The Mouth That Roared

by Dallas Green

  Leading 3–2 entering the bottom of the ninth, I opted to stick with reliever Warren Brusstar, who had pitched a scoreless eighth. The ninth inning normally belonged to Tugger, but he needed rest after throwing a lot of pitches the day before. A walk, a sacrifice bunt, and a single allowed Houston to tie the score. For the third straight game, we were headed for extra innings.

  In the 10th inning, I gave Bull a shot at redemption. With Rose on first base and two outs, the Astros had left-hander Joe Sambito on the mound. Playing the percentages, I had the right-handed-hitting Bull bat for McBride. Bull rewarded my faith in him by stroking a double to left field. On the crack of the bat, Pete took off and rumbled all the way around to score, bowling over Astros catcher Bruce Bochy in the process. Trillo followed with another double to score Bull.

  Pete later said nothing was going to stop him from scoring that run: “They could have had a road block there, and I’d have broken the law and gone right through the road block, because I had to score that run. That gave us a lift. When I scored that run, guys started to say, ‘Maybe things will go our way.’”

  Another run put us up 5–3 going into the bottom of the 10th, and I turned to Tugger this time, hoping he had another inning in his tired arm. He recorded a one-two-three inning.

  We had survived.

  “It has been written that the Phillies have no character,” I said after the game. “You would believe this team had no character only if you turned off your TV sets early. It was one of those frustrating games when we struggled early. And after they tied us in the ninth, we could have quit, but didn’t.”

  * * *

  We had battled for 166 games only to see the season come down to a single contest. I had a choice to make for Game 5. Should I start 17-game winner Dick Ruthven, who pitched well in Game 2, or should I roll the dice and go with rookie Marty Bystrom? My gut told me Bystrom.

  “I’m giving you the ball tomorrow, kid,” I told Marty the night before Game 5.

  Though only 22, Marty had pitched in enough pressure-filled situations in his first month in the big leagues to show me he could handle this assignment. Little did anyone know, least of all me, that Ruthven would still play a big role in the outcome of Game 5.

  We had experienced a lot since April. On some days we looked like world-beaters. On other days we played lethargically. For the first five months of the season, I honestly didn’t know whether the players wanted a championship as badly as they said they did. There were days when I lost my cool with them. Pope got his licks in, too. At times, it appeared we might come apart at the seams. If we had played poorly in September and failed to make the playoffs, I’m sure all sorts of fingers would have been pointed my way. But we came together in the end, winning our division in the 161st game of the season. It took us every one of those games to become a cohesive unit. Now we had an identity. We were battlers. And all 25 guys on the roster played a part in getting us where we were. Did the team finally decide to buy into my program? I guess you could say that. But more accurately, they bought into themselves. That was my program.

  But all of that would mean nothing if we couldn’t get another win in Houston.

  * * *

  If you were in the Philadelphia area and watched the 1980 NLCS on television, you were guided through it by two of the best broad-casters in the business, Harry Kalas and Richie Ashburn. Before Game 5, Richie made a prediction: “I think something unusual will decide this ballgame. It might be a bad play. It could be a check-swing base hit. But I don’t think we’re going to see your basic ballgame here. I don’t think it’s going to be boring.”

  Richie nailed it.

  To get to the World Series, we had to go through Nolan Ryan. In his first season with Houston, Ryan hadn’t put up the eye-catching totals in wins, complete games, and strikeouts he produced in eight seasons with the California Angels. But he was still one of the most feared pitchers in the game. At the age of 33, he already had compiled the third-most strikeouts in the history of the game. And dating back to the 1969 postseason with the Mets, when he was just a few months older than Bystrom was in 1980, he generally pitched well in the postseason. Considering we hadn’t exactly pounded the ball in the first four games of the series, Ryan presented a major challenge for us.

  I gave our young guys plenty of chances to prove themselves during the season, but for Game 5 of the NLCS, our fifth game in six days, I handed in a lineup card with the names of the eight position players who had started our season opener in April: Pete Rose, Bake McBride, Mike Schmidt, Greg Luzinski, Manny Trillo, Garry Maddox, Larry Bowa, and Bob Boone.

