a third baseman is supposed to do? How in the hell am I supposed to win without a real third baseman?”
The Reds made the score 6–2 in the seventh inning. The Dodgers came back in the bottom of the inning against that kid Darcy. Dodgers outfielder Jimmy Wynn, who had the colorful nickname “the Toy Cannon,” crushed a grand slam to tie the score.
“No, I wasn’t trying to hit a home run,” the Toy Cannon said after the game. “But I have to admit it did enter my mind.”
Mike Marshall shut out the Reds in the top of the ninth. Steve Garvey hit the game-winning single in the bottom of the ninth. The Reds lost again. They dropped into fifth place.
“I’m going to kill our third baseman,” Sparky said as he walked through the dark tunnel back to the clubhouse.
Sparky decided to wait until the next day before confronting Vukovich. It was a bad decision; his ulcer kept him up all night. Then Sparky arrived at Dodger Stadium early, and he sat in the visiting manager’s office, and he stewed. When Vukovich walked in for themeeting, Sparky wondered if he should let him close the door. He wanted everyone to hear what he was about to say.
“There’s one thing you better get straight, kid, and I mean get it straight right away,” Sparky began. “I run this ball club.”
Vukovich sat there and stared at Sparky. He knew going in that he had to take his medicine. He still knew he was right, knew that what Sparky had done was, in the baseball vernacular, “horseshit.” But when it came down to it, Vukovich was still a no-hit third baseman who loved baseball and only wanted a chance to play. He wasn’t going to win any fights with Sparky Anderson.
“I’ll pinch-hit for anyone anytime I think it can help me win a ball game,” Sparky shouted. “According to my statistics sheet here, you don’t happen to be a star in this game yet.”
Vukovich thought: More horseshit. Sparky knew damn well that you don’t pull a man for a pinch hitter in the second inning. Now he was going to rip Vukovich’s batting average…pure, unadulterated horseshit.
“You won’t give a guy a chance to prove anything,” Vukovich shouted. “You will kill a guy’s confidence.”
“I’m not here to build your confidence,” Sparky roared. Vukovich sat back and reminded himself to shut up. He had to take it. He had no choice. Sparky was unloading. “I’m here to win a baseball game, and if I think I can win by pinch-hitting in the first inning , then, by God, I’ll pinch-hit for you in the first. So you just play your position….”
Vukovich sat there, drained, and just waited for the battering to end. But it would not end; Sparky went on and on. When Sparky finished—and it seemed like it took him hours to finish—he asked Vukovich if he had anything else to say. Vukovich had plenty to say. But he did not say a word. He walked out into the clubhouse, and his teammates avoided his gaze.
“You know,” Shug said to Sparky after the meeting, “the kid does play good defense at third base.”
“I don’t give a damn about defense right now,” Sparky shouted.
That night, Vukovich started at third base, and Sparky—perhaps feeling bad—waited all the way until the eighth inning to pinch-hit for him. The Dodgers tied the game in the bottom of the ninth. The Dodgers scored the game-winning run in the eleventh when Reds first baseman Dan Driessen made an error. Marshall pitched three scoreless innings to get the Dodgers victory.
“We can’t do anything right,” Sparky said.
The Reds could not do anything right, but they did get one break in the early part of 1975. Two days after Marshall beat the Reds for the last time, he pitched against San Francisco. On the third pitch of the game, he threw a curveball and then collapsed in agony. He needed help leaving the field. He told the doctor that it felt like someone had stuck a knife in his side. He would pitch only twice in the following six weeks. He was not
The Reds made the score 6–2 in the seventh inning. The Dodgers came back in the bottom of the inning against that kid Darcy. Dodgers outfielder Jimmy Wynn, who had the colorful nickname “the Toy Cannon,” crushed a grand slam to tie the score.
“No, I wasn’t trying to hit a home run,” the Toy Cannon said after the game. “But I have to admit it did enter my mind.”
Mike Marshall shut out the Reds in the top of the ninth. Steve Garvey hit the game-winning single in the bottom of the ninth. The Reds lost again. They dropped into fifth place.
“I’m going to kill our third baseman,” Sparky said as he walked through the dark tunnel back to the clubhouse.
Sparky decided to wait until the next day before confronting Vukovich. It was a bad decision; his ulcer kept him up all night. Then Sparky arrived at Dodger Stadium early, and he sat in the visiting manager’s office, and he stewed. When Vukovich walked in for themeeting, Sparky wondered if he should let him close the door. He wanted everyone to hear what he was about to say.
“There’s one thing you better get straight, kid, and I mean get it straight right away,” Sparky began. “I run this ball club.”
Vukovich sat there and stared at Sparky. He knew going in that he had to take his medicine. He still knew he was right, knew that what Sparky had done was, in the baseball vernacular, “horseshit.” But when it came down to it, Vukovich was still a no-hit third baseman who loved baseball and only wanted a chance to play. He wasn’t going to win any fights with Sparky Anderson.
“I’ll pinch-hit for anyone anytime I think it can help me win a ball game,” Sparky shouted. “According to my statistics sheet here, you don’t happen to be a star in this game yet.”
Vukovich thought: More horseshit. Sparky knew damn well that you don’t pull a man for a pinch hitter in the second inning. Now he was going to rip Vukovich’s batting average…pure, unadulterated horseshit.
“You won’t give a guy a chance to prove anything,” Vukovich shouted. “You will kill a guy’s confidence.”
“I’m not here to build your confidence,” Sparky roared. Vukovich sat back and reminded himself to shut up. He had to take it. He had no choice. Sparky was unloading. “I’m here to win a baseball game, and if I think I can win by pinch-hitting in the first inning , then, by God, I’ll pinch-hit for you in the first. So you just play your position….”
Vukovich sat there, drained, and just waited for the battering to end. But it would not end; Sparky went on and on. When Sparky finished—and it seemed like it took him hours to finish—he asked Vukovich if he had anything else to say. Vukovich had plenty to say. But he did not say a word. He walked out into the clubhouse, and his teammates avoided his gaze.
“You know,” Shug said to Sparky after the meeting, “the kid does play good defense at third base.”
“I don’t give a damn about defense right now,” Sparky shouted.
That night, Vukovich started at third base, and Sparky—perhaps feeling bad—waited all the way until the eighth inning to pinch-hit for him. The Dodgers tied the game in the bottom of the ninth. The Dodgers scored the game-winning run in the eleventh when Reds first baseman Dan Driessen made an error. Marshall pitched three scoreless innings to get the Dodgers victory.
“We can’t do anything right,” Sparky said.
The Reds could not do anything right, but they did get one break in the early part of 1975. Two days after Marshall beat the Reds for the last time, he pitched against San Francisco. On the third pitch of the game, he threw a curveball and then collapsed in agony. He needed help leaving the field. He told the doctor that it felt like someone had stuck a knife in his side. He would pitch only twice in the following six weeks. He was not
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