The Chris Moeller Archives

One tough Dominican

A new title appearing in bookstores this spring is "Top of the Order: 25 Writers Pick Their Favorite Baseball Player of All Time," and that's what 25 noted writers do within the pages of the book. Roger Kahn, the author of "The Boys of Summer," likes Jackie Robinson. Surprise, surprise. Jonathan Eig, author of a book about Lou Gehrig, favors the Iron Horse. Does he now? Sports Illustrated's Pat Jordan digs Tom Seaver. Whatever. I think we could each do better than these selections.

So let's play:

Whom to choose? Or should I say: Which Cardinal to choose? Lonnie Smith was my very first favorite player. I searched high and low among the clear packs at the toy store to find his 1984 Topps baseball card. Ozzie Smith (unrelated) was the joyous star and iconic Cardinal of my youth. He was there for me from the age of 7 all the way to 21, then I drove to Cooperstown six years after that to witness his Hall induction. The Grand Stan Musial was well before my time, but Stan was-- and still is-- Mr. Cardinal, as well as baseball's Andy Griffith. Rex Hudler left it all on the field. He ran the bases until they tagged him out.

The perfect hybrid player, if we could built him, would have Ozzie's determination and Albert Pujols' consistency (or is it Ozzie's consistency and Albert's determination?). He would have Bob Gibson's toughness, Curt Flood's courage, Mark McGwire's generosity, Bob Uecker's wit, Willie McGee's humility, Jim Edmonds' flair, Yadi Molina's facial expressiveness, Tommy Herr's hair, Lee Smith's cool, and Tito Landrum's first name.

Each of these players warrants individual consideration, but I'm going to go instead with that near-great pitcher of the 1980s, Joaquin Andujar, because he was the greatest character of them all-- the most fun, the most enigmatic, and ideally, for the purposes of this exercise, the most bang for our buck. Andujar displayed all the above attributes in his game at one point or another (except for the first name, though "Joaquin"'s not bad either). In an SI profile in 1983, reporter Steve Wulf described Joaquin in one single sentence as "charming, evasive, humble, egotistical, intelligent, suspicious and generous." He had it all.

As a most notable trait perhaps, Joaquin possessed a violent temper-- and he put it on display during some of the most critical moments in franchise history. The hurler had to be forcibly removed from the seventh game of TWO different World Series. In 1982, his manager, Whitey Herzog, pulled him out with a one-run lead in the 7th inning after the pitcher charged at Milwaukee's Jim Gantner. The Brewers infielder had called him a 'hot dog' while running out a comeback ground ball to the pitcher's mound. Joaquin wound up the winning pitcher in that clinching game just in time to have his expletive-laden clubhouse comments broadcast over the Busch Stadium loudspeaker to the lingering fans celebrating after the game. Then in Game 7 of the '85 Fall Classic, Andujar got tossed by home plate umpire Don Denkinger after throwing only two pitches in fifth inning relief. This was the night that followed Denkinger's epic blown call at first base in the 9th inning of Game 6. Joaquin's manager joined him this time in his early trip to the showers, and the pitcher expended his final bit of energy in a Cardinals uniform by grabbing a baseball bat and destroying a toilet in the visiting team clubhouse of Royals Stadium.

Joaquin was a sentimental sort, though, too, and that's what makes him everlastingly endearing. He gave generously to the children of his hometown, San Pedro de Macoris, that hotbed of baseball talent in the Dominican Republic where he has been revered. According to the '83 SI piece, he dreamed of being a home designer and had two giant aluminum discs installed on the roof of his house above his bedroom so that the sound would be magnified when it rained. The pitter-patter of raindrops reminded him of his youth as an only child of very modest means. As a boy, he had to quit school because he didn't own a pair of shoes.