  I felt a strong veteran lineup would help us against Ryan. In a season when so many players contributed to our success, it was only appropriate that I ended up using 20 of the 25 players on my roster that night.

  * * *

  Marty won some crucial games for us in September, but this was his first time pitching on the national stage. If that wasn’t pressure enough, he’d be pitching in a loud and hostile environment. In each of the first four games of the series, the Astros got on the board first. To avoid adding to the list of challenges Marty already faced, I hoped we could jump out to an early lead in Game 5.

  On the suggestion of Steve Carlton, Marty took the mound with cotton in his ears to help drown out the deafening roar of the Astrodome crowd. After Ryan set us down in order in the top of the first, Marty ran into immediate trouble. Terry Puhl led off with a single and, with one out, stole second. Marty retired Joe Morgan but yielded a run-scoring double to Jose Cruz. With Houston up early, the sold-out crowd at the Astrodome got that much louder.

  Fortunately, we answered right back. With Maddox and Trillo in scoring position with two outs, Boone singled to center field to put us ahead 2–1.

  The score stayed that way into the bottom of the sixth, thanks in equal parts to a workmanlike performance by Marty and two plays in the field that resulted in outs at home plate.

  A defensive blunder by Luzinski in the bottom of the sixth allowed Houston to tie the score. Denny Walling hit a catchable line drive that grazed off Bull’s glove for a two-base error. With one out, Alan Ashby drove in Walling with a single.

  That was it for Marty. He gave me all I could have asked for, yielding just one earned run in 5⅓ innings. Brusstar got the final two outs of the sixth.

  Ryan, meanwhile, seemed to be getting stronger as the game went on. From the third inning through the seventh, he faced the minimum number of batters.

  Both teams knew the classic do-or-die mantra: there is no tomorrow. In reality, the winning team would get tomorrow off before squaring off against the Royals. The loser would have 120-some tomorrows until spring training.

  The circumstances prompted me to get creative with my choice of relief pitchers. Our bullpen had logged a lot of innings in the series, so I turned to Game 3 starter Larry Christenson, pitching on one day’s rest, to give me an inning.

  Puhl, who went 10-for-19 in the series, again led off an inning with a base hit. Cabell sacrificed him to second, where he stayed on a ground out. We were one big out away from keeping the game deadlocked, but Houston mounted a rally. After Cruz walked, Walling singled to right to score Puhl. Christenson then uncorked a wild pitch that brought Cruz home. Ron Reed came in and surrendered a run-scoring triple to Art Howe. When the inning finally ended, the Astros led 5–2.

  Just like the night before, we were six outs away from 120 tomorrows. Ed Wade, the Astros’ public relations director, left the Astrodome press box and started making preparations for the postgame press conference. “With Ryan on the mound, I thought we had it wrapped up,” the future Phillies general manager said.

  Some dugouts might have gotten quiet at this point. But ours was buzzing with energy. Everybody in a Phillies uniform wanted a piece of the action. Out in the bullpen, Dickie Noles was nearly coming out of his skin. He had pitched well in Games 3 and 4, so
I had him get loose in both the sixth and seventh innings before deciding to sit him back down for good. Between innings, Dickie came down from the bullpen and paced furiously from one end of the dugout to the other, making sure I saw him each time he passed. On his third time by, he stopped in front of me.

  “What’s the matter, you don’t trust me?” he yelled. “Put me in the game!”

  I respected Dickie’s fire, and always had, but at that moment I had more pressing concerns.

  “Get your ass back to the bullpen, Dickie!” I screamed at him. “I’ll let you know if I need you!”

  Dickie wasn’t alone. Everybody in the dugout wanted to grab a bat. It was a controlled intensity, however. And that was important. With Ryan very much in control, we would have played right into his hands if our guys got overeager at the plate. We couldn’t bank on erasing the deficit with a long ball. Home runs had been few and far between in the series. In fact, Bull’s homer in Game 1 stood as the only one hit by either team. To win this game, we needed to chip away at the lead.

