Bring In the Right-Hander!

by Jerry Reuss

  The 1981 Strike

  In a general sense the strike was about money and how it was to be distributed. Since 1976, when arbitrator Peter Seitz ruled in favor of players Dave McNally and Andy Messersmith, free agency was a spark that ignited controversy. Free agency caused salaries to rise (from an average of $51,500 in 1976 to $113,558 in 1979), meaning the owners were keeping fewer of baseball’s dollars.

  The issue in 1981, and this was the owners’ demand, was Major League—caliber compensation for a free agent. At least that was the issue in the forefront. Behind the scenes the ownership negotiators wanted to dilute free agency to the point that it became much like a glorified trade.11

  Marvin Miller recalled, “Ray Grebey [the owners’ chief negotiator] maintained that the club that lost a free agent had to be able to receive direct compensation from the club that signed the free agent. And that compensation had to be a professional player on that club’s major league roster. The Players Association proposed a variety of ways to compensate the club losing a free agent. But we focused on just that club, not on punishing the club that signed a free agent. If the punishment were severe, it would end free agency.”12

  Marvin made a proposal to Grebey that addressed the compensation issue. Each club could protect the twenty-five players on its active roster. All others on the Major League roster (up to a total of forty per club) were subject to being drafted as compensation. When a club lost a free agent, it could pick a player from a pool made up of unprotected players of all clubs combined.

  Grebey rejected it. Marvin’s proposal covered everything the owners wanted and needed. But it didn’t restrict the movement of free agents and roll back salaries, which was what some owners wanted.

  The owners had purchased an insurance policy months earlier that paid them around $100,000 for each canceled game from a $50 million policy that lasted until August 8. It took fifty days (coincidentally, the same number of days that owners received payments from this insurance policy) before the strike was settled. The agreement called for compensation for a free agent to come from a pool of unprotected players designated by each team, much the same plan Marvin had suggested before and during the strike. In addition, all players would receive credited service time for the fifty days missed with regards to pensions and other purposes involving service requirements.13

  Before play resumed baseball implemented a split-season format with the respective first-place teams in each of the four divisions declared the first-half winners. If any of the first-half winners (Dodgers, Phillies, Yankees, and Athletics) won the second half as well, the team with the second-best record within that division during the second half would play the winners in a divisional series.

  The hardest part for me during the strike was keeping in touch with my teammates. As the player rep, it was my job to keep everybody informed. I left messages with players with no response. If my call was answered, it was usually by someone employed by the players. Soon, I was on a first-name basis with their housekeepers. At a highly charged meeting with Marvin and the other twenty-three player reps during the strike, I mentioned, “I don’t know where my players stand on the issues, but we have the support of their hired help!” Wherever players went and whatever they did, they returned to their respective cities on July 31 for a week of workouts before the season resumed on August 10.

  Dragging the Infield, Part 2

  Once the strike was settled, it was business as usual. When Jay Johnstone joined the club as a free agent in December 1979, he heard about Brett and me dragging the infield. During the 1980 season he pulled me aside one day and said eagerly, “I want to drag the infield. Let’s do it, okay?” I answered matter-of-factly, “Been there, done that. But we’ll see.” I was never one to dismiss an opportunity. So we kept it on the back burner.

  On September 2, 1981, we moved the idea to the front burner. Because I was a veteran of antics like this, the planning was smoother than the first time. I told the grounds crew before the game about our plans, and they said, “No problem. We’ll have your clothes ready.” How I love working with professionals!

  When I told Monday and Yeager, who, by now, found their own devious groove, Mo called a friend who worked on the Diamond Vision production crew to alert them of the event.

  Still, we had to elude Lasorda. By the time Jay and I were dressed and making our way down the runway, we were quickly ushered into the storage room. It seems that Tom was taking a leak in the bathroom just across from us. We had to lay low and hope he made his way back to his spot at the other end of the dugout in time for us to make our entrance.

  The final out was made, and now it was show time. Screened by Mo and Boomer, we made our way to the spot in front of the third base scoreboard where the drags were housed. As we make our way to our mark along the foul line, I heard Lasorda yelling at us. In one breath he managed to use the F bomb as a noun, verb, adverb, and adjective, hyphenating them in one breath.

