History of the World Series – 1997
By Steve Marantz
For The Sportng News
A worldly Series; Baseball’s crown jewel ultimately belonged to Jim Leyland’s Marlins, who prevailed over the Indiansin a dramatic finish, but it also belonged to countless others in the game’s global community.
Every World Series has a personality all
its own. The 1997 edition had a split personality. It was a bit like the manager of the winning
team–irritable, mawkishly sentimental, provincial. Half of this Series belonged to Jim Leyland and fellow working stiffs contemptuous of bright lights and big cities.
The other half belonged to Latin America–to Cuba, the Dominican Republic,
Puerto Rico, Venezuela, Miami’s Little Havana neighborhood and barrios everywhere.
Sure, Cleveland rocks, but south Florida merengues. While Seinfeld-numbed
America yawned, Latinos wildly embraced a Series dominated by their own, and
that climaxed, finally, with a Game 7, bases-loaded, 11th-inning single by
Edgar Renteria, a Colombian native.
This was not a Series for tinsel suits–NBC’s West Coast Entertainment
president Don Ohlmeyer wanted ”four and out” because of insufficient
ratings. Pity he had to endure seven.
Nor was it a Series for children, connoisseurs of pitching, or
thin-blooded beachcombers. The standard criticisms are that the best teams were not participating; games started too late and lasted too long, precluding
children from the audience; too many pitchers lacked command, control or the
willingness to challenge hitters; and baseball is not meant to be played in light snow
with a wind chill of 15 degrees. Some are valid; one or two actually may get
addressed once realignment is settled.
Simply, it was a Series for people who appreciate baseball’s infinite and
incomprehensible forms. The game is a chameleon; artistic and dramatic
perfection can’t be scripted or orchestrated. Teams with best records
haven’t necessarily reached the Series since 1969, when a semifinal round began.
Cold weather is part of the game; it grew up and thrives in Midwestern industrial
cities such as Cleveland, kids overtaking frozen fields as winter edges to
spring. Pitching is just pitching, more art and magic than science. Good
pitchers, such as Kevin Brown, can go bad in the Series, while mediocre
ones, such as Chad Ogea, can leave a mark. Nerves and pressure coupled with
unfamiliar and/or inconsistent strike zones make pitching in the World Series a
crapshoot.
In the end, Games 6 and 7 were gems, answering the game’s critics in the
best possible way–with crisp well-played drama.
However, nothing can rationalize baseball’s dim insistence on starting
games so late that children in the Eastern and Central times zones cannot stay up
for the last out on school nights. Why can’t the Lords grasp that the next
generation of potential fans needs to be respected? Sure, the game can and
should be speeded up, but this problem is exaggerated. Games 1, 2, 4 and 6
were played in 3 hours, 19 minutes or less, a reasonable amount of time. Game 3
(won by the Marlins, 14-11) was 4:12 because of sloppy fielding and pitching and
an 11-run ninth inning. Game 5 (Marlins, 8-7) lasted 3:39 because of Livan
Hernandez’s eight walks and the Indians’ five pitching changes. Baseball’s
pace becomes more deliberate in a World Series because of increased strategizing
and gamesmanship. Tinkering with pace requires a delicate touch. A simpler
solution is to play a couple of afternoon games while starting night games no later
than 7 p.m. in the East, even if it means discounting the cost to television,
even if it means everybody–players included–settles for less money. Afternoon
games would be deliciously retro, evoking, in the words of Bob Costas, ”the long
shadows and draped bunting of an earlier era.”
Before Game 2 at Pro Player Stadium, pop vocalist Gloria Estefan, a Cuban
American, sang the national anthem. Gradually, thousands of voices joined
in, then thousands more, until nearly 67,000 voices were raised to Old Glory.
Never before have fans en masse accompanied the featured singer, according to
longtime observers. Marlins officials attributed it to the makeup of the crowd–an
estimated 30 percent Hispanic.
”Latin fans are more passionate,” Indians second baseman Tony
Fernandez, a Dominican, says.
A sign in the stands before Game 6 read: ”Los ninos en Cuba ya no dicen
seremos como el Che, dicen seremos como Livan.” Translation: The children in
Cuba don’t say we’ll be like Che any more, they say we’ll be like Livan.
Hernandez was one of several Hispanic players who dominated the Series.
The list includes Moises Alou, Sandy Alomar, Omar Vizquel and Renteria.
For that reason, and others, the Series was an epic success in Latin
America and among stateside Latin Americans, a historic event on the scale of
Fernando Valenzuela’s emergence in 1981. Even as Ohlmeyer and millions of others clicked to vapid sitcoms, an estimated 40 million Latin Americans listened on the 365-station Latin Broadcasting Company radio network, up from 25 million 10 years ago and 10 million 20 years ago. Television went to 205 countries.
