Living on the Black

by John Feinstein

  Sadly, this isn’t nearly as true as it once was. Players are more likely to stop and sign autographs during spring because they have more time, but the days when fans could surround players walking in and out of their training facilities are long gone. All the new spring-training ballparks were built with added security in mind. Players park inside a fence and have the option of not getting anywhere near the waiting fans if they don’t want to do so.

  These days pitchers are expected to be ready to throw off a mound when they arrive in training camp. Mussina and Glavine are typical of most pitchers, especially veterans, in that they have spent anywhere from six to ten weeks getting their arms ready to throw regularly off a mound. What’s different in spring training is that every pitch thrown is monitored and recorded; time on the mound is noted; and there is a very specific schedule to be followed. There’s no pushing back the start of the day to take kids to school or to play a game of horse.

  “In a lot of ways, the last few days before we go to Florida are bittersweet for me,” Glavine said a few days prior to his February 14 departure for the Mets camp in Port St. Lucie, Florida. “Part of me is excited about getting down there, seeing the guys, getting ready to start another season. But there’s another part of me that’s going to miss taking the kids to school, being there when they come home, and having free time to pretty much do whatever I want.

  “The worst day of the year for me, without fail, every year is the first Monday of spring training: Chris and the kids always fly down with me, spend a long weekend, and then leave first thing Monday morning so the kids can get back to school. That morning really sucks because it hits me that I’m only going to see them on weekends for most of the next six weeks.”

  Mussina’s feelings are similar. His boys are younger — Peyton was not yet in school in 2007, and Brycen, because he’s a smart kid, had flexibility to miss some school time — but they were still in and out during the spring. “The good news is they have a really good time when they’re here,” he said. “The bad news is I miss them when they have to go back north.”

  There is no doubt about the best part of spring training: seeing the guys. Any retired athlete you talk to will instantly tell you that what he misses most about his playing days are the guys. It isn’t just the camaraderie of a clubhouse — baseball locker rooms are never called locker rooms, they are called clubhouses, which is instructive if you think about the meaning of the word club — it is the notion of having a place, of being a part of a very exclusive club that most boys grow up dreaming of being in at some stage of their lives.

  “I’m pretty sure the thing I’ll miss most is having a locker,” Mussina said. “That’s your place, no one else’s, and having it isn’t just a practical thing — a place to put your stuff — it’s a symbolic thing. It means you belong inside that clubhouse. My boys love being able to walk in and hang out around my locker after a game. When I’m retired, I know I’ll be welcome to come in; I know there will be times I can bring the kids. But it won’t be the same. It can’t be. I’ll be an outsider; I won’t have a place anymore.”

  Glavine feels the same way. “It’s very tough to explain to someone who has never been on the inside what that feels like,” he said. “The clubhouse is open to outsiders a lot. You’ve got media in there and other people who come through for different reasons. But there are times when it’s just the guys, when you say and do things that you wouldn’t say or do anyplace else. It’s nothing terrible or bad; it’s just being able to revert to being a kid, playing practical jokes, giving each other a hard time.” He smiled. “It’s a way to feel young, even when you aren’t young anymore.”

  Of course that place in the clubhouse has to be earned. On the first day that an entire team reports to spring training — usually about five days after pitchers and catchers — the clubhouse feels overrun. Most teams invite between sixty and seventy players to spring training. Usually, no more than thirty — sometimes fewer — have a realistic chance to make the big league roster.

  “You walk in there on the first day, and you see faces you absolutely don’t recognize, people you don’t know, and, in many cases, people you’ll never know,” Mussina said. “If someone walks up and introduces himself, that’s certainly fine with me, but I’m not going to go around introducing myself to people I’m pretty sure I’ll never play with except maybe in a spring-training game.”

