RMJ 28 March 14

FRIDAY, MARCH 14 ● Kissimmee and Winter Haven

This was not one of my better days, though it will likely be the one I remember the most.

For several days, I have been experiencing painful urination. Our trainer, Dave Labossiere, put me

in touch with our internist here in Florida. Dr. Link told me to wait another day and if the symptoms didn’t go away, he would prescribe an antibiotic.

Today was that day, and I should have been better prepared; it was also a day when we would play a split doubleheader: one game in Winter Haven and another in Kissimmee. I didn’t have much time to fill a prescription when I got to the ballpark, so as I left for Winter Haven, I asked Dave to get in touch with Dr. Link and call it in for me.

I was in serious discomfort the entire day. And to make matters worse, our starting pitcher, Donne Wall, didn’t have a thing working. The Indians hammered him for 10 runs in 1-1/3 innings. Fans were yelling at me, “Hey, Dierker, show some mercy! Get him out of there.”

When he finally hit the 60-pitch mark, just 15 below his target for innings, I headed for the mound.

“I bet you thought I’d never get here,” I said.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “That was embarrassing. I didn’t have good stuff, and my control was worse.”

“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’ve endured many ass-kickings at spring training. It happens almost every year, and it has happened to me more than once in this very ballpark.” The Red Sox were in Winter Haven when I was pitching, and they did knock me around a few times.

Even though the game moved swiftly after Wall’s exit, it was still a long afternoon because the first part of the game took so long. I tried to hold my bladder, but the increasing pressure finally got to me in the eighth inning. I had to rush down to the end of the dugout. No telling what the players thought; it looked like I was deserting them.    

I felt a little drowsy and a little dizzy as I drove back to Kissimmee with The Perfessor. We talked about our pitching prospects, which don’t look too promising at this juncture. We both agreed that the starters would have to eat up a lot of innings if we were to be successful.

           

When we arrived at Osceola County Stadium, it was twilight, and the western sky was saturated with clouds bleeding red with the passage of the storm.

A photographer from Sports Illustrated rushed up to me and asked if I had time to do a shoot for the golf section of their magazine.

“Sure,” I said. “Just give me a chance to take a leak, and I’ll be right with you.”

I headed for the training room, hoping the pills would be there. They were not.

“I’ve paged Dr. Link, but he hasn’t returned the call,” Dave said. “Here, let me call him again.”

“Let me know when you get him,” I said. “This situation is on the verge of becoming an emergency.”

“We can take you to the emergency room right now,” Dave offered.

“Naw, that’s all right,” I replied. “Only kidding.”

I made a few grunting sounds as I tried to squeeze out a trickle of urine.

“Are you all right?” Bill Virdon asked, as I headed for the shoot.

“Not really,” I admitted. But I’ll live.”

The thing that prompted this new wave of publicity was my advice to Darryl Kile that he work on his golf game to improve his pitching. I stood on the mound in various poses, holding a sand wedge next to a box of baseballs.

“This is a great sky,” the photographer said.

I looked around and was reminded of my own plight. The bloody hues were seeping down toward the horizon. “If you have any blood in your urine, or deposits on your shorts, come in right away,” Dr Link had advised me. So far, no blood or guts for me, but it was beginning to feel that way.

As soon as I finished the shoot, Gerry came up and pulled me aside.

“Sid complained about his elbow today.” he said. “We have to get our stories straight, and we may have to do some damage control.

“Where is it bothering him?” I asked.

“Right here, just above the elbow on the outside,” he said, pointing to an area above the joint in the meaty part of the outer bicep.

“I can’t imagine that being very serious,” I said. “If it were in the joint,” I’d worry.”

“Well, the problem is that he had this last year. They took some chips out of the joint this fall. But this may be the injury that prevented him from pitching all along.”

We consulted with our team arm doctor, Bill Bryan. Bill said it was an unusual injury for a pitcher, that the muscle involved was not ordinarily a muscle used in throwing.

“Yeah, but Sid doesn’t throw like most people,” Gerry reminded us, and I have to agree on that. His throwing motion is unique. Somehow he manages to throw overhand from way down low. I don’t think his motion could be taught; that’s how unorthodox it is.

“So, what do we say?” I asked.

Bill shot us a long medical definition, half in jest. 

“No, c’mon,” Gerry said, getting impatient.

“Why don’t we just say he is sore above his elbow, on the outside.” I suggested. “I can honestly say, I’ve never known a pitcher to have pain there, and I am not concerned that it is serious.”

