A Series of Replacements

By Tom Callahan

Juggling players deftly, Baltimore had a winning look

Undeniably the best player in baseball is the leftfielder for the Baltimore Orioles. He was the best last year when he slugged 41 homers and knocked in 123 runs, and he was the best this year when he had 35 home runs and 130 RBIs. The fact that he happens to be a composite of several different characters, for the most part Lefthanded Hitter John Lowenstein and Righthander Gary Roenicke, is a bit befuddling, but it begins to describe the 80th World Series.

The Orioles arrived at this glory in place of the Chicago White Sox thanks largely to Roenicke, who batted .750 and hit an important home run in the American League playoffs. For his reward, he was benched the first two Series games with Philadelphia and displaced by Lowenstein, who made a marvelous catch in Game 1, hit a mighty homer in Game 2, and was replaced by Roenicke in Game 3. "I don't want to play the third game," said Lowenstein sensibly. "Steve Carlton is pitching." That is a typically reasonable reaction for an Oriole, especially Lowenstein, who never says, "I hit a home run," rather, "I immobilized the outfielders," and who regards personal records lightly. As he says, "All statistics will be rendered meaningless at the outset of World War III."

This is not the attitude of the National League champion Philadelphia Phillies, veterans of slightly smaller wars. The Phillies likewise share positions but grudgingly. Centerfielder Garry Maddox hit the winning homer in Game 1 (2-1) and said, "I honestly didn't think I'd still be here by now. I have not accepted this platooning role. I don't want to be that kind of player next year." Maddox watched from the bench as Baltimore won the second game, 4-1.

When the venerable first baseman Pete Rose, 42, was shelved in Game 3 in favor of equally honorable and creaky Tony Perez, 41, Rose felt "hurt" and "embarrassed." In the 21st year of his beautiful career, Rose batted only .245 and was beaten out during the crunch of the race by recent Minor Leaguer Len Matuszek, who had been promoted too late to qualify for postseason play. Rose says, "I'm nothing if not a team man. I didn't have to move from second base to left field in 1967 to make room for Tommy Helms; I didn't have to move from left to third base in 1975 to make room for George Foster; I did have to move from third to first base in 1979 to make room for me." Back for Game 4, he cracked two singles.

Plainly, although Rose is crouched just ten hits from 4,000, only 201 behind Ty Cobb, there is no room for him in Philadelphia any more. One day next month, the Phillies must commit to another $1 million for Rose or sever him at $300,000. While management insists that no decision has been made, Rose simply does not believe that, and he is ready to shop himself around "to any team with a chance to win, because I don't think I could play if there was no chance to win." Or maybe it is time for him "to swim to Japan." With Rose on the bench even for a day, it seemed odd to think that a World Series was going on, the composite classic where even the managers came in twos and threes.

Philadelphia General Manager Paul Owens, 59, personally relieved Field Manager Pat Corrales in July, when the team was languishing in first place. Long before any potential Series opponent was thought of, Owens was praising former Oriole Manager Earl Weaver, who retired last year after 15 seasons. In particular, the "Pope" (the nickname for Owens left behind some years ago by an irreverent soul named Richie Allen) admired Weaver's ecumenical use of the entire roster of 25 men. "If everybody feels they're somebody," Owens preaches, "you end up with a team on the bench as good as the one on the field," and vice versa.

Over the past 27 years, Baltimore has won more regular-season games than any other major league club. For the largest part, the credit has gone to Weaver, who was replaced by Joe Altobelli, an Oriole organization man from 1963 through 1976. In a way Baltimore chose three men to follow Weaver. The first notion, picking between Weaver Coaches Cal Ripken Sr. and Ray Miller, would have been troublesome. Naming Ripken might have hastened the inevitable departure of the talented pitching coach Miller, and presenting Miller his opportunity now could have alienated not only Ripken but also his son, the star shortstop. So selecting Altobelli was the only chance to have and hold all three. Altobelli has not intruded on the styles of the other two or, except for his own calmer demeanor, veered significantly from the methods of Weaver. "Earl taught us how to win," the Oriole players say. "Joe lets us win."

