The Mouth That Roared (19 page)

It’s hard for me to accept the allegation that I would bench a guy in the World Series purely out of spite. For several seasons, Bull had been a big part of our offense, and maybe he deserved more playing time than I gave him in the playoffs. But by fielding a team I thought gave us the best chance to win that night, I was simply following the blueprint of the season. Under the circumstances, I felt Moreland and Smith could help us more at the two positions Bull could have played.

*

I hoped to avoid a repeat of the NLCS, in which we split the first two games of the series at the Vet. With Carlton facing Larry Gura in Game 2, we needed to win or risk giving the Royals a big boost in momentum as the series moved to Kansas City for the next three games.

Lefty held the Royals without an earned run over the first six innings of Game 2, then suddenly lost his command of the strike zone. Three walks in the seventh inning contributed to three Kansas City runs that gave the Royals a 4–2 lead.

Every baseball writer in the press box waited to see how we’d respond. Either way, they had a ready-made lede to their game stories. Another late-inning rally by the Phillies would solidify our reputation as the Comeback Kids. If we fell short, however, there’d be a lot made about our run of improbable victories coming to a screeching halt.

We got the newspaper headlines we wanted.

Bob Boone led off the eighth with a walk against Royals closer and AL saves leader Dan Quisenberry. Del Unser, pinch-hitting for Lonnie Smith, smacked a double to drive home Boone. A double by Schmidt and singles by McBride and Moreland later in the inning brought in three more runs.

I can’t say enough about the contributions of our role players during the 1980 postseason. Del Unser, who delivered two critical hits in Game 5 of the NLCS, came through again in the World Series. He and Greg Gross were among the most prepared players on the team. Each would spend a lot of time in the clubhouse watching game tape and live games on TV to pick up on the tendencies of opposing pitchers. Before the World Series, they studied Quisenberry, knowing that as left-handed hitters, they’d likely be called on to face him in the late innings. That preparation had paid off for Del in Game 2.

With a 6–4 lead entering the ninth, I normally would have called for Tugger. But there was no question that he needed a night off. Ron Reed, who saved nine games during the season, came in to try and get the final three outs. He brought the tying run to the plate but got out of the inning unscathed.

We would have cruised to victory in Game 2 if Carlton hadn’t walked six batters. In my postgame remarks, I attributed Lefty’s inability to get a proper grip on his slider to the fact that the game balls were unusually slippery. I said I’d be contacting the commissioner’s office with a formal complaint. Even though we won, I felt I needed to stick up for my ace.

In winning the first two games at home, we had put the Royals in a bind. They had to win two of three games at Royals Stadium to prevent us from celebrating a championship on their field. And even if they swept the middle three games of the series, we’d still have a shot to win the title back at the Vet.

*

Bull’s illness kept him from traveling with the team to Kansas City, but when he showed up, he fumed that I didn’t even ask him how he felt. I left the Game 2 lineup unchanged for Game 3, which pitted Dick Ruthven against Rich Gale.

I couldn’t have asked for more from Ruthven, who gave up three runs in nine innings. Unfortunately, we went cold in the clutch. Despite 14 hits and six walks, we only scored three runs. In the process, we tied a World Series record by stranding 15 runners on base.

The game went to the 10
^th
inning tied 3–3. I hoped Tugger, who was pitching on two days’ rest for the first time that postseason, could keep the Royals scoreless long enough for us to pull the game out. But with two outs in the 10
^th
, Aikens singled home Wilson with the winning run.

Talk about a frustrating loss. We had the Royals where we wanted them but couldn’t put them away to go up 3–0 in the series.

“We had a chance to crush this team tonight, but we just passed it up,” I lamented after the game. “We had the game if we can come up with that one clutch hit.”