“That’s fine,” Gerry said. “But we still have to deal with this quickly. In a few days we will go past the day that we can cut a guy loose without paying his full salary.”

I hadn’t thought of that. Of course, it’s not my job to think about contracts. But now that he mentioned it, I could see where it might apply to some of our other players. It’s something we have talked about, but we haven’t discussed yet.

 

This game went a lot better than the afternoon affair. I wasn’t feeling too chipper, but Sean Berry was. He hit a double and a triple, and we won by one run. Our middle-inning relief candidates — Ramón Garcia, Russ Springer, and José Lima — were a bit shaky. But Billy Wagner and John Hudek pitched well.

Hudek retired the side on just eight pitches. Then he volunteered to pitch tomorrow in Plant City. I have talked to him several times about limiting his appearances and innings, hoping to get him through the whole year without an injury. But he just keeps pushing, in a steady but nonabrasive way.

He wants to be designated the closer, and that’s why he is a good one: he wants the ball when the chips are down. I love that attitude, but I am also aware of his tendency to get hurt. He pitches his heart out, and his arm off.

I talked to the writers briefly, and it was about 10:30. I was just about to get in the shower when Bagwell came in with a beer. I could tell he wanted to talk, so I asked Dennis if he had another cool one. Naturally, he did. 

I think Bagwell and Biggio want this team to win a pennant as badly as I do — and that’s pretty bad. It’s also admirable, because they will make millions, win or lose.

There comes a time in a player’s life when The Ring is the thing. It’s not about hitting .300 or winning 20 games; it’s not about making an All-Star team or making top dollar. There is only one thing an individual player cannot do alone: win a championship.

Jeff wanted to talk about Pat Listach. He doesn’t think the bunt-for-a-hit routine will work for him.

“They play so shallow, he doesn’t have a chance,” he said. “So Bidge ends up on second with one out. We might as well sacrifice. But in this day and age, with all the high scores, how can we sacrifice in the first inning.?”

“I agree,” I said. “If he isn’t able to get himself on a fair percentage of the time, it’s not a good idea for him to bunt. And I’m not committed to him bunting no-matter-what. If he keeps getting thrown out and doesn’t hit better, I’ll have to move him down in the lineup.”

“Gonzo could hit second,” he offered.

“Then who will protect Derek Bell in the lineup?” I asked.

About this time, Biggio came in. This is the type of interplay I am looking for, but I know it is dangerous. If you allow your players to make suggestions, you better accept some of them; otherwise, they will lose confidence in you. But it’s tricky, because some of their ideas will probably be good, and some not-so-appealing.

There are a lot of ways to organize a lineup, and according to Pete Palmer, none of them make a significant difference. What Bagwell and Biggio are concerned about is Biggio getting to second with one out, with Bagwell coming up.

“They just pitch around him or walk him.” Bidge said.

It’s a good point. If you add on-base percentage to slugging percentage, you come pretty close to the total offensive value of a player. An intentional walk yields no slugging, but a 1.000 on-base average. In order to beat this, Bagwell has to go over 1.000 with his OB + SLG, or OPS as it’s now called.

Well, you know what? He has done that for a full season, and parts of several other seasons. But what does that say about Derek Bell, Gonzalez, and Berry?

If Biggio is saying what I think he is saying, it’s that he trusts Bagwell to drive in runs, but not Bell. Bagwell is better, but Bell knocked in 113 runs last year, and Berry drove in 95. If we are going to have a good offense, it can’t be based on just two guys.

These are the things I tried to tell them, in a diplomatic way. I’m not sure I succeeded, any more than I did when I told Hudek I wanted to limit his work to get him through the season. The modern athlete doesn’t accept his role on the team without asking why? I don’t mind explaining why, but I am learning that explanations may not be well-received.

We went on to discuss other options for shortstop and center field. Neither of them thinks Bell can play center. They could be right, but Bill still thinks Derek has a chance to play the position well. I have to go with Bill at this stage.

Bidge suggested that we go after John Valentin of the Red Sox. They are entertaining offers, if you believe what you read. But Valentin is a better hitter than fielder. He is not fast enough to be above-average on AstroTurf. Plus, he makes $3.5 million a year, which would blow our budget to smithereens.

 

I finally got into the shower at 11:30. Boy, was I beat. I’m glad these two guys care so much about the team, but I can see that their desire could be a problem.