  Before Bowa led off the inning, Rose told him, “Get on base, and we’ll win this thing.” Bowa proceeded to dump a single into center field.

  What happened next had a profound impact on the outcome of the game. Booney hit a grounder back to the mound. The ball, which wasn’t hit hard, ricocheted off Ryan’s glove and fell into no-man’s land for an infield single. If Ryan fielded ball, the Astros would have easily turned a double play, making a Houston–Kansas City World Series that much more likely. But as it stood, we had runners on first and second with nobody out.

  * * *

  The roar of the fans in the Astrodome made it difficult to talk to anyone. That led to a lot of interior monologues in the dugout and on the field.

  From the third-base coaching box, Lee Elia had a perfect view of the unfolding events through the eyes of our team. After each pitch, Lee looked to the bench for a sign. These glimpses of a team on the brink provided him with his most lasting memory of the 1980 season. “I looked in there and saw the faces of guys who had been fighting all year to accomplish something this team had never done before,” Lee recalls. “I’m looking at Dallas Green, Bobby Wine, Pete, Schmitty. I see the tension and the pressure. I see Dallas on the top step, refusing to accept that the season may be coming to an end. I’m also thinking to myself, You’re the only person who has this picture.”

  What was going through my mind? Memories of the 1976, 1977, and 1978 seasons were certainly in there somewhere. I hated to think we might be headed for the same fate as those teams. If we didn’t at least reach the World Series, I wouldn’t return as manager, and the team would be broken up.

  Bobby, who had experienced the three previous playoff losses as Danny Ozark’s chief deputy, couldn’t help but think, Oh no, not again. Almost, but not quite. Like me, Bobby was also haunted by ghosts of 1964, the year we were teammates on a Phillies team that seemed destined for the World Series before famously flopping.

  Sylvia and our four children nervously watched the final innings at our home. They had attended the two games at the Vet, but like so many Phillies fans, were now glued to their TV, praying for a miracle. Sylvia hoped she wouldn’t have to face a classroom full of disappointed students the next day. And she hated to think that our kids might get taunted at school if their dad’s team didn’t pull the game out.

  * * *

  Ryan, chomping on his chewing gum, stared in at Greg Gross. Historically, Ryan was nearly unbeatable when taking a lead past the seventh inning. In nearly 3,000 career plate appearances to that point, Greg had bunted for a base hit just a few times. But with the infield playing back, Greg squared around on Ryan’s first pitch and dropped a perfect bunt up the third-base line. He easily beat it out for a hit.

  With the bases loaded and nobody out, Rose, a .382 career hitter against Ryan, came to the plate. Pete worked the count full, fouled off a pitch, and then took ball four. Pete defiantly slung his bat toward the dugout and trotted to first base as Bowa crossed home plate to cut the Houston lead to just two runs.

  Bill Virdon decided to end the night for Ryan. With the bases still loaded, Joe Sambito got pinch hitter Keith Moreland to ground into a force out at second, but a run scored on the play to bring us even closer.

  Virdon saw the game slipping away, so he called on Ken Forsch, normally a starter, to face Schmidt with the go-ahead runs on base. Forsch struck Schmitty out on three pitches.

  In desperate need of a clutch two-out at-bat, I called on a guy who hadn’t had a postseason hit during his 13-year major league career.

  Del Unser sized up Forsch from the on-deck circle before coming on to pinch-hit for Ron Reed. First-pitch swinging, he stroked a game-tying single to right-center field.

  The enthusiasm level in the dugout was now off the charts. And the Astrodome suddenly quieted. Pete was slapping fives with anybody within arm’s reach. Bowa was jumping up and down like a kid. John and George Vukovich (no relation) and Keith Moreland were hooting and hollering.

  The excitement reached an even higher level when Trillo ripped a two-run triple. We had entered the inning trailing 5–2. After Maddox flied out to retire the side, we led 7–5.