  On the first day that the entire team is in camp, the manager will hold a meeting before the first workout. Many of the players in the room are new: youngsters in their first big league camp; players acquired by trade or free agency; older players who have signed a minor league contract hoping to make a team. As a result, the manager will introduce the entire staff: coaches, minor league instructors working in camp, doctors, training staff, public relations staff. There will be warnings about staying out of trouble, and a curfew — usually 1 a.m. — will be announced though it is never enforced.

  “It’s there more in case someone gets in trouble,” Glavine said. “If a guy gets stopped by a cop at three o’clock in the morning, well, he’s violated curfew, so the manager can suspend him or fine him regardless of what happens with the police. It’s just a way of reminding guys that they’re public figures, and they should try to stay out of trouble.”

  One thing that takes up some time is the introduction of the public relations staff. Playing baseball in New York isn’t like playing baseball anyplace else. There is more media in New York than in any other city in the country, and the pressure on players to perform and to make themselves available to the media there is higher than elsewhere.

  Jay Horwitz has been the Mets’ public relations director for twenty-eight years. He has outlasted eight managers and seven general managers and has survived dealing with charmers like Vince Coleman, Jeff Kent, and Eddie Murray, among others. When he talks to the players, his warnings to be careful about what they say are infused with humor, but at the same time he reminds them that part of their job is dealing with the media.

  If there’s a tougher job in baseball than Horwitz’s, it is that of the Yankees’ public relations director. In 2007, that job fell to Jason Zillo, who succeeded Rick Cerrone during the winter. Zillo had been with the team for eleven years, but this was his first year in charge. As much coverage as the Mets get, the Yankees get more. In addition to all those who cover the team for local and national media outlets, the Yankees have a regular coterie of Japanese media who follow Hideki Matsui. The signing of Kei Igawa only increased the Japanese media presence.

  Zillo’s job is challenging because of the number of people he deals with, but also because the Yankees are a powder keg. Any four-game losing streak can lead to speculation about the immediate future of the manager, the general manager, and the high-priced stars. In addition to giving the usual talk about dealing with the media, Zillo shows the players a film that is best described as “how to deal with the media, and, more important, how not to deal with the media.” It shows a number of instances when athletes have made themselves look foolish by blowing up on camera. Example one in 2007 was Randy Johnson’s first encounter with the New York media in 2005.

  Once the first meeting is over, the rituals begin. Players are expected on the field at a specific time to begin their stretching, and then at appointed times they move on to drills. Pitchers report to specified locations to play catch (usually with another pitcher during spring) or to throw off a mound or to work on pitcher’s fielding practice, or PFP.

  On the morning that Yankee pitchers and catchers first reported, Mussina went through his drills, threw off a mound for eight minutes, iced his arm, and got something to eat. It then took him about another ten minutes to become embroiled in the Yankees’ first controversy of the spring.

  Mussina was not, by any stretch of the imagination, the only Yankee who had become extremely skeptical about Carl Pavano. In fact, manager Joe Torre, who rarely said anything even a little bit negative about a player in public, had made th
e comment during the winter that Pavano was going to have to “earn back the confidence of the clubhouse.” In other words, Pavano hadn’t performed for two years; there had been serious questions raised about how he had handled his injury problems; and until he got himself healthy and performed, the other players would continue to have doubts about him.

  Asking Pavano how he felt about having to prove himself to his teammates seemed a logical first-day-of-camp story to a lot of media members. When Pavano finished his drills and came inside to his locker, a number of people asked him how he felt about it all.

  “That’s just the media saying those things,” Pavano answered, taking the age-old, “it’s the media’s fault” route. “I’m not worried about it. I don’t think I have to prove anything to my teammates.”

  Actually, the media hadn’t said those things; his manager had. Among others.

  Pavano’s locker inside the clubhouse at Legends Field in Tampa is no more than ten feet from Mussina’s, which is in a corner — giving him a little extra room in a crowded place — to the left of the front door. As soon as Pavano was finished blaming the media for his troubles, several writers made a beeline for Mussina.

