RMJ 219 September 22

MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 22 ● Cincinnati, vs Reds

With a 12:30 game today, I rolled out at 8:00. Not exactly the way I would choose to start my birthday.

During the season, baseball comes first. Well, almost. A death or birth in the family might rate a leave of absence these days. Used to be that even the birth of a child was no excuse.

“You’ll see ’em soon enough,” they would say. “Besides, they won’t know who the hell you are anyway.”

This birthday started with an error. I finished Goat Brothers and started Keep the Change. I left the loose change on my bedstand, and the book too, along with my reading glasses. I’ll call the hotel tomorrow, but I am not expecting to get anything back. I would say I am about 1-for-10 in recovery situations.

 

I went back to Batsakes, got my hat from Gus, and left an Astros cap for Charlie. The morning air was crisp and clean — a harbinger of autumn, an intimation of the coming season of baseball glory.

I quickened my pace, bouncing on my toes as I approached the stadium. The unfinished crossword was still on my desk. I concocted my lineup and attacked the crossword over breakfast of bacon, eggs, and grits. The grits brought a smile.

I have long thought Cincinnati to be a Southern city out of place in the north. Its current designation as The Queen City and its old nickname, Porkopolis, do nothing to discredit this image. The Germanic settlers who crowded the downtown streets celebrating Oktoberfest seem somewhat provincial. But the way I see it, there is more Houston than New York in this, the birthplace of professional baseball.

I was comforted when I was able to complete the crossword with only three “guess” letters. Perhaps this would be a glorious birthday; I could sense a blowout in the making, with Mike Remlinger on the mound for the Reds.

Remlinger, a former number-one draft pick of the Giants in 1987, is lefthanded, and he has explosive stuff. But he has been a mistake-waiting-to-happen throughout his career. I figured he would walk a few batters and give up a home run or two.

On our side, Shane Reynolds, on an improving trend and facing a lineup decimated by injuries, was primed to pitch a good game.

Only a few guys took batting practice. Tim Bogar, with a cast on his left arm, did the pitching, and the guys were giving him the business every time someone hit a home run.

As I changed shirts to go down for the game, I couldn’t help but notice the levity in the clubhouse. All systems were “go.”

So it seemed.

 

Biggio led off with a double. Bell moved him to third with a ground ball to second. Bell got the hero’s welcome for his unselfish hitting. I was glad for the spirit, but in the first inning against a guy like this, I would prefer the swashbuckling approach to the more-conservative, “get him over, get him in” approach. Bagwell did get him in, however.

We took the field with a 1-0 lead and held it. Shane looked a little shaky, though. He was nibbling at the corners of the plate; not a good sign.

The Reds got a run in the third on a double by Pokey Reese. It could have been worse, but we turned a nifty 3-6-1 double play to end the inning as the potential lead run was crossing the plate.

We got another run in the fourth, and we should have had two. Hidalgo homered, for openers. With one out, Tony Peña doubled, with Ricky running on the pitch. Ricky would have scored if a fan had not interfered by reaching over the railing for the souvenir. It was an automatic double, on umpire’s discretion. I didn’t argue, but this is a bad rule.

It would be one thing if a Reds fan prevented the Reds from scoring, but think about it this: What if we announced that fans in the Dome should try to deflect any extra-base hit by our opponent, to make sure that it is only a double and that a runner couldn’t score from first?

It was their fan who interfered with our score.  I believe the umpire can allow the run to score, on his discretion, but they never do. They just treat it like a ground-rule double.

Reggie Sanders led off the sixth with an infield hit. He moved to second on a clean single. Shane struck out Oliver, trying to bunt. But then the umpires called a balk for Shane not stopping at the “set” position.

This is not a call you can argue, but it is a chickenshit call. I don’t care if it is called for us or against us; it just isn’t right. Shane had no intent to deceive the runner, and his pause at the set position was no different than on a dozen other pitches during the game.

If the umpires want to enforce this rule, they should do it early in the game, where it doesn’t have a major impact.

Once again, we lucked out. Bret Boone hit a towering fly ball to deep center. Richard Hidalgo made a terrific catch, and the Reds had to settle for one run.

We had been stranding baserunners throughout the game. Had numerous chances to break it open, and we could not get a key hit.

In the bottom of the seventh, our defense cracked.

Pokey Reese bunted down the first-base line on our new pitcher, Mike Magnante. I don’t know if Pokey noticed the knee braces under Mike’s uniform, but it was a good play — and when Mike threw the ball away, it became a great play. Jon Nunnally dropped a sacrifice bunt, and Reese went to third. We brought the infield in, and Chris Stynes hit a swinging bunt down the third-base line. Spiers tried a desperate throw home, but he threw the ball away. The lead run scored and Stynes went to second.

Magnante got the next out. Springer came in and got the last out.

In our half of the eighth, Ricky fought for a walk, leading off. I pinch-hit Chuck Carr for Tony Peña. Everyone thought I was going to have Chuckie bunt. But I had other ideas.

Belinda is a sidearm pitcher, and Chuckie is a pull hitter. With first base occupied, I thought he might be able to pull the ball into right field and advance Ricky to third. When Chuckie took the first pitch and didn’t square around, some of the guys in the dugout were mad; they thought he had either missed or ignored a sign. When he hit the next pitch into the right-field corner, they were happy.

Trader Jack McKeon brought his closer, Jeff Shaw, into the game. He has only blown a couple of saves all year, but with second and third and nobody out, this was almost a Mission: Impossible. It became just that when Bobby Abreu hit a liner off Shaw’s knee, and Shaw had to be carried off the field. We tied the game on that hit and took a three-run lead when Bill Spiers doubled.

Wagner closed the deal, and we whittled our magic number to three.

 

This game, more than any other since the first game at Denver, had me by the nape of the neck. I felt like there was low-voltage electricity coursing through my body. My thinking mechanism was working, but my neuro-emotional buffers were shot.

When I got back to my office, it took a minute or two to compose myself. One of the reporters wished me a happy birthday, and I told him that I felt as if I had gone from 50 to 52 in one day. 

The first question was about Bagwell. He stole his 30th base today to become the first full-time first baseman to hit 30 or more homers and steal 30 or more bases.

The 30-30 club and the like are products of PR directors and TV. producers. No one ever thought about these “clubs” when I was playing. The arbitrary goals of hitting .300 and winning 20 games were well-established, but even these numbers can be misleading.

For example, when Mike Scott won the Cy Young Award in 1986, he pitched 275 innings with an ERA of 2.22, but he won “only” 18 games. In 1989, he won 20 while pitching 229 innings with a 3.10 ERA.