  Diamond Vision followed us from third to first, as we picked up the drags and put them away by the scoreboard just past first base. We made our way through the stands, high-fiving some of the thirty-two thousand fans who cheered our tour with a standing ovation. Anytime I got a standing ovation, I always acknowledged the crowd. So there I was, waving my hat to the fans and cameras as we made our way back to the locker room.

  Knowing there would be hell to pay, we hustled back to the grounds-crew locker room, changed into our uniforms, and headed for the bench. The game was in the bottom of the sixth when Lasorda stopped us near the storage room and said, “I don’t want to hear a word. That’s a $250 fine for each of you. Jay, grab a bat. You’re hitting for the pitcher.” Even the coaches were trying to hold back their laughter as Jay stepped to the plate.

  As fate would have it, Jay hit a pinch-hit home run, becoming the first player in baseball history to drag the infield in the fifth and hit a homer in the sixth. That’s one for Cooperstown!

  As Jay made his way around the bases, we could see a huge smile on his face. Lasorda stood there, his eyes looking to the “big Dodger in the sky,” saying, “Why me? Why me?” When Jay got back to the dugout, he got the customary hug from Lasorda, who told him, “Your fine’s cut in half.” Then he looked at me and said, “Yours is still $250. Sit your ass down where I can see you and shut up!”

  When I got to the park the next day, my focus switched to my next start just two days later. That wasn’t the case with KABC radio’s Bud Furillo, who had his daily two hours’ worth of Dodger pregame show to fill with on-field interviews and live call-ins from fans.

  During batting practice Bud, who witnessed the previous night’s yard work, wanted the whole story. Bud was a good guy, and, besides, he always laughed at my antics. So I gave him the whole story, including the part concerning the $250 fine. I apologized to his audience, saying it wasn’t very professional, but, I added, it sure was fun!

  But my interview only whetted Bud’s appetite. So he spoke to Jay, who told him his slant on the story, especially about his fine being cut in half during the greeting in the dugout. By this time Bud smelled a fun story, and being nobody’s fool he knew it would cover his two-hour shift.

  Now it was Lasorda’s turn. Tom played the role of hard-ass. But to his surprise the call-in fans asked him to forget the fines and have some fun with our professional indiscretion. Lasorda, still in the cover-my-ass mode, held his own and said the fines would stick. With Bud stirring the pot and Tom playing the tough cop, the fans loved the tale that unfolded exclusively before them. By the time Bud’s slot was finished, fans called in and offered to pay our fines, in full and many times over.

  So, after BP, Lasorda called Jay and me into his office and told us about the fans. “I don’t approve of what you did, and I have to fine you. Most of all, I want this to go away. So let’s do this: if the fans send you or me any money, we pool it and donate it to a charity. There’ll be no fine as long as you both admit that it’s been paid.”

  I never rece
ived any money to pay the fine, and the whole incident quietly went away, at least until Tom and Jay wrote their respective books.

  Tom told a different story in his book. “When one of our announcers told the story on the radio, fans began sending in donations to cover the fine. Reuss and Johnstone ended up making a small profit. I then insisted I had been responsible for those profits and made them take me out to dinner.”14

  Jay had a different take on the story. He wrote, “We never did pay those $200 fines. In fact, people got such a kick out of the whole thing that they were sending donations to help pay the fines. We donated the money to a hospital in Orange County.”15

  The truth was in there somewhere. Whatever it was, any version of the story still brings a smile to my face!

  The 1981 Season, Part 2

  With the strike settlement giving us a guaranteed ticket to the 1981 postseason, we played okay in the second half (27–26) but not as well as Houston (33–20), Cincinnati (31–21), and San Francisco (29–23). Overall, the Reds had the best record in the Western Division, while the Cardinals had the best record in the East. The schedule worked against both teams, as the Reds played one less game than the Dodgers in the first half and the Cards played one less than the Expos. We didn’t worry about that, as we had our jobs cut out for us heading into Houston for the first Divisional Series in modern baseball history.