  This made sense for several reasons: Mussina is now considered a go-to guy by the Yankees media. He’s smart and honest and isn’t likely to duck a question. What’s more, many of the reporters knew how Mussina felt about Pavano. When they repeated Pavano’s comments, Mussina was genuinely stunned.

  “He said that? Really? He really said that?” was his opening response. He then went on to say in blunt terms that Pavano was in for a big surprise if he thought he did not have a problem with his teammates. “What Joe said is completely true,” he said. “The guy has a lot to prove. This has nothing to do with you guys.”

  It is worth remembering that this was mid-February. The Super Bowl was over; college basketball had not yet reached March Madness, and this was day one of spring training. Mike Mussina blasting a fellow Yankee pitcher would be news any time of year, but in mid-February it was big news.

  “I really didn’t think it would make the back pages,” he said later with a wry smile. “Guess I was wrong.”

  He found out he was wrong when he walked into the clubhouse the next day and was shown several newspaper headlines. He hadn’t just made the tabloid back pages, he had been the lead story in the sports section of the New York Times. Mussina wasn’t happy about it, but he wasn’t upset either. He’d known he was going to be quoted, and he knew Pavano would see what he said and that was fine with him.

  Shortly after he returned to the clubhouse from his morning drills, Mussina was approached by Jason Zillo. “Pav wants to know if you’re willing to talk to him about this,” Zillo said.

  “Sure, why not?” Mussina said, looking over at Pavano’s locker, which was empty at the moment. “Why doesn’t he just ask me himself.”

  “He’s nervous about it,” Zillo said. “He’s afraid you won’t talk to him.”

  “Of course I’ll talk to him,” Mussina said. “Where is he right now?”

  “He’s waiting for you in Rob Cucuzza’s office,” Zillo said. Cucuzza is the Yankees’ equipment manager.

  Mussina walked out of the locker area of the clubhouse, down a short hallway, and found Pavano waiting for him.

  “Were you quoted accurately in the papers today?” Pavano asked.

  “Absolutely,” Mussina said.

  Pavano was upset, not so much with Mussina, but with the situation. He told Mussina how much he respected him and how much it bothered him that Mussina felt the way he did. Mussina said he appreciated that and that he would try to help Pavano in any way possible.

  “Do you think I need to address the team about this?” he asked Mussina.

  Mussina shook his head. “No. There’s nothing for you to say to anyone. You just have to get on the mound and pitch. Talking isn’t the answer now; going out and pitching is.”

  Pavano nodded, and the two men shook hands. They then told the media, who had first seen Pavano and then Mussina walk down the hallway and were awaiting their return, that all was well.

  “We had a good talk,” Mussina said.

  What he didn’t say was what he had said to Pavano: talking at this point was meaningless.

  THE FIRST REAL TEST for a pitcher in spring training comes when he throws batting practice. Starting pitchers will throw off a mound every other day when they first get to camp. In Port St. Lucie, Glavine threw thirty pitches his first day on the mound, forty-five his second day, and forty-five his third. That got him to Thursday, February 21, when he would throw batting practice for the first time. The Yankees’ sessions are done strictly on time: Mussina threw for eight minutes the first day, ten the second, and twelve the third. His new catch partner for the spring was Andy Pettitte, the veteran lefty who had come back to the team after three-years in Houston.

  “Until the games start, we’re pretty much on the same schedule, so it makes sense for us to be catch partners,” Mussina said. “Once the games start, I’ll probably have to find someone else since we’ll be on different schedules.”

  Pitchers hate throwing batting practice. Years ago pitchers actually threw batting practice on their off-days during the season. Now, teams have batting-practice pitchers — frequently they are coaches — and pitchers never throw BP during the season.

  “I remember guys did it on their throw days,” Joe Torre said. “It was a way of getting in your bullpen session while also having someone who could throw BP for you. But no one really liked it. The hitters didn’t like it if pitchers wanted to throw breaking pitches, and the pitchers always hated the screen.”