The defeat gave us our first taste of adversity in the World Series. Our response to that setback would be critical. But Game 4 didn’t start any better than Game 3 had ended. The Royals jumped all over Larry Christenson for four runs in the first inning. It just wasn’t Larry’s night, and he recorded only one out before I pulled him from the game. He even committed an error on a would-be pick-off play at first base. His father was in a coma with a brain aneurysm, so L.C.’s thoughts may have been elsewhere. Dickie Noles and Kevin Saucier hadn’t pitched since the NLCS, but it appeared I’d need multiple innings from one of them. Dickie had been warming up for just a few seconds when bullpen coach Mike Ryan asked him if he was ready. “Ready!” responded Dickie, not about to pass up a chance to pitch in the World Series.

Dickie got us out of the inning, but we still had four runs to make up. When he went back for his second inning of work, the score was 4–1…at least for a little while. Dickie retired the first two hitters, but Aikens added to the Royals’ lead with yet another home run. As the ball sailed out toward right field, Dickie turned and watched it clear the fence. When he turned back around, he saw Aikens still standing at the plate, admiring his fourth homer of the series. This didn’t escape Dickie’s attention. “Willie, you better start running, or you’re gonna get hit next time!” he shouted.

Back in the dugout between innings, Dickie started talking to Moreland, Bystrom, and Walk. I didn’t hear exactly what was being said, but I had a pretty good idea of the general topic. Somebody was going to pay for Aikens’ showmanship.

A couple of innings later, Aikens was in the on-deck circle when George Brett pissed Dickie off by taking his time getting in the batter’s box. During the day off before Game 3, Brett underwent minor surgery to lance a swollen hemorrhoid. Maybe he wasn’t feeling himself, or maybe he was just trying to get under Dickie’s skin. After each of the first two pitches, both strikes, he stepped out of the box and made Dickie wait some more. At that time in his life, Dickie was easy to agitate, so he decided to throw his 0-2 pitch high and tight. The order didn’t come from the bench, but I was pleased with the outcome.

The ball sailed up and under the chin of Brett, who dove to the ground to avoid being hit. For a couple of seconds, an eerie silence came over Kauffman Stadium. Then, in unison, more than 40,000 fans started booing like crazy.

Royals manager Jim Frey raced out of the dugout screaming bloody murder: “He was trying to hit him! He was trying to hit him!” Jimmy tried to sidestep home-plate umpire Don Denkinger to go out after Dickie.

Pete Rose viewed the outburst with amusement. “Jimmy, get your ass back in the dugout!” Rose yelled. “If he wanted to hit him, he would’ve hit him!”

When play resumed, Dickie struck out Brett. Then he struck out Aikens. As we left the field, a fan threw an object that grazed Pete. It turned out to be a wadded-up paper cup, but we didn’t really care what it was. A bunch of our guys jumped out of the dugout looking for the guilty party.

We still trailed the Royals by four runs, but we showed some fight that afternoon. We cut the lead to 5–3 in the eighth, and that’s how the game ended. The series was now tied.

Though we didn’t win the game, I liked that the team showed a little fire. In my playing days, no one thought twice if a pitcher brushed back a hitter, especially one whose team was getting a little too comfortable at the plate. Nobody questioned why it happened because the answer was obvious.

After the game, Aikens made no public apologies for standing at home plate to admire his home runs: “When I hit a baseball well and I know it’s going out, I like to watch and get some enjoyment out of it.”

Dickie sent the Royals a message, but now we needed to send them an even stronger message by stopping Aikens’ power surge.

*

We proved earlier in the World Series that we could win two games in a row at home, but I hoped that wouldn’t be necessary. It was time to thwart Kansas City’s momentum.

The next game summed up our season well.

I again put my trust in 22-year-old Marty Bystrom to pitch in a high-pressure situation on the road. And just like in the decisive game of the NLCS, Marty kept us in the ballgame, giving up three runs in five innings. When Marty departed, the game was tied 2–2, but Reed allowed an inherited run to score, giving Kansas City the lead.

After Larry Gura put two men on base with one out in the top of the seventh, Frey gave him the hook. In came Dan Quisenberry to try for an eight-out save. Though that would be unheard of in today’s game, Quiz was no stranger to multi-inning outings. In tying Goose Gossage for the AL saves title in 1980, he often pitched three or more innings in a game.

