Torre uncertain amid gloomy L.A. forecast
LOS ANGELES – A half-century ago, three young men – a catcher from Brooklyn, an outfielder from Tampa, Fla. and a second baseman from Selma, Calif. – signed their first professional baseball contracts.
The catcher had reported to Eau Claire, Wis., the outfielder to Selma, Ala., and the second baseman to Reno, Nev., all within a couple years of each other.
Born of a simpler time and game, today they are lifers, still. And so they will remain, for a few more months, at least.
Lou Piniella, the outfielder, announced Tuesday he’d had enough, that he’d retire as manager of the Chicago Cubs, effective at the end of the season. He’ll be 67 in August, and then become the 49th consecutive Cubs manager to leave unfulfilled, not counting repeats, of which there have been plenty.
Bobby Cox, the second baseman, is in the last of 25 seasons as manager of the Atlanta Braves. He is 69.
It leaves the catcher.
Joe Torre turned 70 a few days ago.
He sat Tuesday on the backrest of the dugout bench along the third-base line, Dodger Stadium beginning to cool after another warm afternoon. A cup of green tea was delivered to him. He’d zipped his blue windbreaker to his neck.
What about you, Joe?
Cox, Piniella, even Cito Gaston, all of them younger men, all of them World Series champions, have taken the end of their contracts to mean the end of their careers. The time and the game have grown complex. A man’s body and mind can take only so much, so much pounding, and so little reality.
“I’ve been away from home since 1962,” Piniella said Tuesday afternoon after most of a lifetime.
While that might sound like every reason to shout one final “Honey, I’m home,” and mean it, Piniella later admitted, “To leave something that you really love is not easy,” and he meant the baseball.
The game drags them, pushes them, seduces them, despises them. Then another spring training opens. And they fall in love again.
It’s the life. It’s the competition. It’s the fellas. Sure, it’s the money. But, they open the doors and turn on the lights and there’s nothing quite like it. The wife raises the kids, the kids grow up and move on, the grandkids sprout six inches between visits, but, damn, the game is intoxicating.
Besides, that’s what they make winter for.
There was a time when Joe Torre was pretty sure he’d had enough. He’d said, “I’m not thinking about doing this more than my contract.”
That was in 1999. His contract, then with the New York Yankees, ran through 2001.
A decade later, in February 2009, he’d said again, “I don’t envision going beyond this contract managing.”
His contract, now with the Los Angeles Dodgers, runs through October.
Then he entered into negotiations to add another season – 2011 – before pulling out of those. He’s chosen limbo, with a little more than two months left in the season, perhaps that long left in his career, and that long before he returns to Ali, his wife, and Andrea, their daughter. For good.
He’s said he’ll make his decision by the end of the season, seemingly focused on early September, and his indecision appears real. From ownership down, the Dodgers are an uncertain situation. By Christmas, they could be Frank McCourt’s. They could be Frank and Jamie McCourt’s. They could be on their way to being someone else’s.
Meantime, the club is in dire need of upgrades – the rotation and bullpen are suspect, Manny Ramirez(notes) is rarely on the field and isn’t a reliable power threat when he is, Matt Kemp(notes) has regressed – and its only short-term hope is a weighty move at the trading deadline, which may or may not be too rich for the cash-strapped Frank McCourt.
The promise of 2008, when Torre fled New York for Los Angeles and found a hungry organization, a somewhat stable ownership, and a promising core of ballplayers has frayed. Manny arrived and brought personality and production. He sprinkled fastballs throughout the lineup. Less than a year later, the organization woke up to find Manny wasn’t exactly who it thought he was, but that Kemp and Andre Ethier(notes) had blossomed. The pitching staff, kneaded by coach Rick Honeycutt, was good enough to get them to the National League Championship Series – twice. General manager Ned Colletti shook off some early whiffs and built a sturdy roster, even as his payroll shrunk.
The organization looks different today. The Dodgers have lost six in a row out of the break. Their frailties have become a moving target, so much so that Colletti now could operate in draft mode at the trading deadline, gunning for the best available athlete rather than filling a particular hole, given there are so many. As of yet, no one seems to know if Colletti will be allowed to take on payroll. And if not in the next 10 days, then what about next winter?
Even the field leadership has come under scrutiny, given Don Mattingly’s missteps Tuesday night after Torre and his bench coach, Bob Schaefer, were ejected amid an escalating beanball to-do with the San Francisco Giants. Fair or not, there are questions now about Mattingly’s readiness to step in for Torre, whether it be next season or the following one. The ninth inning appeared to speed up for Mattingly, the ultimate gamer as a player, but apparently undone by his unfamiliarity with the top step. Has Torre done enough to prepare him for this?
As his peers walk away, Torre considers the same path. His conversations with Ali on the subject have intensified. Those around him – confidantes and co-workers – have no answer, because there isn’t one yet, but lean toward Torre retiring. At the same time, Torre is vague on the most pointed inquiries:
About staying another year: “I’m not really saying anything other than I don’t know what I’m going to do.”
About previous statements he’d manage in Los Angeles or nowhere at all: “I’m not saying anything other than I don’t know what I’m going to do. Leave it at that.”
About the haziness of that statement: “I’m not of a mind at this point in time to do this anywhere but here.”
Hours later, after another loss, the final innings of which he watched on television, Torre said he wouldn’t give concrete answers because he didn’t have them. Things change. Sometimes, he seemed to say, it’s best to let the game come to you. He’ll know more – about himself, about the Dodgers – in a month.
Besides, as he’d said earlier that day, “If we keep losing it may not be my choice.”
He smiled. He sipped his tea. That part of the game doesn’t change.
“Nineteen-sixty,” he said. “I can’t believe that’s 50 years ago.”