Latin American television ratings were not available entering the week, but
anecdotal evidence suggests a record audience. Even before the Series ended, the
Venezuelan rights-holder was renegotiating a deal four times larger than the
one expiring.
”This World Series is creating more new baseball fans than ever before
in places where soccer has been the No. 1 sport,” says Jaime Jarrin, voice of
the Latin Broadcasting Company. ”This is happening in Colombia as well as
Miami.”
An ethnocentric American media largely failed to grasp the significance
of the Marlins, viewing them as an expansion team without tradition or decorum,
a store-bought team assembled by an owner with no feeling for the game and no
intention of properly defending his championship. Moreover, it viewed the
Indians as a mediocre 86-win club lacking a superstar or a decent starting
pitcher.
But Hispanics have adopted the Marlins, their roots now sunk into the
south Florida community, their most successful branch ticket outlet in Little
Havana. The Marlins featured several Hispanic players: Alou,Renteria, Alex
Fernandez, Bobby Bonilla, Felix Heredia, Alex Arias, Antonio Alfonseca and Livan Hernandez.
The Indians featured Alomar, Omar Vizquel, Fernandez, Manny Ramirez, and
Jose Mesa.
Livan-Mania overtook Cuba. Fans circumvented Fidel Castro’s blackout,
getting news from hotel personnel with access to telecasts, driving to beaches east
of Havana where Miami TV and radio are picked up, and into the hills around the
city of Guantanomo, where signals from a U.S. Navy base are picked up.
Before Game 7, Hernandez’s mother was granted a visa allowing her to arrive in time to watch from owner Wayne Huizenga’s suite. She saw her son crowned MVP of the Series for winning Games 1 and 5, and throwing a gutty 142 pitches in his Game 5 victory.
The final picture of the 1997 season is of Leyland, arms upraised, urging
delirious Marlins fans to wild abandon. A rare smile creasing his taciturn
features, Leyland wheeled into the arms of Bonilla, a player whom he loves
like a son. Their hug was beautiful to see.
The Leyland-Bonilla relationship provided a tense sub-theme to the
Series, an issue adding to Leyland’s general grumpiness and defensiveness. Hampered by a sore hamstring, Bonilla moved with difficulty, apparently resulting in
subpar hitting and fielding at third. Repeatedly, Leyland’s use of Bonilla was
questioned. Coaches and friends watched pressure build within Leyland from
the start of postseason play, until it had to erupt. On the afternoon of Game 5,
Leyland was descending in the hotel elevator with his wife, Katie, third
base coach Rich Donnelly, and Donnelly’s son. With no provocation, Leyland
exploded into a tirade about Series coverage, venting his anger at whiny reviews
deploring the quality of play and lack of drama.
“Dammit, we beat the favorites, and they beat the defending champion and
the favorite,” Leyland cursed. “To hell with the ratings.”
His mood did not improve. Speaking before reporters later in the day,
Leyland snarled bitterly, “I’m sick and tired of hearing about New York and Atlanta and Baltimore. We are the teams that are supposed to be here, and it makes me puke when I continue to hear people talking about the Marlins and the Indians.
We don’t have to apologize for being here. If everybody wants New York and and
Atlanta in the Series, why don’t we just cancel the season and put them in?”
In the same tirade, Leyland ripped late starting times, saying they hurt
children, as well as “the guy that works from 7 o’clock to 4 or 5 in the
afternoon.”
Leyland’s grim and gray countenance was a stark counterpoint to festive
teal-colored south Florida, more fitting perhaps to his opponents from the
smokestack city on Lake Erie. His outlook generally is tense, irritable,
withdrawn and suspicious. Occasionally, he reveals a softer side, in
discussing family, friends or players, and during moments of triumph or defeat.
“With Jim, it’s all black and white, no gray,” Donnelly says. “With him,
it’s never ‘I don’t know’ or both sides could have merit. It’s always one
way or the other.”
Leyland was adept, as he maneuvered pitchers and hitters into
advantageous situations. He got more than expected out of utility player Jim Eisenreich, first baseman Darren Daulton and long reliever Heredia.
But the Bonilla question threatened to permanently cast doubt upon
Leyland’s judgment. Bonilla was a liability in the field, unable to move to his left,
as well as at the plate. He hit into rally-ending double plays in Games 3, 4,
and 5. In Game 6, he missed a grounder that started Cleveland’s two-run second,
and in Game 3 his double-pump misfire on a Ramirez grounder led to two runs.
