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.
