The Mouth That Roared (17 page)

Like I said, just because the Astros lacked superstars didn’t mean they were easy to beat. And they knew it.

“You know, we don’t have one guy who’s going to bowl over another team,” Enos Cabell told reporters after Game 3. “It takes seven or eight of us to do it.”

I felt the same way about my team.

We hadn’t quit when we found ourselves six games out of first place in early August. We didn’t flinch when we went to Montreal the last weekend of the season needing two wins. And we weren’t going to concede defeat now.

“I know we’re in trouble,” I said after Game 3. “I feel a little bit down right now. But we’re going to get together in the locker room and try to regroup. We’re just not getting any offense now.”

Rose explained why he still had confidence. “They have to beat the best pitcher in the world to win the pennant,” he said on his way out of the Astrodome clubhouse, referring to Lefty, of course.

That night, the Royals finished off a three-game sweep of the Yankees in the American League Championship Series. I hoped to be hosting Kansas City in the first game of the World Series in a few days.

*

In search of a hot bat in Game 4, I benched Bull, who went 0-for-5 in Game 3, in favor of Lonnie Smith. The game started off no differently than the previous two. We had plenty of chances to score off Astros starter Vern Ruhle, but we couldn’t come up with a timely hit.

At least I got a workout in. In the fourth inning, the game was delayed 20 minutes while I argued with home-plate umpire Doug Harvey over a disputed triple-play call. We felt Ruhle hadn’t caught the batted ball that precipitated the triple play. After the dust settled, the umpires inexplicably ruled it a double play when it should have been ruled a triple play or nothing. The inning continued, but we still didn’t score. Both Virdon and I filed unsuccessful protests over the call.

Carlton lasted only 5⅓ innings. I had little choice but to lift him in the bottom of the sixth inning with the bases loaded, one out, and the Astros already leading 2–0.

Dickie Noles came in to face Luis Pujols, who hit a sacrifice fly that scored Gary Woods from third base. Or did it? My coaches and I had kept a keen eye on Woods, and we had no doubt that he left the bag way before the fly ball landed in Bake McBride’s glove.

Dickie tossed the ball to Schmitty at third base to appeal the play. Third-base umpire Bob Engel stuck his thumb in the air to signify that Woods was out. The Astros’ third run came off the board, and the double play ended the inning.

Ruhle kept us at bay for the first seven innings, which brought our scoreless streak in the NLCS to 18 innings. We had six outs to get our act together or our season was over.

I paced around the dugout trying to vent some of my nervous energy. All I could do was bark generic words of encouragement: “We haven’t scored yet, boys! Let’s go! We gotta get on base before we score!”

The team didn’t need any motivation at this point. Every player in that dugout realized our plight. And they refused to go away quietly. Gross, Smith, and Rose singled off Ruhle to put us on the board in the eighth, forcing Virdon to dip into his bullpen. Dave Smith gave up another single to Schmitty, which tied the score at 2–2. Manny Trillo’s sacrifice fly later that inning gave us a one-run lead. Trillo’s sac fly actually should have been ruled a hit, allowing the inning to continue, since Astros right fielder Jeff Leonard merely trapped the ball instead of catching it. Instead, after I had another screaming session with the umpires, the moment simply became another footnote to a strange and exhilarating game.

Leading 3–2 entering the bottom of the ninth, I opted to stick with reliever Warren Brusstar, who had pitched a scoreless eighth. The ninth inning normally belonged to Tugger, but he needed rest after throwing a lot of pitches the day before. A walk, a sacrifice bunt, and a single allowed Houston to tie the score. For the third straight game, we were headed for extra innings.

In the 10
^th
inning, I gave Bull a shot at redemption. With Rose on first base and two outs, the Astros had left-hander Joe Sambito on the mound. Playing the percentages, I had the right-handed-hitting Bull bat for McBride. Bull rewarded my faith in him by stroking a double to left field. On the crack of the bat, Pete took off and rumbled all the way around to score, bowling over Astros catcher Bruce Bochy in the process. Trillo followed with another double to score Bull.