Bonilla had one moment, scoring the go-ahead run in Game 3, walking to lead off the ninth, somehow sprinting to third on Daulton’s single and coming home when
the throw from Marquis Grissom glanced off him.
As Bonilla struggled, Leyland bristled when asked if he might be his
designated hitter for the games in Cleveland. He refused to DH Bonilla, or
replace him defensively, other than late in Game 5. Leyland’s reasoning was
“if Bonilla can hit he can field.” The issue became a sore point; Leyland
stubbornly committed to stick by Bonilla. The two have a close relationship
dating to the mid 1980s, when both were in the White Sox organization. When
Bonilla became a free agent, he chose Florida primarily because of Leyland.
Not all managers can handle Bonilla, who is sensitive, moody and headstrong.
Under Leyland, he hit .297 with 17 homers and 96 RBIs.
“Deep down Jim loves Bobby,” Donnelly says. “He gets annoyed at things
Bobby does or says, but he loves him.”
Leyland’s affection was put to a test. Bonilla had become an easy mark
for Cleveland hurlers, while Indians batters were trying to slap the ball at
him.
Finally, in Game 7, Leyland dropped him to sixth in the lineup, moving
Daulton to cleanup. Leyland says Bonilla had been trying to “lift the ball” and
that batting lower might lighten expectations.
This is the genius of Leyland. In the seventh inning, trailing 2-0 to
Jaret Wright, Bonilla unleashed a massive swing and drove a Wright offering deep
into the right field seats. The towering shot awoke the Marlins. In the 11th,
Bonilla led off with a single and just missed scoring the winning run when he
eventually was forced at home. But the fuse was lit, and the next batter, Renteria,
exploded it over south Florida.
Moments later, Leyland and Bonilla were locked in an embrace, old friends
at the end of a long journey.
If the Indians are playing in late October 1998, it won’t be surprising.
After all, they are one of baseball’s most stable and efficient clubs, with
everything going their way, including management, fan support and a retro
stadium.
But if the Marlins make it back to the World Series, it will be a
surprise.
Their winter promises turmoil, as owner Wayne Huizenga almost certainly will
scale back payroll while trying to sell the club.
Indians G.M. John Hart will be tinkering at the margins without
disrupting his core. Primarily, he needs an ace and wants Expos righthander Pedro
Martinez. If Martinez is signed, then Orel Hershiser probably won’t return, while
another domino would fall at second base, where Hart might turn to prospect Enrique Wilson to curb payroll. If the Indians don’t get Martinez, then Hershiser
might get another year, and Bip Roberts or Tony Fernandez could return at second.
The expansion draft is sure to cost a decent pitcher or two. Lefthander Brian
Anderson’s strong showing in the Series may alter Hart’s protected list for
the expansion draft, possibly at the expense of a young position player.
Meanwhile, Huizenga claims he is losing $ 30 million, a figure surely
mitigated by Series receipts. His $ 89 million free-agent spree last winter
proved a success artistically, but the Marlins needed to average more than
29,000. Jeff Conine, an original Marlin, and Daulton won’t be back. Leiter
probably won’t be protected and is likely to go in the expansion draft.
Bonilla and White will be shopped around, but no takers are likely, because both
carry hefty price tags and declining production. Outfield prospects Mark Kotsay
and Todd Dunwoody are ready; G.M. Dave Dombrowski has to make room for them.
Alou, Sheffield and Fernandez represent $ 22 million in no-trade contracts,
leaving little payroll maneuverability. Moreover, Fernandez won’t be available for
much of ’98 after rotator-cuff surgery.
But before both teams rush toward next season, perhaps they can reflect a
moment on the season just ended, a memorable one by any standard. History
was made with interleague play, the National League coming out ahead, 117-97,
while the game came out ahead measured by enthusiasm and fan response. Mark
McGwire, with 58 home runs, and Ken Griffey Jr., with 56, made a run at Maris with a thrilling barrage of rocket shots. Larry Walker had one of the finest
all-around offensive seasons since the Babe, and Pedro Martinez outdid Greg Maddux with more than 300 strikeouts and a 1.90 ERA. Eric Davis held colon cancer to a draw. Owners and players cooperated under a new collective bargaining agreement. Nobody spat on an umpire.
Seven months ago, on April 1, the Marlins opened with a 4-2 decision over
the Cubs, Brown tossing a one-hitter for seven innings. On April 2, the Indians,
behind a lefthander later traded to the Expos, Steve Kline, beat the A’s,
9-7.
If seven months seems like a long time, and winter’s chill is curling at
your doorstep, think of this: Spring training is 31/2 months away.
