8702040963 DETROIT FREE PRESS 870726 Sunday, July 26, 1987 STATE EDITION

SPT

1D Photo MITCH ALBOM SEE ALSO METRO FINAL EDITION, Page 1D Copyright (c) 1987, Detroit Free Press COLES FEELS REMOVED FROM TIGERS' FEAST This is how bad it had gotten for Darnell Coles. He was playing third base and praying the ball would go elsewhere. "It was like, don't hit it to me! Don't hit it to me!' " he recalls, shaking his head, "and if you're gonna hit it to me, then let me just step on the bag for an out. Don't make me throw it." Strange things were happening when Coles threw the ball -- if and when he fielded it. It would sometimes sail past the first baseman. Or over the catcher. He made three errors in one game. He made three errors in another game. The mistakes seemed to lead to more mistakes, and in his mind, everybody was noticing and nobody was forgetting. He fought with himself. Then he fought with his teammates. In between innings of one game he turned and threw a ball over the stadium roof, out of sheer frustration. He fell into a batting slump, and, while taking extra practice, injured his right side. Disabled list. In June, he was sent the minors. He came back to find his job taken and his future in doubt. "Uncomfortable," is the word he now uses for the relationship with his teammates. "Do you feel you've been given up on?" he is asked. "Yeah, I do," he says, softly. The Tigers are doing well these days, playing hot, laughing in the clubhouse. They are dancing in the shadow of first place. Good times these are, as fun as a picnic. But not for everyone. He sits in the stands of an empty Tiger Stadium, his feet up on the seat in front of him. It is Thursday, an off-day, and in an hour he has a commitment. He will speak with a group of inner-city children about hope and promise. And when he returns, he will go see Bill Lajoie, the Tigers' general manager, to find out whether either of those things still exist for Darnell Coles in Detroit. A year ago, Coles was the golden boy, the third baseman the Tigers had always dreamed of but never had. He hit .273 and cracked 20 home runs. His first full season. He was only 25. "Lemme tell ya something about this kid," manager Sparky Anderson would begin, with that grin that suggests a campaign speech is coming. In the early days, Anderson and Coles were seen together often on the field, the manager a few feet behind the player, offering comment. "Sparky and Spunky" someone tagged them; but Coles now says the comments were inconsistent. "He'd be critical when I made mistakes and when I did good he'd say, 'Don't let it go to your head.' I felt like, 'Why take the wind out my sails if I had a good game?' "Then, this year, when I started going bad, he had a few closed door meetings with me. It was like 180 degrees different than last year. And now, there isn't much communication at all." Anderson balks at that ("I've never spoken to a player more in all my 18 years managing!" he says). But the problem may be less the volume of the conversation than the nature of it. If wishes came true, Coles would have Sparky throw him daily doses of encouragement: 'You're my third baseman, Darnell. Don't worry about it." But this is not a wish business. And the Tigers, under Anderson, are a club where the quiet professional gets the gold star. Do your job and keep your mouth shut. They could make that the rookie anthem. Coles has never fit that mold well. He is, by nature, gregarious, impulsive, the kind of guy whose thoughts and words swirl together and come out rapid-fire. He is honest and funny and also sensitive, too much so, because he takes in everything. He thinks about what people are saying, what they are thinking, how they are looking at him. Last year, the good year, that personality helped him. People said good things. The feedback gave him confidence. This year that same personality turned on him, right from the start. He came into spring training beefed up from weights. The Tigers weren't crazy about that. When he made too many early errors, he was told to take extra fielding practice. ("Right after the games," he laments, "which is kind of like punishment. Everybody's still sitting in the stands and now Darnell's gotta go take ground balls.") He didn't like it. But he figured the regular season would be a clean slate. Only he started slowly. The fielding problems began. Six errors in the first seven games. On April 14, in Kansas City, he booted two ground balls and overthrew an easy out. The mistakes led to seven runs and the Tigers lost. "I wanted to cry after that game," he says. Five weeks later, it happened again. In Texas. Three errors. The Tigers lost. Coles' batting average was terrible. His concentration was clearly troubled. "That (three error) night was probably the point where they'd seen enough," he says. "That might have been the downfall of the season right there." "Did you realize it then?" he is asked. "Did you realize you had just witnessed a turn of you