The Mouth That Roared (16 page)

He wasn’t afraid to get in the face of Bowa, Schmitty, or Bull if he felt they needed encouragement or a kick in the butt. That saved me from having to do all the berating. I knew Vuke represented my point of view well, and I trusted him to help spread the message.

If you had taken a clubhouse poll prior to the season, I’d guess that the majority of players would have voted to dump me. Five months into the season, with the Phillies in the thick of a pennant race, I’m sure a few holdouts felt the team was winning not because of Dallas Green, but despite Dallas Green. It would later be said that they may have been winning
to spite
Dallas Green.

The results were all that mattered to me. I wanted our guys to have chips on their shoulders and remember that we’d been picked to finish fourth in our division. They should have been a motivated bunch. Most had fallen just short of playing in a World Series several times. This might be their chance.

Pete Rose knew about October success. As a two-time World Series champion with the Reds, he had played on some of the best teams of the previous 50 years. In 1980, Pete hit .284, his lowest batting average since 1964, the year he hit the only grand slam of his career, off yours truly. Statistically speaking, it was a down year for Pete, though he remained a doubles-hitting machine.

From the bench, Vuke, my coaches, and I could only do so much to fire up the players on the field. By playing the game with unbelievable passion, Pete took on the role of an on-the-field surrogate. He inspired his teammates to succeed.

Between Vuke and Pete, we had two blue-collar ballplayers and natural leaders. The only difference between them is that one finished his career with 90 hits and the other with 4,256.

*

We trailed the Expos by half a game going into the second-to-last series of the season, a four-game set at home against the Cubs. Looking for the right chemistry in our lineup, I benched Luzinski, Maddox, and Boone for the series opener. The game was tied in the 15
^th
inning when Chicago broke through for two runs. Down 5–3 and facing the prospect of falling further behind Montreal in the standings, we fought back with three runs in the bottom of the 15
^th
. The tying run scored on a single by Maddox, who had entered the game a few innings earlier. He came home with the winning run on Manny Trillo’s third hit of the night. After the game, Garry accused me of “managing for the press,” whatever that means.

We went on to sweep the Cubs to pull into a tie with the Expos, who took three games in a row from the Cardinals.

That set up a final three-game showdown with Montreal over the first weekend of October. The first team to win two games was going to the playoffs.

Dick Ruthven came into the first game of the series with a career-high 16 wins. I counted on him to notch another one in Montreal. The Expos were depending on Scott Sanderson, also in search of his 17
^th
win, to do the same.

It was a well-pitched game on a cold night. Ruthven pitched 5⅔ innings of one-run ball, and we were able to scratch out a 2–1 win, aided by Schmitty’s 47
^th
homer of the year.

It was our 12
^th
one-run win since September 1.

A possible division-clinching game the next afternoon almost got snowed out. The snow then turned to rain. We sat around for hours waiting for a break in the weather. Most of our traveling party, including team staff and spouses, returned to the hotel. And we just sat. It was gut-wrenching. We were right where we wanted to be, needing to win just one baseball game to get back to the playoffs. Finally, the game started. It wasn’t a thing of beauty. We committed five errors and stranded 12 runners on base that night.

We took a one-run lead in the top of the seventh but relinquished it in the bottom half of the inning. Things were tense. Sylvia, who had remained at the ballpark during the delay, was sitting with team officials behind our dugout when someone affiliated with the Expos threw a drink at first-base coach Ruben Amaro Sr.’s face as he came off the field. As Ruben tried to go up in the stands after the guy, Pope and team treasurer George Harrison were banging him over the head with their umbrellas. Before Ruben could join them, stadium security swooped in.

Trailing by a run in the ninth inning and down to our final out, we got a game-tying single from Boone. Schmitty then put the cherry on top of an MVP season, connecting on his 48
^th
home run of the season off Stan Bahnsen in the top of the 11th inning. That gave us a 6–4 win and the National League East Division title. In a meaningless game to end the season, the Expos snapped our six-game win streak.

