8502120802
DETROIT FREE PRESS
851022
Tuesday, October 22, 1985
STATE EDITION
1D
MITCH ALBOM
Copyright (c) 1985, Detroit Free Press
KC'S BALBONI NOT CRYING OVER HIS WEAK BATTING
KANSAS CITY -- Big men don't cry. That much you learn with your baseball
milk. Just the same, I keep visualizing Steve Balboni, all 6-feet-3, 225
pounds of him, returning to his hotel room after the game, stripping down to
his undershirt, cuddling up with a bag of Doritos, and weeping.
It is not because he is sensitive, which he is. It is not because he speaks
with all the volume of a monk, which he does. It is not because, without his
cap, he looks like the "before" picture for a hair-weave ad.
No. It is because when I think of what I might do if I was my team's top
home run hitter and my bat suddenly turned to Silly Putty in the playoffs and
World Series, crying shamelessly quickly comes to mind.
And that's the thing about Steve Balboni. You can put yourself in his
shoes. True, they probably won't fit, but that's not the point. The point is,
in a world of high-priced superstar athletes who get sly looks every time they
sniffle, Balboni remains that rarest of animals -- a Chevy among Jaguars.
A regular guy.
In an irregular slump.
He's no dapper Dan
When the Royals arrived here for the American League playoffs, they cut
neat figures entering the clubhouse. There was Willie Wilson in a jacket and
tie, Dan Quisenberry in a wool vest and blazer, George Brett, Frank White, and
Lonnie Smith all looking dapper.
And then along came Balboni, his forehead perspiring, shirt open three
buttons, the hair from his chest poking out, looking like a drummer in a
wedding band on a 10 minute break. He went right for the food table, scooped
up a handful of potato chips, and waddled over to his locker, leaving a trail
of nibbled crumbs.
Now I don't know about you. But I like that kind of guy.
In fact, ever since that day, he has been my favorite player. Unfortunately,
this has not helped his performance. After hitting 36 home runs in the
regular season, he has done nothing but sink, going five-for-33 (.152) in the
playoffs and World Series with nothing bigger than a single. Countless times
with men on base he has come to the plate and gone back to the dugout empty.
To empathize with Balboni is these days to agonize with Balboni.
(By the way, I think another reason he is so appealing is because he
sounds like something you buy in a deli. "Gimme half- pound provolone,
quarter-pound cole slaw, and a pound of balboni, OK?" But back to the point.)
The Royals all like Balboni. They also need him desperately now, down 2-0
in the Series. With DH Hal McRae, the team's second-best hitter, effectively
erased by the rules, Balboni is the only Royal other than George Brett
capable of hitting the long ball.
Boy, could the Royals use some power now. As much as Sunday night's 4-2
defeat was the result of lucky St. Louis hitting and perhaps mistaken Kansas
City pitching -- Charlie Leibrandt may have pitched to two batters too many
-- the fact remains that had the Royals been up, say five runs instead of two
runs, they wouldn't have had to worry about it.
But Balboni's bat has been even more silent than the man who swings it,
which is awfully silent. This is a guy who got married and didn't tell any of
his teammates.
"Why didn't you tell us?" they asked.
He said it never seemed like the right time.
Balboni's time running out
The Royals have played nine post-season games. And while KC manager Dick
Howser says it's not fair to put pressure on Balboni to produce, in the back
of his mind he knows time is running out.
Balboni knows it, too. He's not happy with his play. "I've been terrible,"
he says, his small voice a mismatch for his chunky body. "I haven't been able
to knock in runs. I'm leaving men on third base. I'm not doing good enough."
When someone asked him why, with McRae out of the lineup, he wasn't batting
cleanup, he answered, "I don't deserve to."
Pitchers pitch. Catchers catch. Home run hitters hit home runs. It is their
raison d'etre, or, as Balboni might put it, "what I'm supposed to."
You want to see Balboni do well. You gotta like a guy who says he's make
"a great retired person," who says if not for baseball he'd be back working at
his family car wash in New England.
Instead, he's in a slump in the worst possible time, the World Series,
trying to rediscover his old friend, the bat.
During the season, Balboni earned the nickname Bye-Bye for the way he
knocked balls out of the park. Now people are invoking the name with different
connotations. There are snickers when he comes to bat, boos when he strikes
out. He may only have two games left in the Series to redeem himself.
What can he do?
The only thing he can do.
Big men don't cry. They just keep swinging, and go for the potato chips.