Reunion Lacks That Warm, Fuzzy Feeling

Kevin Brown started for the New York Yankees on Saturday in Angel Stadium.

Make my day.

Or, the 3 1/3 innings that Mr. Grumpy lasted, things getting so bad that he was replaced by a nobody sporting a 19.08 earned-run average, after getting tagged for seven runs.

The way Mr. Grumpy is going these days, I wouldn’t be surprised now if every team in the league would be agreeable to contracting a private plane for his use, just to make sure he showed up to pitch against them.

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FIVE YEARS ago this week, reacting to the debut of Page 2, Mr. Grumpy stood on a table in the middle of the Dodger clubhouse, picked up a box of sanitary socks and threw it against the wall.

It was a good pitch, probably his last, and I liked to remind him of that on each Page 2 anniversary.

But you know how it goes, we began to drift apart. Mr. Grumpy went to New York and it’s a big deal if Dwyre lets me make the drive to Anaheim, so the last couple of years we haven’t been able to chat about old times.

I had written one paragraph in my debut column about Brown, noting that he earned $15 million a year, worked once every five days and walked around grumpy as if someone had told him he’d have to wait 10 minutes for his limo to arrive.

The next day he stood on that table screaming, “Where’s my limo?” while kicking things at me, but hitting Long Beach columnist Doug Krikorian by mistake. It was the beginning of a beautiful relationship.

Mr. Grumpy tried to force Dodger officials to remove my media credential after one day on the job, obviously ahead of his time, but then you can imagine how upset folks like Kevin Malone, Dan Evans and the McCourts are today that he didn’t succeed.

I sent Mr. Grumpy a “love ya, Big Guy” fan letter while he was still with the Dodgers, which explained all the little pieces of paper lying in front of his locker one day. The way things are going these days -- 5.91 ERA before getting ripped by the Angels -- I bet he’d love to get a fan letter.

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I STOPPED by the Yankee clubhouse, and mindful of the tradition that you do not talk to a starting pitcher before a game, I thought I could wait the four innings or so before Brown was knocked out.

When Mr. Grumpy arrived, he stopped, looked up at the TV and took particular interest in Greg Norman, who was competing in the Senior British Open -- one senior watching another.

Then he went to his locker, took off his shirt and turned around to see me.

I mouthed the words, “happy anniversary,” and he turned away missing it, I thought, but then just as quickly turned back. I’m happy to report that I still have never seen the most miserable athlete in sports that I have ever come across smile.

When I asked Yankee Manager Joe Torre if he has ever seen Mr. Grumpy smile, he said, “yes,” and while known for his congeniality, Torre then became agitated when I suggested Mr. Grumpy always appears unhappy.

“I don’t even know who you are, but maybe you have something to do with it,” Torre said, and I told him, that’s funny -- Brown has told me the same thing.

I didn’t press Torre, because it’s a tough job being a manager and having to defend your player, especially when he’s not much fun to be around.

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THE BROWN bulldog demeanor, of course, should be embraced, the great competitor giving it his all to win. Brown could have been a bigger star, a gritty fan favorite, but talk to ushers, door men, teammates or anyone who came into contact with Brown at the ballpark, and he treated them all the same: like dirt.

There are countless individual stories of folks who tried to give Brown a second chance, but he remained a grump. His agent, Scott Boras, said, “He is one of the top five upright citizens I have ever represented,” while recounting his charitable deeds and his dedication to family.

Maybe so, but if so, it still confounds why Brown elected to be known best for being a major league jerk.

And since Brown appears to love being grumpy, I thought I’d do what I could to help him. I went to the Angel clubhouse and told each of the players that if they hit the ball hard and far against Brown, I’d be inclined to pull back on the number of cheap shots I threw their way.

For the record, I did not make this offer to Garret Anderson because it’s just too hard to ignore a guy who doesn’t always hustle.

I began with Bengie Molina, who was talking at the time to Rex Hudler.

Hudler interrupted: “Here’s the best guy for hitting the ball right back up the middle at Brown,” Hudler said, and I guess he doesn’t like Brown either, which would make Brown the first human being to draw a negative reaction from Hudler.

When it came time for Molina to hit against Brown, he drove home the Angels’ first run. I promise to lay off the fat catcher jokes for the next month or so.

When I asked Darin Erstad to hit the ball far against Brown, he said, “Me?” He said he would try, and then struck out, the big whiffer.

I told Adam Kennedy I’d lay off him if he could get Brown to stomp around the back of the mound while staring at the baseball in his hand as if he’s trying to make it cry, and he said, “Sounds like a good deal to me.” Kennedy then walked to open the bottom of the third, sending a scowling Brown to the back of the mound.

I couldn’t think of a better anniversary gift.

But then Vladimir Guerrero came up, sending a Brown pitch back over Mr. Grumpy’s head, the TV replay catching Mr. Grumpy saying, “Nooooo” and almost groaning in slow motion as the ball disappeared over the center-field fence.

It was a beautiful thing on this wonderful, you-get-what-you-deserve night, and while ordinarily there is no cheering in the press box: “Usted es el hombre, Senor Guerrero.”

Oh, and one more thing. “Adios, Senor Grumpy.”

T.J. Simers can be reached at t.j.simers@latimes.com. To read previous columns by Simers, go to latimes.com/simers.