  There was a sense of urgency with the 1981 club. I mentioned to Dodger historian Mark Langill, who was writing another one of his fine books on Dodger history, that there were four sets of players on the ball club. The first set was the core group, the guys who came through the organization and played in the 1974, 1977, and 1978 World Series. That was the infield of Garvey, Lopes, Russell, Cey, and Yeager. Bob Welch played in the ’78 series. Except for Welch, the first set of players, all over age thirty, had been with the Dodgers since at least 1972 and had yet to win a World Series. Since Branch Rickey, who developed baseball’s farm system among other innovations, the Dodgers’ policy was to move a player a year too early rather than a year too late. Time was working against the core group.

  The second set was the guys who played in the ’77 and ’78 series but came from other clubs. That included Monday, Baker, Smith, Hooton, and Forster. Only Reggie played in a series with another club, and that was with Boston, which lost to the Cardinals in 1967. Only Terry Forster, at twenty-nine with a history of arm troubles, was under thirty.

  The next set was the veteran players who joined the Dodgers from other clubs and enjoyed some degree of success. That group consisted of Thomas, Goltz, Landreaux, Johnstone, and myself. Only Jay played on a world championship club. Of the five of us, only Ken Landreaux was under thirty.

  The final and largest group was the younger players that came through the organization since 1978. These players were the future of the Dodgers. Names such as Valenzuela, Sax, Scioscia, Marshall, Niedenfuer, Guerrero, Howe, Stewart, Pena, and Castillo dotted the roster. Their time had come.16

  The World Series losses in the ’70s haunted those veteran players, as did the more recent memory of losing the playoff game against Houston in 1980. The disappointment stayed with us all winter.

  We were 8–4 against Houston overall but just 3–3 in the Astrodome in 1981. Nolan Ryan, who no-hit the Dodgers ten days earlier, was the starter against Fernando in the first game at Houston. We managed just a run on two hits (Garvey hit a seventh-inning home run) against Ryan, as Fernando allowed a run on six hits. The difference in the ballgame was the two-out two-run homer by Alan Ashby in the bottom of the ninth inning off Dave Stewart.17

  We knew a win in the second game meant a split, a return to Dodger Stadium, and a big shift in momentum. It wasn’t meant to be. The Astros’ Joe Niekro battled his way through eight scoreless innings, as the Dodgers left ten men on base. I gave up five hits and a pair of walks in nine scoreless innings. Once again, the Astros won the game in their last at bat. Denny Walling singled to right with bases loaded and two outs in the eleventh inning to win the game and put the Astros in a position of needing to win just one game in Los Angeles to advance to the League Championship Series.18

  The club scheduled a workout on the October 8 off day. Lasorda held a meeting before the workout and reminded us that we beat Houston three straight at Dodger Stadium in the final weekend of 1980, and there was no reason we couldn’t do it again.

  There always was electricity in the air during the postseason at Dodger Stadium. Maybe the fans sensed that our adrenaline was in high gear. Or maybe we rode the wave of excitement they brought to the park. Whatever it was, it was working. We put three runs on the board in the bottom of the first and coasted to a 6–1 win as Burt Hooton defeated Bob Knepper in Game Three.19

  Because every game was a must win, Lasorda started Valenzuela on three days’ rest. It was a gamble, as Fernando struggled during September, allowing four runs a game in three of his last six starts. Plus, Lasorda moved Welch, who started twenty-three games during the abbreviated season, to the bullpen. Fernando was at his best, as he pitched a complete game, allowing just four hits and a ninth-inning run against the Astros’ Vern Ruhle, who gave up just two runs on four hits in a complete-game effort.20

  With the series tied at two wins each, the season came down to one game, much like the playoff game at Dodger Stadium a year earlier. It was Nolan Ryan for the Astros, who won the first game of the Divisional Series and allowed just two hits and a run in his last eighteen innings against us, opposed by me, working on three days’ rest after shutting down the Astros on five hits in nine innings in Game Two.

