Ahhh, early April. Darryl Kile's earned run average is exactly zero. In Philadelphia, Rico Brogna is the second coming of Mark McGwire. In St. Louis, Mark McGwire is a likable single father who will hit eighty dingers this year.
Imagine the joy, this early April, of Vinny Castilla. The best major-league ballplayer that most fans in Minneapolis, Boston and New York have never heard of, the Colorado Rockies' sure-handed, power-hitting third baseman will this Sunday realize the sweetest spring dream of all. He will play Opening Day, the fourth day of April, in his native country. The Rox face the San Diego Padres in Monterrey, Mexico, Sunday evening, and for Castilla, it will be the most glorious moment of his career.
"I cannot wait," Cousin Vinny says. Because in Mexico, they know Vinny Castilla. Vinny Castilla could be the president of Mexico if he wanted to. But what he wants instead is to make his countrymen proud, pick the ball cleanly at the hot corner and maybe--just maybe--hit one out. That would make his year.
But baseball is not all sweetness and light this April. It is not suffused with the usual untarnished hope. Following one of the most uplifting baseball seasons of all time--Way to swing, Big Mac! Muchas gracias, Sammy!--Opening Day arrives with a forecast of rain. To wit:
Discontent: Little matter that the Toronto Blue Jays' ex-manager lied to his players about having served in Vietnam and was fired in disgrace. Little matter that a country singer who earned $50 million last year found his accomplishments inadequate and began imagining himself a ballplayer. Garth Brooks, a publicity stunt wearing spikes, will depart the Padres spring-training camp just as he should--without a hit.
More important, a U.S. senator who's held office since the Coolidge administration recently imagined himself an umpire. Jesse Helms, the ancient segregationist from North Carolina, wrote a letter to every member of the Baltimore Orioles explaining why they should not go to Havana to play the Cuban national team. Mike Mussina and company ignored Helms as they would ignore a drunk howling in the third-base boxes. On Sunday at Estadio Latinoamericano, once home to Tony Oliva, Tony Perez, Minnie Minoso, Luis Tiant and Mike Cuellar, the O's beat the Cubans 3-2 in eleven thrilling innings. Memo to the senator: Albert Belle didn't join a farming commune, and Fidel didn't pitch the bottom of the eighth.
Consider for a moment the fix real umpires are in--or think they're in. Over the shape of an imaginary rectangle. As baseball intimates know, on February 19 Commissioner Bud Selig sent a memo to all thirty teams promising stricter enforcement this season of the "strike zone"--a largely mythical notion that has in recent years grown shorter and wider (especially in the National League), provoking occasional outrage in the dugouts and sending strict constructionists back to the rulebook. Now, Selig says, umpires will be required to lift and narrow the area in which a pitched ball is called a strike.
Problem one: Selig didn't ask the umpires, a prickly lot to start with, what they thought. So on March 12 they filed a grievance to block the new interpretation of the strike zone. Problem two: Players and managers are openly laughing at the edict. Problem three: Friction between the men in blue, players and fans could this season reach its highest pitch since umpire Tim McClelland disallowed George Brett's home run because he had too much pine tar on his bat.
What to do. Heed, if you will, Hall of Famer George Montgomery Ward: "Outside of the nine players on each side," Ward once explained, "there is another important personage, known as the 'umpire.' He is not placed there as a target for the maledictions of disappointed spectators. He is of flesh and blood and has feelings, just the same as any other human being. He is not chosen because of his dishonesty or ignorance of the rules of the game, neither is he an ex-horse thief nor an escaped felon...indeed, in private life he may even pass as a gentleman."