, and now he is on the outside, looking in. Still, I have the impression that he wishes us nothing but good. If we get a ring in the end, he should get one too. He is a class act, all the way.

 

Mike Hampton started for us and retired the Reds on seven pitches in the first inning. He was as sharp today as he was dull in his last start.

Tomko showed why he has a winning record, throwing fastballs to either corner at will. He did make a mistake, however, in the fourth inning, and Baggy took him deep into the mezzanine.

We were able to add single markers in the fifth and the sixth, and Hampton held the Reds to one run through eight.

In the ninth, he walked the leadoff man, and he never really came close to the strike zone. I brought Russ Springer in to face Reggie Sanders, and Russ got him on a fly ball to left. Then he struck out Eduardo Pérez. The save was one out away from his grasp, but he couldn’t find the strike zone. When he walked Joe Oliver, Jack McKeon — who replaced Ray Knight and was just given a contract to manage the Reds next year — pinch-hit with Jon Nunnally.

Nunnally is the one guy I feared on the Reds’ bench today. He is a powerful lefthanded hitter, and Russ throws fly balls. So does Billy Wagner, but at least Wagner is lefthanded. Billy came in, and Russ came out. Nunnally was withdrawn and Mike Kelly, a powerful righthanded hitter, came on to hit. I liked this matchup better, but I was still worried.

Billy got strike one, which is critical to his success. The count went to 1-2 and then Kelly hit a soft popup to Biggio to end it.

Hampton got his 14th win. He needs one more to make my prediction of 15 wins, made back in May, stand up. More importantly, Wagner got his first save in more than a month. If we can get him a couple more saves before the end of the year, I will feel a lot better about beating the Braves in the playoffs.

Our magic number is five now, and it could drop to four if the Cardinals can beat the Pirates tonight. Go, McGwire, go!

 

I took a run along the Ohio River after the game. It was a cool, balmy day, and it felt good to move around and sweat a little bit. I did a few sit-ups when I got back to the locker room. It won’t be too long before I can get back on a regular workout routine.

I haven’t gained any weight in my sedentary vigil this summer, but I have gone soft. I was a bit surprised how easy it was to run today, after running for the first time in a long while yesterday. Perhaps it won’t be too painful to get back in shape.

I hope I don’t find out until November.

 

Walking back to the hotel, I passed through a great, milling mass of celebrants. No, it wasn’t our faithful following, up from Texas for the series. Nor was it a pep rally for the Bengals. It was much bigger than that. In fact, I doubt Riverfront Stadium would hold all the people who were in Cincinnati for Oktoberfest.

From what I hear, this is the largest German festival outside Germany. Beer and brats were the menu of the day.

It was a movable feast, and it moved to the tune of an oom-pah band positioned just across from our hotel, in the middle of Fountain Square. From my room on the sixth floor, it looked like a human mosaic in progress — bright colors flashing in the last slanting rays of the day.

I was struck by two memories of my father as I watched the crowd.

One was when he took Rick and me to dinner at a German restaurant in downtown LA on the way to a Dodgers game.

The other was my first football game. I can’t remember if it was a USC game or a Rams game, but I have a vivid recollection walking from our car to the LA Coliseum, passing the museums and the campus and being caught up in the swelling excitement of the crowd that grew thicker as we approached the gate. I remember that we sat near midfield, but almost at the top of the upper deck.

I was frightened at first — thought I might fall to my death.

 

These days, the thoughts of my father come easier. There is still a lingering sadness, but it is mixed with the warmth of our close-knit family. I thought about how Ryan would feel entering Turner Field in Atlanta if we make the playoffs. How he might remember it when he is grown and has kids of his own. 

 

Gerry and I entertained Dale Robertson and Carlton Thompson of the Chronicle at the Maisonette, Cincinnati’s premier five-star restaurant. We had a wonderful meal, and were in such a good mood when we left, that we stopped for a few beers and played darts on the way back to the hotel.

It was almost midnight when we crossed Fountain Square. The revelers were all gone, but their debris was ankle-deep in places, and we had to weave our way through it — which seemed only natural, in the spirit of the occasion.

“This type of thing is important,” Gerry told me as we headed upstairs. “You can’t control the press, but you can try to have a personal relationship with them. That way, at least they’re not out to get you all the time.”