  The adrenaline more than compensated for pitching on short notice. I was loose and ready to go after warming up ten minutes instead of the usual fifteen. Of course, there was the home crowd of nearly fifty-six thousand adding to the mental frenzy. Though my pitches had more action than normal, I worked out of the two jams in the first six innings. In the Houston second inning, a one-out single followed by an error put runners on first and second. Two ground outs ended that threat. In the sixth Tony Scott singled to lead off the inning but was thrown out attempting to steal. A single by Art Howe and a walk to Jose Cruz created another two-on, one-out situation. I worked out of the jam when Denny Walling popped out and Dickie Thon grounded into a force play.

  Ryan allowed base runners in each of the first three innings and worked out of a two-on, one-out threat in the third. He appeared to reach his stride, as he retired eight in a row starting the bottom of the sixth.

  I don’t know if it was the home crowd ratcheting up the excitement level or the top of the order seeing Ryan for the third time, but suddenly we connected on pitches that Ryan had us missing the last twenty-three innings. After Landreaux flied to center, Baker drew a walk and Garvey drilled a pitch to center for a single. Monday hammered a pitch to right for a single, driving in Dusty for the game’s first run. After Guerrero popped up, Scioscia lined a two-out single to center to drive in Garvey for the second run. An error by Walling at first allowed Monday to score the inning’s third run.

  With a 3–0 lead and the most excited crowd I ever played in front of, we moved in for the kill. Well, sort of. An error by Guerrero playing third put Ashby on first, leading off the Astros’ eighth. It took a flyout, a groundout, and another flyout to retire Houston in the seventh.

  A double by Landreaux off Dave Smith (it was literally off him, as he had to be removed from the game) and, one out later, a triple by Garvey produced our fourth and final run of the game in the home half of the seventh.

  Each team left a runner on base in the eighth, as the Astros came to bat in the ninth. I remembered during my warmup pitches how I had approached the ninth inning of the no-hitter just a little more than a year ago. Get that first-pitch strike, and stay ahead in the count.

  It was the bottom of the order for the Astros, with Dickie Thon grounding to short for the first out. Alan Ashby, the hero for Astros in the first game in Houston, flied to left for the second out. By this time the
shadows were creeping up on home plate, making it hard to pick up the pitches. I threw the first two pitches to Dave Roberts, pinch-hitting for the pitcher, for strikes. The two-strike pitch was knee-high on the inside corner, but it eluded catcher Mike Scioscia and went all the way back to the screen. I never heard the strike call by home-plate umpire Lee Weyer, as the full house at Dodger Stadium was at full-decibel level. Apparently, neither did Roberts, as he stood at home plate. Scioscia heard Weyer, however. He flipped his mask and raced back to the screen. Roberts caught on and raced toward first. The final out of the fifth game would be decided by Mike’s throw to first. There was nothing about this postseason that was going to be simple or straightforward. Why should the final out of this game be any different?

  The one-hop throw to Garvey on his knees barely beat Roberts at first. Once I saw Steve with the ball, I was airborne. Within seconds the field was full of Dodgers ready to celebrate. It took three of the most exciting games I’ve ever been a part of, but we exorcised the ghosts of 1980 and advanced to the League Championship Series.21

  Val-deri, Val-dera

  At the workout on Monday at Dodger Stadium, it was easy to see just how drained everyone was. The series against Houston was a battle. There wasn’t much time to catch our breath. The Expos, who defeated the Phillies to advance to their first League Championship Series, were headed our way.

  The makeup of the Montreal Expos was much like the Dodgers. The Expos had six of the eight position players developed through their Minor League system. Add pitchers Steve Rogers and Bill Gullickson, also products of their farm teams, to the mix, and you could sense that the Expos were a team just coming into their own as they were entering their prime baseball years.

  We beat the Expos in five of the seven games we faced them in 1981, including wins in all three games at Dodger Stadium. Plus, with Ron Cey returning to the lineup after having his left forearm broken on a pitch in early September, we were confident that we could beat Montreal at Dodger Stadium, win one more north of the border, and prepare for the World Series. The Expos had plans of their own.