career in Detroit?" "To be honest," he says, glumly, "I had witnessed that the night before." On the night before, a game the Tigers had won, Coles had a confrontation with a teammate while on the field. It led to several more in the clubhouse. Angry words were exchanged. Coles had to be restrained. "I was frustrated. It was kind of to the point where some of the other guys weren't telling me what to do because I should do it, but like 'Darnell, get your butt over there and do it!' So I said goodby to that stuff. I straightened it out. And now nobody messes with me." "And nobody talks to you?" someone asked. "I'm not losing any sleep over that," he says. Which is not true. But this is also part of Coles' persona; a tough streak that belies his sensitive underbelly. Know this: Coles is hurting. This is a guy who, rightly or wrongly, feels as guilty about disappointing people as he does about disappointing himself. Some people can take a thunderstorm of bad news, towel off, and forget it. Darnell Coles, like many of us, is not that lucky. So he took his problems on the field with him, and when routine plays came his way, he suddenly was gripped with the shiver of making another mistake. "Suddenly, a ball would be hit to me and I'd be saying to myself, where do I throw it? OK. I throw it to second. And I'd throw it to first instead. Crazy stuff! "I'd see Lou (Whitaker) running to the bag and and rather than take a chance of throwing it wrong and out into center field, I'd throw it to first it it went whoooop -- see ya." He shakes his head. "It was pure stupidity on my part. I was getting to the point where I was worrying more about what was going on the dugout than what was happening on the field. You'd come in after making an error or not getting a hit and somebody would be waving the white flag or shaking their head and it was like, 'What the hell did I do now?' "So you go back out there thinking about that stuff and boom! A ball is hit to you and you throw it mile away. And it's like, see you later." And pretty soon it was. He was sent to Toledo, the Tigers' Triple-A farm club, ostensibly to work out his injury. And everything else. Who knows why people get into mental slumps? Who knows how people get out of them? But a baseball team is not an easy place to work through personal troubles. The game has never been tolerant of fear. Break a leg, you're OK. Break your confidence, you might as well be a leper. The clubhouse is a cocoon, great if you're a part of it, but suffocating if you feel you don't belong. "After (the confrontation) most of the players were just cordial, you know, hi and bye stuff,' says Coles. It was clear that he felt isolated. And it goes on, at least in Coles' mind. Darrell Evans, one of the veterans who has been critical of him, says now that "the past is the past" and the best thing for Coles is to stay ready to contribute whenever called upon. That is Anderson's philosophy as well. It is part of the "good soldier" mold that constitutes the Tigers, and it is good advice, if you can accept it. But it is hard for Coles to forget that last year he was a starter, the guy they were all talking about, maybe the most promising player out there. "I guess I feel I deserved more of a shot based on what I did last year. I've only got like 140 at- bats this season. But there's not much I can do about it. I don't make out the lineup cards." So it is hard for Coles, it would be for anybody. If he tries bravely to fit back in, pretend it never happened, it makes the team feel better while he feels small. If he stands firm, remains an outsider, it might make him feel right, but will get him nowhere. And he goes on, a part-timer now. The meeting with Lajoie relieved some of the anxiety. Coles emerged reassured enough to try his best foot the rest of this season. He is clearly a better player than his .174 batting average and 16 errors. But he will likely only play right field on occasion, as he did Saturday. "He will not get back to being the regular third baseman this year," Anderson says. "Tommy (Brookens) has earned that. Tommy won the job. That's not unusual." "What about next year?" he is asked. "That's too far off," says Anderson. That is hardly a ringing endorsement. But that is all he gets. "I feel I can be an everyday player," says Coles, as he sits in the stadium seats. "That time in the minor leagues helped get my confidence back. I think I have as much talent as anybody, and I'm not gonna let anybody tell me I can't do anything. They tell me I can't play third, I'm just gonna have to prove them wrong." He sighs, and looks out on the empty field, baking in the sun. Low grass. Smooth dirt. How easy would life be if the slate was this clean? No errors, no slumps, no insults, no sarcasm, no anger, no embarrassment, no fear. No such luck. "How much of this is your fault?" Darnell Coles is finally asked. He turns and shrugs. "All of it," he says. DARNELL COLES;DTIGERS;BASEBALL;COLUMN;Detroit Tigers