  The “screen” is, quite simply, a screen set up in front of the mound during BP so whomever is pitching doesn’t have to worry about getting hit by a screaming line drive hit back through the box off an 80-mile-an-hour batting-practice fastball. Pitchers despise throwing from behind the screen.

  “Part of it is just vision,” Glavine said. “You really can’t see the corners of the plate from behind it, particularly for me the outside corner against a right-handed hitter. You have to remind yourself that it’s okay to follow through, that the screen isn’t going to impede you because it looks like it will. It’s just one of those spring-training things you have to get through.”

  The biggest difference for a pitcher throwing BP — other than the screen — as opposed to a bullpen session is obvious: there’s a hitter in the batter’s box. Hitters aren’t crazy about taking BP from pitchers trying to find their spring form. It isn’t like in-season batting practice when the pitcher is lobbing the ball up there to be hit.

  “The hitter is trying to do his job; you’re trying to do yours — so it’s different,” Mussina said. “But that’s not a bad thing. It gives both of you an idea of how well you’re doing.”

  Before their batting-practice sessions, the pitchers will warm up in the bullpen, almost the way they would before a game. “You don’t go as long,” Glavine said. “Probably no more than five or six minutes. As soon as you feel loose, you stop. You have to remember that it’s still early, and there’s no need to push yourself.”

  When a pitcher steps onto the mound to throw his first spring BP session, it is the first time he has faced a hitter since October. There is always an adrenaline rush, even though there is no umpire, no count, no scoreboard, and no reason to be concerned if the hitter takes a ball deep.

  “It’s interesting because, on the one hand, especially after doing it for so many years, it really doesn’t mean a thing,” Glavine said. “In truth, you don’t want to throw all that well because it’s February, and there isn’t much point in wasting any nasty pitches in February. But there are people watching, and whenever that’s the case, you don’t want to embarrass yourself by throwing the ball all over the place or getting the ball hit five hundred feet by someone.”

  The top Yankee pitchers — all those on the forty-man major league roster — throw their batting-practice sessi
ons from the mound inside Legends Stadium. There are always several hundred fans watching, and the media gawks as if the Yankees and Red Sox are playing in September.

  The Mets’ camp is more casual. The Mets do all of their pre–exhibition season work on the back fields around the facility at Port St. Lucie, allowing fans to wander from one field to another to watch different players do different drills. Still, there is a little bit of a buzz when one of the big names trots out to begin a BP session.

  Most veteran pitchers will throw BP twice — no more than three times — before their first exhibition-game start. Mussina isn’t as bothered by throwing BP as Glavine, and, since he wasn’t pitching until the Yankees’ third exhibition game, he and pitching coach Ron Guidry decided he would throw BP three times. Glavine, who was starting the second exhibition game for the Mets, two days earlier than Mussina’s start, would only throw BP twice.

  “Thank God,” he said. “When I retire, I want to take one of those BP screens home with me and do a ritual burning.”

  Glavine was scheduled to throw thirty pitches in his first session, forty-five in his second. He wasn’t all that pleased with either of his BP sessions, but that was par for the course. During his second session, when he was trying to throw his breaking pitches, he kept stopping to ask the hitter and the catcher where the pitch had been.

  “Was that okay?” he kept repeating. “Where was that?”

  “I just couldn’t see,” he said later. “That’s the screen. At this point in my career, I have a pretty good feel for whether or not I’ve thrown a strike when I release the ball. This time of year, though, you aren’t so sure, so if you can’t see you ask.”

  Glavine threw forty-eight pitches in his second session, wanting to throw a few extra pitches from the stretch. He worked first with a runner on first base, then with a runner on second, working on his pickoff move — not actually throwing over but spinning as if to do so — between pitches. After he left the mound, his spot was taken by Philip Humber, a twenty-four-year-old right-hander who had been the third overall pick in the 2004 draft. Humber was six-foot-four and 225 pounds, and, even though he’d undergone elbow surgery in 2005, his fastball was at least ten miles an hour faster than Glavine’s.