Our march to the NLCS, which included a 23–11 record in September and October, seemed like a cakewalk compared to Houston’s. We clinched our division in the second-to-last game of the season. Houston and Los Angeles had to play an extra game to decide the NL West after the Dodgers swept the Astros to make up a three-game deficit over the final weekend.

Prior to the one-game playoff between the two teams, I opined that I hoped Houston won the game. We had played well against the Astros that season, winning nine of 12 games against them, and considering Schmitty was the only guy on our team who hit more than 19 home runs, I liked the idea of playing in the pitcher-friendly Astrodome.

Houston’s victory in the tiebreaking game prevented a Phillies-Dodgers NLCS matchup for the third time in four years. I guess you have to be careful what you wish for, because the Astros ended up giving us all we could handle.

A division crown was not our ultimate goal in 1980. If it had been, Danny Ozark would still have still been managing the team. For the fourth time in five years, we had a chance to win the pennant and World Series. And that’s what we planned to do.

As we prepared to meet the Astros in the National League Championship Series, I didn’t get too carried away with clubhouse speeches. My mouth had roared plenty of times during the tumultuous season. Nothing more needed to be said. If we continued playing with the determination we showed in September and early October, we could beat anybody. I also didn’t think it was necessary to bury the hatchet with Greg Luzinski, Garry Maddox, Larry Bowa, or any of the other players I clashed with during the season. I didn’t hold any grudges, and I hoped they didn’t, either.

Our sole focus had to be a formidable Astros team. Manager Bill Virdon’s lineup may have lacked pop, but it featured guys who knew the value of sound, fundamental baseball. Houston’s “nickel-and-dime attack,” as an Associated Press reporter called it, was led by outfielders Jose Cruz and Cesar Cedeno. But it also included Joe Morgan, Enos Cabell, and Terry Puhl, all of whom stole more than 20 bases.

The Astros’ real strength, however, was pitching. Joe Niekro won 20 games in 1980, and Nolan Ryan, Ken Forsch, and Vern Ruhle all had impressive seasons. Even without ace J.R. Richard, who started the All-Star Game just weeks before suffering a career-ending stroke, Houston had a staff that could frustrate opposing hitters, especially in a short series.

Fortunately, we had the best pitcher on either team, which gave us an advantage in the series opener. Steve Carlton hadn’t pitched since notching his 24
^th
win six days earlier, so he was well-rested.

The Astros hopped a red-eye flight to Philadelphia for Game 1 after winning their one-game tiebreaker with the Dodgers. A record crowd of more than 65,000 fans at Veterans Stadium turned out to give us an added edge.

The first game of the NLCS was a throwback to the first game of the season. Luzinski played hero in both. His two-run home run against Ken Forsch in the sixth inning erased a 1–0 Astros lead.

Carlton didn’t have his best stuff in Game 1, but even his Grade-B stuff tied the Astros in knots. He scattered seven singles over seven innings before I lifted him from the game. Pinch hitter Greg Gross got us an insurance run by singling to score Maddox, who was starting for the first time in more than a week.

Tug McGraw, who carried a 26-inning scoreless streak into the game, blanked Houston over the final two innings to preserve our 3–1 win.

It was a mundane start to what turned out to be a wild series.

My postgame evaluation: we played sluggishly, but we won.

Bull, who had worked with hitting coach Billy DeMars to fix a glitch in his swing, told reporters he was ready to put a rough season behind him in order to focus on a larger objective. “I know the fans have been on me,” he said. “But they’ve been on a lot of other guys, too. I know there’s been talk about me being traded, but right now I want it out of my mind. My only goal is to get us in the World Series.”

Well said, Bull.

*

Our work in Philadelphia wasn’t done. We knew the importance of coming back the next night and winning Game 2, the last game of the series to be played at the Vet. We wanted to go to Houston needing to win just one of three games to advance to the World Series.

