For Big Man in Atlanta Bullpen, Life Is Certainly a Moveable Feast

When the Atlanta Braves opened a three-game series at Dodger Stadium last Friday, they were angry and hungry.

The Braves were angry because veteran relief pitcher Terry Forster showed up in the clubhouse before the first game without the three dozen tacos he had promised to bring.

This also explains why the Braves were hungry.

“Hey, guys, I’m sorry, “ Forster boomed. “I had some errands to run and I didn’t have time.”

“We’re hungry,” whined a teammate.

Another player theatrically mimicked Forster’s promise to provide the pregame meal: “Don’t eat at the hotel, guys, we’ll eat in the clubhouse .”

Ah, the irony. Baseball’s fattest man (Steinbrenner doesn’t count) being cruelly assailed because he shows up for a game without a shopping bag full of tacos.

It’s not easy being Terry Forster these days.

Recently, Forster became the first big leaguer in history to be described on network television as “a fat tub of goo.”

David Letterman did the name-calling, on his late-night talk show. He also referred to Forster as a “blob.” Then, reading off the back of a Terry Forster bubble gum card, Letterman said, “It says here Terry’s ambition is ‘to travel the world.’ That’s changed. Now his ambition is to eat the world.”

This all got started when Letterman was watching a Braves game on TV. Forster came in to pitch and the announcers never mentioned Forster’s fatness. To make amends for this journalistic oversight, Letterman launched a one-man campaign to make the world conscious of Terry Forster’s size.

Forster’s reaction to all this?

“I’d probably sue him, if it wasn’t a fact,” Forster said.

How fat is Terry Forster?

Well, he’s a big guy. His nickname is Hoss. The team media guide says he is 6-4 and 220 pounds. My sources tell me he weighed 220 in spring training, all right, but he’s closer to 260 now. Forster tells me he was 230 in spring training and is 245 now.

But that’s all numbers. The man is plump.

“I know I’m not one of those skinny little guys out there,” Forster said.

Terry is probably fatter right now than were Mickey Lolich, Wilbur Wood, or Rick Reuschel, three tubby pitchers who come to mind.

They were fat, but they had it easy. They didn’t have to deal with David Letterman. Fortunately for Forster, he’s had a lot of practice fielding insults.

“I’ve heard every fat joke there is,” Forster says. “I’ve always been a blimp. When I was a kid, my nickname was Pork Chops.”

Instead of a complex, Terry developed the joviality that is supposedly characteristic of fat people. So even when he diets down to 220 or so, he is still a life-of-the-party type, loud and loose.

On the field, he’s tough and mean. Arm injuries have taken the edge off what started out to be a brilliant, Goose Gossage-type career. Still, Forster hasn’t lost his sense of humor.

Suffice to say that if you hang around the Braves’ clubhouse, Terry will be the last guy you will mistake for a Supreme Court justice.

He’s very popular with teammates, sportswriters and fans. The folks in Atlanta love him. You could probably dislike Hoss Forster, but you’d have to work real hard at it.

He can take an insult, and deliver one, but I think this Letterman thing has Forster somewhat perplexed.

“I’ve never even seen his show,” Forster said. “I knew he had a show once, but I thought it was off the air. I watched it last Monday for about five minutes, then I remembered ‘Get Smart’ was on.

“It (the insulting) is OK. It gives me more motivation. I want to get my ERA down to Letterman’s IQ--0.94.”

I asked some more probing questions about Forster’s weight.

“The thing is, they don’t have salad bars in Atlanta,” he said. “But I’m on a diet. No beer, nothing, for a month. See me in 10 days and I’ll have the 15 pounds off. A lot of it is water. You can lose it in a second.”

There’s no mystery why Forster tends to balloon.

“I love to eat,” he said.

I asked him to name his five favorite stops around the National League.

“In New York, the Top of the Sixes, a five-star restaurant. I eat the lamb chops, or rack of lamb.

“There’s the Star of the Sea Room in San Diego. Salmon with spinach, in a pastry crust.

“The Pump Room in Chicago. Duck under glass with a little Courvosier, or whatever kind of liqueur it is.

“In Atlanta, I like my wife’s cooking a lot. Then there’s Pano and Paul’s. Oyster steak.

“I forgot, in New York, the Carnegie Deli. The pastrami, or the club. It’s so big I can’t get my mouth around it. I know Letterman could.

“In L.A., I go to Taco Tico, near the park. Steak tacos, extra hot. It’s the best place on earth.”

I asked Forster about the bullpen. Baseball lore is rich with anecdotes about pitchers secretly wolfing down hot dogs and beer down in the bullpen.

“Naaa,” Forster said. “I don’t eat anything after 2 in the afternoon. I like to have an empty stomach when I pitch.”

This struck him as funny, and he laughed.