Righthanded Pitcher Mike Boddicker, 26, a student whom Weaver considered unpromising, had Altobelli's permission to win 16 games since graduating to the big leagues in May. Then Boddicker struck out 14 White Sox batters in the playoffs to become a celebrity and next won the second game of the World Series on a three-hitter. Not only a new pitcher, but a new pitch, was discovered. In the Oriole vernacular, a change-up is referred to as a "fish." Since Boddicker's singular pitch is part forkball too, it has been declared a "foshball," a wiggly hybrid that dips down and in on righthanders. "It doesn't really break," Philadelphia Slugger, or Slumper, Mike Schmidt says woefully. "It just kind of dies."

Nobody last week could decide which was more delightful: that Boddicker came from an off-season job at a grain elevator in Norway, Iowa, or that he planned to return to it. He calls it rewarding work, $4.50 an hour. Had former Cy Young Award-Winning Pitchers Jim Palmer and Mike Flanagan not broken down early on, Boddicker would not have been called. He is the precise stuff of a World Series dream.

On the eve of his 38th birthday last week, Palmer won the Series' third game (3-2) in relief of Flanagan, as the Phillies' 300-game-winner Steve Carlton had the unusual experience of being caught from behind. Palmer, for most of this year a "nonperson," his own phrase, is contemplating a change of address himself after 19 seasons. Unlike Rose, though, Palmer has been in unfailingly fine humor. "I thought we had an illegal mound in Baltimore, but that [Veterans Stadium] mound must be 25 inches high. I almost fell over on the first pitch. No wonder Carlton is as good as he is." The two unspectacular innings Palmer pitched ("that was throwing, not pitching") fell just right for him to gather his first World Series victory in twelve years.

Beaned on the bill of his batting helmet by a frightening pitch in Game 2, Baltimore Rightfielder Dan Ford homered in the sixth inning of the third game and figured in the winning run when Shortstop Ivan DeJesus erred on a quick Ford bouncer that scored Benny Ayala. It was not unpleasant seeing Ford get up to do these wonderful things, just as, for at least a while, Joe Morgan was a joyous sight. "I have never been this close to going away," he says quietly, but the proud manner in which he adds, "I can still hit the fastest pitches in our league," suggests he will not quit at 40 at that. If his batting average was .230 for the season, a burst of Morgan's old self in the closing month filled his ego to at least an inch above the brim. "I'm the best 5-ft. 8-in. baseball player in history," he says. "You ain't five-eight," says Rose.

If the Phillies decide this winter that 22-year-old Juan Samuel is ready to play second base every day, Morgan may travel on. He has packed quite often in the past four years but frequently takes the pennant with him. "I go from Cincinnati to Houston, and Houston finishes ahead of Cincinnati. I go from Houston to San Francisco, and San Francisco finishes ahead of Houston. I go from San Francisco to Philadelphia, and Philadelphia finishes ahead of San Francisco."

When he homered in Games 1 and 3, Morgan was exuberant. But after the Phillies slipped behind, two games to one, he was angry. "We got ahead and then sat back, and waited and waited, and got beat," Morgan said. "That's the way you get beat. The Orioles didn't get here by quitting, and we didn't either." Baltimore won the fifth game too, 5-4, again with scant help from its finest player, Eddie Murray. He and Mike Schmidt wore the same frown. (All statistics will be rendered meaningless at the outset of World War III.) The Orioles had unloaded their supply of pinch hitters all at once. (If everybody feels they're somebody, you end up with a team on the bench as good as the one on the field.)

Morgan made the last out, a gentle streamer to second base. Baltimore was within one game of the championship. Of Perez and Morgan and Rose, Phillies Coach Dave Bristol had said, "Their leaves don't fall off in the autumn," but it was a coming-of-winter day. This file is automatically generated by a robot program, so viewer discretion is required.