In Game 2, we had Nolan Ryan and the Astros right where we wanted them. Dick Ruthven held his own against Ryan, who exited the game in the bottom of the seventh inning with the score tied 2–2. But with the bases loaded and one out, Joe Sambito came in to strike out Bake McBride, and fellow reliever Dave Smith did the same to Mike Schmidt, ending the threat.

It was the first of several missed opportunities that changed the complexion of the series.

The teams traded runs in the eighth to keep the game deadlocked. In the bottom of the ninth, we again loaded the bases with one out. This time, Manny Trillo struck out and Maddox fouled out to send the game into extra innings.

Ron Reed, who had pitched a scoreless ninth, got knocked around in the 10
^th
, giving up four runs. After scoring a run to pull within 7–4 in the bottom half of the inning, Schmitty came to the plate as the potential tying run with two outs. He got the green light on a 3-0 pitch from Joaquin Andujar but flied out to end the game.

Despite numerous chances to win, we let Game 2 slip away, stranding 10 runners on base in the final four innings. Our lack of clutch hitting obviously concerned me. If a team goes into a hitting rut during the regular season, there is time to recover. That isn’t the case in a best-of-five playoff series.

After the tough loss, some reporters expected me to lash out at McBride for failing to score from second base on a one-out Lonnie Smith single in the ninth inning. Bake showed indecision as he rounded third, and after taking a wide turn, he returned to the bag.

“That’s a very difficult thing for a base runner with only one out,” I said after the game. “It’s his judgment. He made a turn and stopped.”

I made it clear we had no intention of folding our tent in Houston.

“We won nine of 12 against the Astros this year, so we had to beat them down there sometime,” I said during the postgame press conference.

In fact, we had won four of six in the Astrodome, the so-called eighth wonder of the world. Now we needed to win two of three to avoid another exit in the NLCS.

*

In 1980, the Astros won 55 games at home, a win total that more than compensated for a losing road record. After taking Game 2 at the Vet, the Astros clearly liked their chances of winning the series. On the day off between games, a couple of Houston players told reporters their team was now in the driver’s seat. I guess they didn’t realize we were 21–10 in our last 31 road games.

I didn’t see dejection or fatigue on the faces of my players. With more reporters than ever in the clubhouse, guys like Bowa and Schmidt stepped up and explained that the team had already put the tough Game 2 loss behind it. Rose and Tug McGraw stayed loose, with Tugger joking that the Phillies wanted to build suspense by letting the series play out a while longer. Pete cracked that MLB commissioner Bowie Kuhn was a very happy man, because the longer series meant more revenue for Major League Baseball.

With the off-day banter out of the way, we took the field for Game 3, the first home playoff game in Astros history, and also the first postseason game ever played in a dome. In the enclosed stadium, the roar of the crowd stayed trapped, creating a mind-boggling noise level.

The Astrodome lived up to its reputation as a pitcher’s park that afternoon. We had a helluva time mounting any kind of an attack against Joe Niekro, whose knuckleball dipped and dived all day. We left runners in scoring position in each of the first three innings, continuing a disturbing trend from Game 2. After that, we didn’t show much life again until the ninth inning when we stranded two more runners on base against Niekro. Fortunately for us, Larry Christenson and our bullpen did an equally outstanding job. The game remained scoreless after nine innings.

The most noteworthy event of the game to that point came in the sixth inning, when Cesar Cedeno of the Astros tripped over first base and broke his ankle, ending his season.

Joe Morgan opened the bottom half of the 11
^th
inning with a triple. With nobody out, I instructed Tugger, who was in his fourth inning of work, to intentionally walk the next two batters to create a force play at any base. The plan didn’t work. Denny Walling, a utilityman who got the start that day, hit a fly ball deep enough to score pinch runner Rafael Landestoy from third with the winning run.