RMJ 14 February 28

FRIDAY, FEBRUARY 28 ● Winter Haven, vs Cleveland

The injury list has doubled now. Still nothing serious, besides Gutierrez; just a lot of assorted aches and pains. Seems just like I remember it from my playing days: no matter how much you work out before you get to Spring Training, you still get sore.

The hitters won the battle for the fourth consecutive day. This is a little discouraging. You can win without great hitting, but you cannot win without good pitching.

Shane Reynolds started today at Winter Haven, and he pitched reasonably well for two innings. Mike Hampton ran into some bad luck with bloopers and choppers, then threw up a windblown homer. José Lima, who came over with Ausmus in our big offseason trade with the Tigers, tried too hard to impress, got everything up, and had a horrible first inning. We lost the game 9-2 as the Indians staff shut down our hitters for the first time all spring.

I kept the scorecard for a souvenir, but I’m not sure I’ll save it.

  

 

I lost my first big-league start too, and I had a decent career. And I’m not so sure I wasn’t a better pitcher on my 18th birthday than I was a manager at 50. I am certain that I know enough baseball to manage, but this game was illuminating. It’s not going to be so easy at ground level as it was in the broadcast booth.

For one thing, the movement of the players to-and-fro, and the dugout conversations, interrupted my internal dialogue. I found it hard to concentrate. I was late getting signs to Cubby and to our catchers. I was afraid of making a mistake on a double-switch.

These maneuvers seem elementary when you are not distracted. But when the distractions are combined with considerations like this guy can’t run and this other guy can’t play in the field but can hit, it creates a rather intricate web of possibilities. I did not feel particularly adroit in weaving these strands into a neat design.

Oh well, they say that you are going to win 54 games, lose 54, and the other 54 will decide your fate. This was not one of those that I could have changed. And at least it’s a start.

           

I was glad to see Mickey Herskowitz after the game. Mickey is one of the class acts among sportswriters. He’s been at it so long that he covered my pitching debut when he was a young-but-already-veteran writer.

He asked me some questions about starting as a player and now as a manager; insightful questions that begged personal expression. I told him that I felt inadequate, and immediately thought that it was too strong a word. But I also thought that it was an honest description of my feelings. And I certainly hoped that I wouldn’t have to use that word again.

Maybe I won’t, but I have a sense that this job is going to be more difficult than I anticipated — and I thought it was going to be difficult.

Gerry came by my office in Kissimmee after the bus got back. He was curious as to how I felt, and I told him the same thing I told Mickey. He laughed, and I immediately felt better.

Gerry is an intensely competitive man. But he also has a disarmingly sensitive side. He can be tough, and he can also be understanding. I’m sure I will see both sides as we go along.