  * * *

  At 36 years of age, Tugger wasn’t a kid. After losing time to injury in July, he became a real workhorse in September. And he had pitched in each of the first four games of the NLCS, including three innings in Game 3. He needed a day off. Everyone in our beleaguered bullpen did. But given the circumstances, I chose to bring him in to help hold the lead. My other option was Dick Ruthven, my would-be Game 5 starter. Like Noles earlier, Ruthven was champing at the bit to get in the game. But he hadn’t pitched in relief all year. And I believed Tugger had at least one more inning left in his arm. If he looked sharp in the eighth, I would consider keeping him in for a six-out save. If not, Ruthven would still be available to pitch multiple innings in a tie game. In a series where no lead was safe, I felt this was a sound strategy.

  But Tugger couldn’t get the job done in the eighth. Craig Reynolds reached base on an infield single, and Puhl soon followed with his fourth hit of the game. With runners on first and third and two outs, Rafael Landestoy singled in a run. Jose Cruz followed with another single that tied the score at 7–7.

  We had punched and the Astros had counterpunched. Now it was our turn to try and put Houston on the mat once and for all. We got runners on first and third in the top of the ninth against Frank LaCorte, but George Vukovich, pinch-hitting for Tugger, grounded out to end the threat.

  As planned, I brought in Ruthven for the bottom of the ninth. I’m sure a lot of our guys had their hearts in their throats at that point. I know I did. Few teams in baseball manufactured runs better than Houston, and all they needed now was to scratch a lone run across.

  We hadn’t had a one-two-three inning all game. But when we needed one most, Ruthven delivered, retiring Dave Bergman, Ashby, and Reynolds to preserve the tie.

  It was only fitting, I guess, that a series that had already featured the most extra-inning games in NLCS history wouldn’t be settled in only nine innings.

  In the top of the 10th inning, Schmitty struck out, making him 0-for-5 on the day with three strikeouts. It turned out to be his last at-bat of a disappointing NLCS in which he had only one extra-base hit and one RBI.

  But this series was all about the unexpected. With one out, a role player came up big again. Unser smacked a ball to first base that took a nasty hop and sailed over Bergman’s head and into the right-field corner for a double. Unser remained on second after Trillo flied out. The responsibility of bringing him home fell on the shoulders of Maddox, who, like so many of the Phillies, had only tasted playoff defeat. Garry and I didn’t always see eye to eye during the 1980 season, but we had become united in our goal of seeing this series to a successful conclusion.

  On LaCorte’s first offering, Garry hit a sinking fly
ball to center that fell under Puhl’s glove for a go-ahead double.

  This time, the lead held. Ruthven came back to pitch the 10th. With two outs and nobody on, Enos Cabell lifted a lazy fly ball to center. Garry loped over and squeezed it for the final out. His teammates carried him off the field, one of several mini-celebrations that broke out all over the infield of the Astrodome.

  Pope and I hugged and cried all the way to the clubhouse and continued blubbering as the players celebrated one of the most thrilling playoff series in baseball history.

  * * *

  Whether we won or lost, I would have considered Game 5 one of the greatest playoff games ever. As a whole, the series had enough twists and turns to keep even casual fans on the edges of their seats. It represented the game at its best.

  Trillo, whose career year in ’80 included eight hits and four RBIs in the NLCS, was named MVP of the series. But five or six other guys easily could have won that honor. Our victory was a total team effort.

  I’ll always remember the harrowing intensity of that Houston series. We celebrated our victory with a jubilance normally reserved for teams that have just won the World Series. But after weathering so many storms against the Astros, I don’t think anybody in the Phillies organization felt our run could possibly end. The screaming and the yelling and the champagne in Houston gave us a much-needed release from six days of pure anxiety. That series was memorable, but it was never fun.

  On the other hand, with the monkey finally off our back, the World Series had the potential to be a blast.

  11

  After our epic five-game victory over the Astros in the National League Championship Series, Pete Rose told me he thought the World Series would be “a piece of cake.”