Saturday, October 20, 2012

Barry Zito-The Left-Hander That Wasn't a Lefty


By Michael Takeuchi


Watching the TIVO of Giants pitcher Barry Zito (I had to cover a volleyball match of all things) mastering the St. Louis Cardinals in Game 5 of the National League Championship Series, took me back to the not-so-distant past.

Years ago, when he was pitching for the Oakland Athletics,  Barry Zito agreed to do an interview with me for a small publication I was working for at the time.  Zito, who had already won the Cy Young three seasons prior, had a lot of demands on his time.  But since I told him we were both fellow UCSB Gauchos, I hit the magic button even though he only pitched there for one season, before moving onto L.A. Pierce, and then USC. 
  Zito  gave me a precise time on when to meet him while also telling me exactly where and how much time he could give me as he was pitching the following day.
   I found the structured schedule a bit unnerving as the left-handed pitcher had a reputation of being...well, a lefty. The term lefty, is often unfairly compared with someone being a flake.  And at the time, Zito certainly filled the stereotype.  He surfed, played guitar, and did yoga while also talking about a universal life force.  In other words, he was a free spirit. But on this day, while polite, Zito was all business and I didn't dare cross him. 
  The next day, I arrived an hour early at the Oakland Coliseum, now named the O.o. Coliseum or something like that, to prepare.  While getting ready, instead of talking about UCSB, where we went a decade apart, I decided to break the ice by talking about yoga and surfing, two things I knew a little bit about.
  Walking down the then (and now) ancient, but memory-filled stadium tunnel to the home dugout, I remember thinking about the players who walked the same path. Catfish, Reggie, Vida, Rollie, Sal, my favorite Campy and even Ray Fosse, the catcher who had the misfortune of being bowled over at the plate by my least favorite baseball player (and perhaps athlete) Pete Rose in the 1970 All-Star game  On that play, Fosse apparently suffered a separated right shoulder.   According to legend, Fosse was never the same player again although other accounts dispute this.
  Reaching the field on that bright summer afternoon, I stepped inside the home dugout, if one can call it such.  It consisted of a green cushioned bench, a bat and helmet rack, but no rail.   I never understood the fact that the dugouts had no front railing.  But with the Coliseum also being the home of the Oakland Raiders, this seemed as natural as the aircraft carrier-like luxury boxes beyond the outfield fence courtesy of the whims of Al Davis. 
  Taking my seat at the far end while the team started to take the field for batting practice.  Still 20 minutes early, I watched the collegial banter of the players during warm-ups and then the beginning of batting practice.  I was having so much fun, I hadn't noticed that the interview was supposed to have begun 10 minutes prior.
  Looking at the watch, I started to get that antsy feeling of a kid sitting in the classroom waiting for summer vacation to begin. All of the Athletics had taken the field by this time, all except Zito.  After 30 minutes, I finally asked an A's staffer about the whereabouts of the pitcher.  The staffer said that he was in need of some extra treatment and wouldn't be taking the field during batting practice.  
  Sigh.  Curses, foiled again.
  Throughout the entirety of that night's game, all I could think of was the interview that wasn't.  Halfway through, I regrouped my thoughts in hope of getting the interview after the game, which isn't always the best time for a reporter.  There is an unspoken agreement between players and reporters that that time, which is about 15 minutes after the last out or run scored is recorded, is used to briefly interview players who were on the field for that particular time.  If one wanted a lengthy interview, reporters would have to wait until batting practice the next day.
  This of course, didn't help this small town scribe, who had to leave the morning after the next game.  Since Zito was pitching the next night, he would be incommunicado as another cardinal rule is that reporters don't talk to a starting pitcher on the day he takes the bump.  So essentially, I was SOL big time-which was not as bad as Zito was during his start.
  With his first pitch against the White Sox, Zito missed the strike zone badly.   And the second, and the third.  His 12-6 curve, was starting at midnight, but dropping only as far as a batter's wheelhouse-bad sign.   And the A's pitcher paid the price, giving up something like seven runs in less than five innings. 
  This was almost as bad for me, because I knew that if he pitched well, I might have a chance to interview him for a few minutes after.  But he if he didn't, we would be limited to a few questions before it was time to skedaddle. 
  After the game, an Oakland loss,  reporters waited in a cluster outside of the clubhouse until we went in to manager Ken Macha's office before the players would be made available for interviews.  
  While many changed quietly (a win brings music while a loss only brings silence-just like the Jeremy Giambi scene from MONEYBALL), others sat at tables silently eating dinner while reporters hovered awkwardly around them. Zito, got out of the shower area,  went to his locker while the gaggle followed him.
  After dressing, Zito was given a few questions on the assessment of his outing, but nothing major.  Despite the relative softball (no pun intended) questions, Zito looked bored and it looked like that locker room represented the last place he wanted to be. Yet he answered them before the beat writers, satisfied with the pitcher's quotes, walked away to move onto other players while Zito grabbed a plate of food and sat down to eat.
  With most of the other reporters gone, this rube didn't know what to do. Knowing I had to get the interview, I wanted to stay, but also knowing protocol I knew I had to leave, especially since everybody had already left.  Resigned, I decided to join them and turned to leave.
  Just then, Zito got up from the table.
  "Hey Mike, were you waiting on me?" Zito asked.  "Sorry man, the trainer had me get extra treatment yesterday. I guess it didn't help."
  Shocked and awed, I laughed and said it wasn't a problem.
  "It's late for you but we could do that interview now if you want."
"Uh sure, that would be great thanks."
  We sat down at the same table he was eating at and began the interview with the clubhouse attendants being the only other people around. 
  By the time the interview was done about a half an hour later, everyone except a security guard who was waiting patiently nearby had already left.  Before he went his way and I went mine, Zito shook my hand and wished me luck with the story.
  Playing back the recording the next day, I realized I couldn't use very much of it because it was more like two dudes chilling in the locker room.  I did manage to get enough to make a marginal story that was cut down to its bare minimum.  But I didn't care. I got my interview who became one of my still-favorite players to boot.
  Thanks Lefty.  

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