Quisenberry’s side-winding sinker got Kansas City out of trouble in the seventh. For the second time in three days, I turned the game into a battle of closers by bringing in Tugger for what I hoped would be a nine-out win. He kept the game close. We still trailed 3–2 going to the ninth.

To that point, we had mustered little offense against Quisenberry. Our only base runner against him reached on an error by Brett. The first five outs he registered all came on ground balls, a sign his sinker was working that afternoon.

In the ninth, we finally got to him. Schmitty, who had provided our only scoring of the night with a two-run homer in the fourth, started us off with an infield single that skipped off Brett’s glove. By squaring to bunt a couple of times earlier in the series, Schmitty had planted the idea of a bunt in Frey’s head. So there was Brett, playing a few steps in to guard against a possible bunt by a guy who hit 48 homers during the season and one earlier in the game. If Brett had been playing at normal depth, he likely would have made the play.

Lonnie Smith had pinch-run for Luzinski, who was back in the lineup, earlier in the game. Now I felt I had a better option than Lonnie sitting on my bench. I wanted to give Del Unser and his hot bat a shot at Quisenberry. In the NLCS, Del knocked in the tying run and scored the winning run in the series-clincher in Houston. And his double in Game 2 of the World Series helped key a win.

Much to our enjoyment, he came through again in Game 5. His double down the first-base line scored Schmitty from first base and tied the score. Two outs later, with Unser standing on third, Manny Trillo hit a liner that bounced off Quisenberry’s glove for an infield single to put us ahead 4–3.

With Brett and Aikens due up in the bottom of the ninth, Tugger had his work cut out for him. A leadoff walk to Frank White didn’t make his job any easier. Tugger had thrown just 24 pitches coming into the inning, so I chose to stick with him. A three-pitch strikeout of Brett gave me confidence he had enough in the tank to finish the game. A four-pitch walk to Aikens had the opposite effect.

The Royals had the tying and winning runs on base and Hal McRae, a veteran in his sixth postseason who was hitting close to .500 in the series, coming to the plate. He hit a towering drive down the left-field line that barely curled foul. After we all breathed a huge sigh of relief, Tugger got him to ground into a force out, giving Kansas City runners on first and third with two outs.

Aikens’ four home runs in the series had grabbed a lot of attention. But he wasn’t the hitter I most feared in the Kansas City lineup. That distinction belonged to Amos Otis, whose 11 World Series hits in 20 at-bats to that point included three home runs. Before the game, I chatted with Boone about what to do if Otis came up in a pivotal situation in the late innings. If it was feasible, I wanted to intentionally walk him. If not, I didn’t want to give him anything to hit. With runners on the corners, an intentional pass would have put the winning run in scoring position and given Tugger no margin for error.

Maybe Otis would be overzealous and swing at bad balls. Not a chance. Tugger threw four pitches in a row out of the strike zone, and Otis took his base.

The bases were loaded for Jose Cardenal, a former Phillie who didn’t have a hit yet in the series. A walk would tie the score, and any hit that reached the outfield would likely win it for Kansas City. The stakes of this Game 5 weren’t as high as Game 5 of the NLCS—the series wouldn’t end with a win or a loss. But the team that pulled this game out would have a distinct edge when the series shifted back to Philadelphia.

Tugger’s pitch count was up to 42. He reached deep for a few more good screwballs and got Cardenal to strike out to deliver that nine-out win I’d been looking for.

Tugger, one of the few guys on the team who showed no inhibitions in front of the press, uncorked a real doozy of a quote after the game: “When I was out there, I had a feeling of guilt, because I was out a little late last night,” he told the reporters huddled around his locker. “I had a couple of extra beers to relax me, and then my wife relaxed me.”

He went on to explain what was going through his mind before Cardenal’s at-bat: “I looked at the scoreboard and saw that Jose didn’t have a hit in the series. I was just praying that this wasn’t going to be one of those fairy tale stories where Jose Cardenal came back to haunt the Phillies with a two-run single in the bottom of the ninth. Thankfully, that plot wasn’t written.”