RMJ 27 March 13

THURSDAY, MARCH 13 ● Kissimmee vs Mets

Today the long string of sunny days was broken. We were delayed by rain for half an hour, then played four innings before a downpour washed the game away.

In a way, this complicates things, because we still have 19 pitchers in camp, and some of them haven’t worked many innings. We need to give them a chance to prove themselves, but we also need to get our starting pitchers ready for the season.

With a gloomy forecast for tomorrow, The Perfessor is getting a little worried. He watches over his pupils like a mother hen with her chicks.

In another way, the rain was welcome. We have had a lot of long, hot days on the diamond, and I think some of the guys needed a break.

We have a day off on Monday. Between the rain and the schedule, we should be fresh for the last two weeks of training.

           

Drayton McLane came in today. I knew he would be at the game, so I decided not to take my chewing tobacco out to the dugout. Instead, I put a slug in my mouth during the ten minutes between lunch and game time. Naturally, that’s when Drayton burst into my office.

Vern was there with me at the time, and he seemed even more uncomfortable than I was.

It’s not that Drayton is really intimidating or demanding; it’s his energy. He asks a question and hardly stops long enough to get the whole answer.

I have noticed that most team owners are energetic people. I suppose it goes with the territory. I have become accustomed to being with Drayton, and I enjoy his company.

But not with tobacco in my mouth.

I’ve only got two more days to chew, anyway. It is not really a habit for me, although I have gone through a few packs down here. I suppose it’s something about being down on the field.

When I was pitching, I didn’t chew, but lots of guys did. More than half the guys on the team smoked cigarettes when I first joined the Colt .45s. I jumped right in there, wanting to do everything the big guys were doing. From that day until this one, I have waged war with tobacco — winning mostly, but never conquering. I guess it will be that way the rest of my life.

The reason I am stopping on Sunday is that Joe Garagiola is coming through with his spit-tobacco show. Joe is a persuasive guy, and he uses an ex-ballplayer named Bill Tuttle to hammer his point home.

Tuttle picked up the habit as a youngster, and he kept chomping full-force after his playing days were over. As a result, he has lost a good part of his throat to cancer.           

The Brett Butler throat-cancer surgery convinced me to forego my occasional chew around the batting cage last summer, so I figure Sunday will be the end of it.

I knew I would have to quit before the season started, anyway. With so many games on TV and so many shots of the manager in the dugout, I knew when I took my first chew in February that it would have to be a spring fling. I don’t want to look like a slob on television, and I certainly don’t want kids to think chewing is cool.

Jeff Bagwell was a heavy chewer when he first came up. He gave it up because he was getting mail about being a role model. He quit cold-turkey, and so can I. It’s much easier than quitting cigarettes.

I still enjoy an occasional cigar. It seems that this is a socially-correct tobacco habit these days. But I can’t smoke a stogie in the dugout. Sunflower seeds and gum are less satisfying, but they will have to do.

I don’t expect it to be too difficult to quit. The nervousness associated with getting started is gone now. Of course, the regular season will bring new pressures. Why do so many of life’s little pleasures cause pain in the end? I don’t know. But since I am not looking forward to the end yet, I must cease.

           

Bill Worrell, the sports director for Prime Sports in Houston, came into camp today. I accused him of bringing the rain with him. Judy told me that we got four inches of rain in Houston yesterday.

I met Bill when I was 18 years old. I used to go out to the University of Houston, looking for girls, my rookie year. Bill was a broadcast major back then, and we have had some great fun together.

John Barleycorn got the best of him several years ago. With the help of Betty Ford, he has kicked that habit and is really doing well.

Bill covers the Astros and the Rockets. We talked basketball while I was on the Stairmaster. He still thinks they can win the title if they get everyone healthy for the playoffs.

Unlike some of my associates with the Astros, I hope they do win. It was such a wonderful thing for the city when they won their first title.

The economy wasn’t so good in Houston at the time. Things had been tough for a lot of people for a lot of years. It seemed to me that Houstonians, known for their braggadocio, were beginning to lose their spirit. The Rockets brought the spirit back, then multiplied it by winning two NBA championships in a row.

Some baseball people feel that we are competing for a slice of the entertainment-dollar pie; I feel that one team can feed off the other and make the pie larger.

I’ve been waiting 30 years for Houston to become a real sports town; I think it will take more than one team winning to make it happen. Bill thinks we are going to win, too, and that’s a nice thing to say. His slant is that I wasn’t meant to win in the booth; that it is more fitting that I win in the dugout. Sounds like Hollywood to me.

But then, I was born in Hollywood, so why not?