Two Schools Of Thought on Serving Up No. 62

By Thomas Boswell
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, September 5, 1998; Page C1

ST. LOUIS – Jack McKeon and Brett Tomko arrived on the Home Run Chase scene Friday as if sent by central casting. The old Reds manager, who'd rather eat nails than give Mark McGwire a good pitch to hit, and the young Reds pitcher, who thinks it might be way cool to give up No. 62, should've worn signs on their chests: Old School and New School.

Or, perhaps, Pride First and Fame At All Costs.

For the rest of this season, managers and pitchers will be faced with the same quandary that is presented to McKeon and his Reds pitchers this weekend. Do you play by the Marquis of Queensberry rules and challenge McGwire with your best stuff – thrown over the plate. Or, do you play by baseball's traditional unspoken rules: feed the big guy junk, walk him until he goes nuts and, all in all, use the pressure of his 62-homer quest to put him in a bad-ball-chasing slump.

Friday night, as they have all season, the Reds pitched McGwire extra tough – tempting him with fastballs just above the letters and curveballs narrowly below the knees. And, as they have all season, the party-pooping Reds held him homerless – one walk, two strikeouts (once chasing a low curve) and a weak fly to right on a too-high fastball.

Of course, there's also a third strategic possibility which the world may soon see. It was laid out by Tomko in a TV interview this week. Tell McGwire what's coming. Give up No. 62. And get your 15 minutes of fame on the cheap.

"Tell my catcher to tell him a fastball's coming," Tomko told ESPN. "That would be cool. I wouldn't be upset. You're part of history. He could say, 'He went after me. He wasn't afraid.' That's what I want to be remembered by."

Needless to say, Tomko revised his testimony Friday – a contemporary tendency.

"I took a lot of heat. The last couple of days have been pretty crazy," said Tomko who got a scalding from veteran teammates. "There was more to it than what was on TV. I said that if I was up by 10 runs, I'd say, 'Here's my best stuff.' I don't want to pitch around him in that situation. . . .

"A lot of people are chattering about what they'd do," added Tomko. "If you are playing third base against them when he hits it, would you give him a high five as he goes past?"

Well, that would certainly put you in the videotapes for the next hundred years – like some camera-hungry fan running on the field. Tomko's only 25 and easy to forgive. Still, he's the Reds' staff ace, their best prospect and, when asked about his start here on Sunday, he said, "You think about it. McGwire could be sitting on 61."

As for Saturday's Reds pitcher, he doesn't seem too upset about the ignominy to giving up No. 62 either.

"Maybe I would be proud of it someday and tell my children," said Dennis Reyes, adding judiciously, "but I don't want that to happen to me."

Things weren't always thus.

Dale Mitchell, the Dodgers' hitter who was called out on strikes to end Don Larsen's perfect game in the '56 World Series, maintained for decades that the final pitch was outside. How dare he, a career .300 hitter, be remembered forever for a strikeout.

One man here stands for the old days that are quickly going, going, gone. McKeon is the grinch who wants to throw a monkey wrench into McGwire's engine. The Reds manager is a craggy sawed-off coot who looks tough, has a soft heart, tells great war stories and has held every job in baseball from General Manager to Between Jobs.

For him, baseball's always been a battle. You slide hard, ask no quarter and give none. As recently as 20 years ago, the game was still played pretty much that way.

More than any team in baseball, McKeon's Reds have taken the bat out of McGwire's hands, walking him 12 times, five intentionally, and hit him with a pitch once in their seven meetings. And they've also used an exaggerated shift, teasing him to ground singles to right field or else look selfish.

McGwire claims he's a team player. McKeon uses the persona against him: If you're what you say, then you'll take walks and hit singles.

Little Mac to Big Mac: Get famous at somebody's else expense. The Reds are still the only team that's held McGwire without a homer this season. He's slugging .125. And the Reds Friday night beat the Cards, 3-2, running their '98 mark against St. Louis to 7-0. Chalk one up for the old school.

"We're getting paid to win games," McKeon said before the game. "The scouting report says, 'Don't let this guy beat you.' So, we try to follow the scouting report."

But, Jack, you always seem to be trying to pitch around McGwire.

"He always seems to come up when he has a chance to beat us," McKeon said.

Yeah, yeah, yeah.

"McGwire wants to earn it just like anybody else," McKeon said.

Would Friday night's Reds pitcher, Pete Harnisch, be tempted to challenge McGwire? "I'm sure he'll stick to the plan," said McKeon, adding cryptically, "but, a lot of times, you don't know what goes through a pitcher's mind."

Especially a modern pitcher. They watch South Park and MTV. They're the Fox generation. They're not like McKeon. Or like his old fondly-remembered acquaintance Roger Maris. Yes, Maris.

After his 61-homer season in 1961, Maris went on a barnstorming Home Run Derby contest through North Carolina. McKeon was one of the two batting practice pitchers. What was Maris paid for the gig?

"You couldn't get guys to walk across the street for that kind of money these days," McKeon said. No more than you could get McKeon to lay one down the middle for McGwire just because it would be fun.