Pete later said nothing was going to stop him from scoring that run: “They could have had a road block there, and I’d have broken the law and gone right through the road block, because I had to score that run. That gave us a lift. When I scored that run, guys started to say, ‘Maybe things will go our way.’”

Another run put us up 5–3 going into the bottom of the 10
^th
, and I turned to Tugger this time, hoping he had another inning in his tired arm. He recorded a one-two-three inning.

We had survived.

“It has been written that the Phillies have no character,” I said after the game. “You would believe this team had no character only if you turned off your TV sets early. It was one of those frustrating games when we struggled early. And after they tied us in the ninth, we could have quit, but didn’t.”

*

We had battled for 166 games only to see the season come down to a single contest. I had a choice to make for Game 5. Should I start 17-game winner Dick Ruthven, who pitched well in Game 2, or should I roll the dice and go with rookie Marty Bystrom? My gut told me Bystrom.

“I’m giving you the ball tomorrow, kid,” I told Marty the night before Game 5.

Though only 22, Marty had pitched in enough pressure-filled situations in his first month in the big leagues to show me he could handle this assignment. Little did anyone know, least of all me, that Ruthven would still play a big role in the outcome of Game 5.

We had experienced a lot since April. On some days we looked like world-beaters. On other days we played lethargically. For the first five months of the season, I honestly didn’t know whether the players wanted a championship as badly as they said they did. There were days when I lost my cool with them. Pope got his licks in, too. At times, it appeared we might come apart at the seams. If we had played poorly in September and failed to make the playoffs, I’m sure all sorts of fingers would have been pointed my way. But we came together in the end, winning our division in the 161
^st
game of the season. It took us every one of those games to become a cohesive unit. Now we had an identity. We were battlers. And all 25 guys on the roster played a part in getting us where we were. Did the team finally decide to buy into my program? I guess you could say that. But more accurately, they bought into themselves. That was my program.

But all of that would mean nothing if we couldn’t get another win in Houston.

*

If you were in the Philadelphia area and watched the 1980 NLCS on television, you were guided through it by two of the best broadcasters in the business, Harry Kalas and Richie Ashburn. Before Game 5, Richie made a prediction: “I think something unusual will decide this ballgame. It might be a bad play. It could be a check-swing base hit. But I don’t think we’re going to see your basic ballgame here. I don’t think it’s going to be boring.”

Richie nailed it.

To get to the World Series, we had to go through Nolan Ryan. In his first season with Houston, Ryan hadn’t put up the eye-catching totals in wins, complete games, and strikeouts he produced in eight seasons with the California Angels. But he was still one of the most feared pitchers in the game. At the age of 33, he already had compiled the third-most strikeouts in the history of the game. And dating back to the 1969 postseason with the Mets, when he was just a few months older than Bystrom was in 1980, he generally pitched well in the postseason. Considering we hadn’t exactly pounded the ball in the first four games of the series, Ryan presented a major challenge for us.

I gave our young guys plenty of chances to prove themselves during the season, but for Game 5 of the NLCS, our fifth game in six days, I handed in a lineup card with the names of the eight position players who had started our season opener in April: Pete Rose, Bake McBride, Mike Schmidt, Greg Luzinski, Manny Trillo, Garry Maddox, Larry Bowa, and Bob Boone.

I felt a strong veteran lineup would help us against Ryan. In a season when so many players contributed to our success, it was only appropriate that I ended up using 20 of the 25 players on my roster that night.

*

Marty won some crucial games for us in September, but this was his first time pitching on the national stage. If that wasn’t pressure enough, he’d be pitching in a loud and hostile environment. In each of the first four games of the series, the Astros got on the board first. To avoid adding to the list of challenges Marty already faced, I hoped we could jump out to an early lead in Game 5.

