Baseballhead:
Mark of Sorrow?

Michael Cox

Welcome once again to Baseballhead, the column that's about ready to put out a contract on the Little Pepsi Girl.

Mark Langston retired on Monday, and although he'll never make it to the Hall of Fame he does hold a special place in baseball for me. A couple of special places, actually, and mostly at his expense.

The first major-league baseball game I ever attended was Langston's first win in the majors in 1984. What's more, I had media credentials for the game, thanks to the college radio station in Bellingham, WA, so I got to speak to Langston afterwards.

Of course, I was on a slightly different mission than pure baseball talk, as my show on the station was best described as an undergrad's idea of "innovative humor." My question to the rookie: "Did you miss Bill the Beerman out there?" (Bill was a colorful, rotund guy who started out selling beer at the KingDome, but became more well-known for leading cheers. He had just bolted for the greener pastures of Portland and the greener wallet of Paul Allen's Trailblazers.)

Langston did his best to answer, sort of stammering, "uh, I think we'll miss him, sure, but we'll get by." Fortunately, the other media had already made their rounds, so I wasn't embarrassed in front of too many people.

Langston racked up five good years with some mediocre Mariner teams before his next big moment in mid-1989, referred to by many in Seattle as simply "The Trade." At the time, a lot of people here were angry because as they saw it, Langston refused to bargain in good faith over a long-term deal, and the M's were forced to trade him to pennant-surging Montreal for three unproven pitchers: Brian Holman, Gene Harris, and a wild, lanky fireballer named Randy Johnson.

People here got over it. Montreal didn't win the pennant.

Lest you give in to the idea that the deal was a stroke of genius by Woody Woodward, keep in mind that Harris was the pitcher Woody really wanted, and Johnson was a throw-in who was unlikely to go far due to his severe control problems.

Johnson and Langston's names became inextricably linked again six years later, when the Angels toppled from a big AL West lead and the Mariners won an almost miraculous series of come-from behind games to tie for the division lead, resulting in their one-game playoff.

After being wooed by several clubs including the Yankees and Dodgers, Langston had signed with the Angels in 1990 largely due to owner Gene Autry's insistence that he was opening the purse strings to build a winner. Unfortunately, the Halos were also-rans in an Oakland-dominated division for several years, but 1995 was The Big Chance.

As you know, it was not to be for the Angels or Langston. After a series of mental lapses followed by Luis Sojo's broken-bat back-breaker came an infamous moment that I'll always remember. Sitting disconsolate in the dugout, teammate Rex Hudler walked by and told Mark, "don't put your head down." Langston reacted by yelling loudly, "F%#& YOU, HUD!! F%#& YOU!!"

Now, normally an outburst such as this would go unnoticed by all but his teammates, but it so happened that the ESPN cameras were focused tightly on Langston's face (as Joe Morgan was telling fans about Langston's "heart"), and you didn't have to be a lip reader to smell what he was cookin'. It also so happened that many in the KingDome can view game coverage on hundreds of monitors throughout the building, and an audible reaction of "Whoa!" can be heard on the videotape of the game.

Fast-forward again. After an iffy arm signaled his exit from Anaheim, Langston moved down I-5 to San Diego. Ironically, he almost retired in August before teammates persuaded him to stay on. In his last season, he finally tasted the playoffs, and made it to his Holy Grail.

Unfortunately, coming in with a tie game in the seventh, Langston's concentration in a big game wavered again, resulting in a runner-advancing wild pitch, and two walks (one intentional, one not) before he faced (what else?) ex-Mariner Tino Martinez.

Again, it was a moment as infamous to the Padres as it was stellar to the Yankees. It was also the last appearance Langston would make in the Series, and as it turned out, in his career.

Was it a career of disappointment? Should we pity poor Mark for folding when the chips were down in the crucial, "defining moments" of his career?

Not as long as there are hundreds more who wanted to be there every bit as much as Langston, but didn't even get to the point where they could make a difference.

Mark Langston had it good.

Item: Like the idea or hate it, the Orioles-Cuba game came off without a hitch and was actually quite competitive (I would say "surprisingly competitive," but this is the Baltimore Geritol Gang we're talking about). Three points of interest:

1. Peter Angelos and Bud Selig flanking one of the U.S.' sworn enemies. "We only talked baseball," Angelos said afterward. Of course you only talked baseball. I suspect Castro would stick to talking computers with Bill Gates and politics with George Stephanopoulos as well. And just think of the insight Castro likely gleaned:

Castro: What is your theory of winning baseball?

Angelos: Veteran players. Definitely veteran players. Keep 'em happy with lots of money.

Selig: A new ballpark. Wouldn't you rather be sitting in a nice, sniper-proof luxury box than these dusty box seats?

2. For a game that wasn't about politics, the marching-behind-the-flags bit sure looked like a sign of a Big International Event.

3. The officiating was top-notch and right down the middle (especially on the play in the 11th when the potential tying run for Cuba was forced at second. It could have gone either way and I probably would have called him safe). It has now been proven that you can be a competent umpire without attending Harry Wendlestedt's school. If I were to urge anyone to defect to our major leagues, it would have to be the Cuban umps.

Item: This week the MLBPA made public its list of the players' favorite and least-favorite umpires. The results weren't too much of a surprise, because other polls have produced similar results.

The AL's Tim McClelland and the NL's Jerry Crawford (also the prez of the union -- never hurts to butter 'em up) were tops, while Ken Kaiser and Charlie Williams were voted the worst by players. Eric Gregg should be relieved -- he was only next-to-last in the NL, one spot higher than where I'd have put him.

Of course, instead of using any available input to make his gang better, big union cheese and professional anachronism Richie Phillips round-filed the survey. "I think they're patently absurd," he said. "I've even been told that some players had their kids fill them out." If even kids can see that Eric Gregg sucks, you might want to consider it, Richie.

Unfortunately, even the usually level-headed NL boss Len Coleman downplayed the results. "The players are certainly entitled to their opinion,'' he said. "I will point out that umpire popularity was a factor, and the skills and qualities of many fine umpires were distorted."

The ratings were based on "physical condition, physical and mental toughness, accuracy of calls on the bases, accuracy of calls at the plate, consistency, temperament, respect for players and overall capacity." I don't see "popularity" there, only qualities that affect an umpire's effectiveness on the field.

Either way, there are umps in Cuba who would die to have these guys' jobs -- likely literally.

about the author

Michael Cox has played baseball, if by "to play" you mean "to drink deep the aura." Call him a wuss at mc@strikethree.com.