Andujar believed his career had been rescued in 1981 by Herzog and Cardinals pitching coach Hub Kittle following a solid but unhappy tour of duty with Houston, and he referred to Kittle always as "Daddy." In return, Kittle called him "Jack," something nobody else on the Cardinals was allowed to do. Opponents sometimes called him neither Joaquin nor Jack. They called him the aforementioned "hot dog," or, on occasion, "Cuckoo Jar." Ozzie, his shortstop, called him "Senor Jack," which irritated him, and in return, he called Ozzie "Midget."

He called himself "One tough Dominican."

The Brewers' Gorman Thomas spoke for many in baseball when he quipped that Andujar "was missing all of the face cards," but Joaquin's diamond logic possessed a certain brilliance. For example, he was a switch-hitter, but instead of batting lefty against righthanders and right-handed against southpaws, as is the standard course of attack in baseball, his batting decisions seemed to many observers to be random. (A few teammates suspected he reached for a batting helmet and decided which way to hit based upon which side had the ear flap.) But for Joaquin, there was an outline. He batted right-handed against lefties, but also against righties he was unfamiliar with or didn't trust. He didn't want to get hit on his pitching arm. He batted lefty against righthanders because he made better contact, but he always bunted righthanded because he felt he bunted better that way. It remains a mystery today why he would wear a jacket on the bases when the temperature was in the 90s, why he would forego a jacket when the temperature was near freezing, or why would sometimes wear a one-sleeved warm-up jacket before a game to protect his non-pitching left arm.

He took batting practice prior to his starts in Games 3 and 7 of the '82 World Series, even though the designated hitter rule was in place for the entire series. "Since I have seven months of taking batting practice every time I pitch, why in the World Series, which is like any other game, shouldn't I take batting practice?" he reasoned. "I pitch better when I take batting practice."

"Screw the DH," he told Sport Magazine in 1985, and a more eloquent attack on that odious rule has never been uttered. Indeed, he fancied himself a formidable slugger, though he batted only .127 for his career. He may still be the only pitcher to hit a home run from both sides of the plate, and he clubbed a memorable grand slam in 1984, one swing of the bat good for 4 of his career 38 runs batted in. It was a solitary slam and yet it was one more than he surrendered for his entire 13-year pitching career. Andujar 1, Major Leagues 0.

He was one hell of an accomplished pitcher actually. As a member of the Astros from 1976 to mid-season 1981, he made the NL All-Star team twice. As a Cardinal, he led Herzog's starting staff for five years. He was 6-1 in '81 upon the trade from Houston; 15-10 in '82, posting an even more notable 2.47 ERA, tied for second in the league. Andujar won both of those W.S. starts in '82, and should have been selected as the Series MVP, but after his attempt to throttle Jim Gantner, it was easier for media voters to award the trophy to his "born-again" catcher (Darrell Porter), a .286 hitter for the series with five runs batted in. Today, Joaquin is one of only three living Cardinals to win a W.S.-clinching game (the others, Bob Gibson-- in both '64 and '67, and Jeff Weaver in '06).

He dropped to 6-16 in '83, but won 20 games in '84 and 21 in '85, still the last Cardinal to win 20 in back-to-back summers. The big boss, Gussie Busch, ordered his trade after the very televised meltdown against the Royals (that Series attracted more viewers on television than any baseball championship before or since), but that's what you call "going down swinging."

The definitive Joaquin Andujar story, though, is one reported by Herzog about a decade after the pitcher's departure from the Major Leagues. While working in the Angels' front office during the 1990s, the Rat called Joaquin at his home in San Pedro and hired him on as a scout. He instructed his former mound ace to travel up into the Dominican mountains and round up all the raw, young baseball talent, aged 12 to 16, that he could find. Whitey then flew down for a tryout, where Andujar had assembled the kids on the diamond and proceeded to pitch to each of them one-by-one.

There was nary a foul tip. Andujar was not throwing batting practice, he was pumping his best fastballs past these kids, some of them not much taller or wider evidently than the bats they were swinging. Herzog said he realized immediately that Joaquin didn't quite understand his role in this process. He was auditioning. Driven as ever, he wanted to show his old manager that at almost 50 years old, he could still bring the gas.

posted by CM @ 8:27 PM