On the suggestion of Steve Carlton, Marty took the mound with cotton in his ears to help drown out the deafening roar of the Astrodome crowd. After Ryan set us down in order in the top of the first, Marty ran into immediate trouble. Terry Puhl led off with a single and, with one out, stole second. Marty retired Joe Morgan but yielded a run-scoring double to Jose Cruz. With Houston up early, the sold-out crowd at the Astrodome got that much louder.

Fortunately, we answered right back. With Maddox and Trillo in scoring position with two outs, Boone singled to center field to put us ahead 2–1.

The score stayed that way into the bottom of the sixth, thanks in equal parts to a workmanlike performance by Marty and two plays in the field that resulted in outs at home plate.

A defensive blunder by Luzinski in the bottom of the sixth allowed Houston to tie the score. Denny Walling hit a catchable line drive that grazed off Bull’s glove for a two-base error. With one out, Alan Ashby drove in Walling with a single.

That was it for Marty. He gave me all I could have asked for, yielding just one earned run in 5⅓ innings. Brusstar got the final two outs of the sixth.

Ryan, meanwhile, seemed to be getting stronger as the game went on. From the third inning through the seventh, he faced the minimum number of batters.

Both teams knew the classic do-or-die mantra: there is no tomorrow. In reality, the winning team would get tomorrow off before squaring off against the Royals. The loser would have 120-some tomorrows until spring training.

The circumstances prompted me to get creative with my choice of relief pitchers. Our bullpen had logged a lot of innings in the series, so I turned to Game 3 starter Larry Christenson, pitching on one day’s rest, to give me an inning.

Puhl, who went 10-for-19 in the series, again led off an inning with a base hit. Cabell sacrificed him to second, where he stayed on a ground out. We were one big out away from keeping the game deadlocked, but Houston mounted a rally. After Cruz walked, Walling singled to right to score Puhl. Christenson then uncorked a wild pitch that brought Cruz home. Ron Reed came in and surrendered a run-scoring triple to Art Howe. When the inning finally ended, the Astros led 5–2.

Just like the night before, we were six outs away from 120 tomorrows. Ed Wade, the Astros’ public relations director, left the Astrodome press box and started making preparations for the postgame press conference. “With Ryan on the mound, I thought we had it wrapped up,” the future Phillies general manager said.

Some dugouts might have gotten quiet at this point. But ours was buzzing with energy. Everybody in a Phillies uniform wanted a piece of the action. Out in the bullpen, Dickie Noles was nearly coming out of his skin. He had pitched well in Games 3 and 4, so I had him get loose in both the sixth and seventh innings before deciding to sit him back down for good. Between innings, Dickie came down from the bullpen and paced furiously from one end of the dugout to the other, making sure I saw him each time he passed. On his third time by, he stopped in front of me.

“What’s the matter, you don’t trust me?” he yelled. “Put me in the game!”

I respected Dickie’s fire, and always had, but at that moment I had more pressing concerns.

“Get your ass back to the bullpen, Dickie!” I screamed at him. “I’ll let you know if I need you!”

Dickie wasn’t alone. Everybody in the dugout wanted to grab a bat. It was a controlled intensity, however. And that was important. With Ryan very much in control, we would have played right into his hands if our guys got overeager at the plate. We couldn’t bank on erasing the deficit with a long ball. Home runs had been few and far between in the series. In fact, Bull’s homer in Game 1 stood as the only one hit by either team. To win this game, we needed to chip away at the lead.

Before Bowa led off the inning, Rose told him, “Get on base, and we’ll win this thing.” Bowa proceeded to dump a single into center field.

What happened next had a profound impact on the outcome of the game. Booney hit a grounder back to the mound. The ball, which wasn’t hit hard, ricocheted off Ryan’s glove and fell into no-man’s land for an infield single. If Ryan fielded ball, the Astros would have easily turned a double play, making a Houston–Kansas City World Series that much more likely. But as it stood, we had runners on first and second with nobody out.

*

The roar of the fans in the Astrodome made it difficult to talk to anyone. That led to a lot of interior monologues in the dugout and on the field.