Game Over 
Caught Looking
When I was asked to step down as the manager of the Houston Astros last year, I bade a bittersweet farewell to a team I had loved for more than three decades. Among the many lessons I learned: how to motivate millionaires, how to lose in the playoffs, and how to wear a Hawaiian shirt.
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WITH EACH PASSING SEASON, I got more Hawaiian shirts, thanks to the many friends and fans who sent them along. Unfortunately, I felt like wearing them less. I never thought our club was quite wacky enough, except for 1997, when we had Luis Gonzalez. Gonzo had a knack for keeping things loose, and it was easy to go Hawaiian when he was around. Drayton and Gerry wanted me to run a tighter ship, but I'm not a good enough actor to assume another personality. I managed the players as if they were professionals. I didn't really care about facial hair, tattoos, funky-looking clothing, or wild music. I just wanted a good solid effort. And they gave it to me, in spades. But the old laissez-faire approach has its disadvantages, as many parents can tell you.
I know that when I was pitching, I just wanted to be left alone. It was clear to me soon after I started managing that I couldn't assume that all the players would just naturally get ready to do their best. Gerry said something in the press conference to announce my retirement that struck a chord with me. It was something to the effect that I cared too much, and the players took advantage of it. I think he was right. I probably don't have the ideal personality for management. I am not intrusive at all. There were times when I should have been.
I did wear a Hawaiian shirt to that last press conference. I joked with the reporters that I was the only one in the room who was on vacation. When I got home, my teenage son, Ryan, said, "I'm proud of you, Dad." I can't tell you how good that made me feel. But the next day, when I read the newspaper, I realized that some of my answers gave the impression that I was unhappy with the players. I was asked if I had any regrets, and I responded honestly, saying I had hoped to accomplish some things that I never achieved. When asked for an example, I cited the hit-and-run play, which we used infrequently primarily because of our personnel and secondarily because our hit-and-run type players at the top of the lineup didn't run as aggressively as I wanted them to. I didn't really blame them. The fact is, I had trouble convincing my own coaches that the play should involve more risk for the runner. Tradition dictates that the runner is not trying to steal but merely running with the pitch and watching to see what happens. In our modern heyday of home runs and strikeouts, it's risky to depend on the hitter to make contact, especially if he is a slugger. The play didn't make much sense to a team like ours.
Was it a big issue? Definitely not. In 1997 we were a fast team, and it appeared that we were playing hit-and-run all the time. What we were actually doing was stealing and hitting. In my scheme of things, when a runner is in motion, the hitter is not required to take a pitch to let him steal. Hitters are going to see only a few pitches each game that they can hammer. I wanted them to swing at those pitches. That is my favorite hit-and-run play: the accidental one. As my tenure wore on, we became a slower team. We also moved from a home-run hitters' hell, the Astrodome, to the Elysian Fields of Enron. I'd have been a fool to hit-and-run much there, and I doubt my successor, Jimy Williams, will either. Still, it bugged me when a runner loped off first and got thrown out by a mile.
In one area we did break the mold. I had hoped we could teach our pitchers to deaden their bunts so that they could put the ball back up the middle regardless of whether the corner infielders were charging. I told our pitchers to think of what they would do if they were on the mound: "If you had to come off the mound to field a bunt, would you throw to second or third, or would you take the sure out?" To a man, they said they would take the out at first. This is not necessarily true of infielders. Bagwell threw to third a lot and usually got his man. The sacrifice bunt success rate is about 70 percent among all batters. Our pitchers were over 80 percent, mostly because they didn't bunt many balls foul the way you do when you shoot for the line.
I know a lot of older fans like the hit-and-run and bunt plays, but these strategies don't make sense today—except when you are bunting for a hit. The odds of scoring a run from first with no outs are exactly the same as scoring from second with one out (about .41). In other words, you would have to be 100 percent successful with your bunts to break even. Who wants those odds?
But everything is situational. Should you play for one run or play for the big inning? First of all, which inning? What hitters are due up? Egghead fans generally prefer the Big Inning Theory, which states that half the time the team that wins scores more runs in one inning than the losing team scores in nine. I didn't believe it, so I checked it against my scorecard. Guess what? It's true. What's more, I learned that when the Astros won, they scored as many runs in one inning as the other team did in the whole game 70 percent of the time. There just aren't many games in which a few one-run innings are enough.
WHAT LIES AHEAD FOR ME? I sure don't know. Give me another six or seven years in baseball, and I'm outta here. But as a lifer with the Astros, I'm worried. I'd be lying if I predicted another division title for the team: not because I'm not managing, but simply because the postseason has a price tag. What we accomplished with a mid-market payroll is remarkable. But this year's payroll is the same as last year's. The Astros have a lot of talent, but depth could be a problem. I inherited a team that was made up mostly of players in the middle of their careers. Now the team is mostly older veterans and youngsters. If you listen to Drayton, you are led to believe that even if Houston sells out almost every one of its 81 home games and draws more than three million fans, he would barely make money with a player payroll of $63,000,000. It's nothing personal. I think Drayton has been generous under the circumstances, but the circumstances aren't getting any better.
Drayton is a hands-on owner. He's in the clubhouse all the time. One of the players taped his name over the empty locker between Biggio and Bagwell. Too bad he can't play like them. Drayton is effervescent, buzzing around like a bee in a flower garden. He is always talking about leadership, and I think he wants a manager who shares his philosophy, if not his style. I'm not sure Jimy Williams is the man. But I know that Jimy is smart. I wish him well.
Even though the Astros didn't invite me to the annual baseball dinner earlier this year, I went with another old-time manager, Solly Hemus. I tried to time my entry so that I would simply file in with the crowd. I did not want to be a distraction. Nice try! Judy and I were about five minutes off, and we walked in just as the last guest was seated. Someone in the back started clapping, and then I got a standing ovation. I didn't orchestrate that scene very well, but it worked out all right. Maybe that's how the whole five years transpired. I was a little sad. Sweet sadness, I would say. Not a bad way to exit.
As for this summer, I have a lot on my plate. I am going to write a book. Perhaps I will do some broadcasting. One thing I really want to do is go rafting down the Colorado River through the Grand Canyon. You can do it only during baseball season. Up until now, I've been unavailable.
Aloha.
My Library
