A Couple of Words on Slumps, From a Guy Who Knows

I know slumps intimately. I have been in a lifetime slump on the golf course. And the problem has always been the same.

“You’re coming off the ball,” my partners have said year after year after yet another year. “Keep your head down. Keep your left shoulder in.”

And I would always protest.

“I can’t be,” I would grumble. “I know that’s usually my problem, so I’ve adjusted for that. It’s gotta be something else.”

I would step up to the ball and hit another ground ball Garry Templeton would turn into a routine double play. I would wonder once again what I could possibly be doing wrong.

Therefore, it was with a measure of compassion that I went to the stadium Thursday to look in upon one Kevin McReynolds, the Padre center fielder. His slump was only a modest six-week depression, but the nature of his business caused such a skid to become public property.

Coincidentally, McReynolds was stepping into the batting cage as I approached. Deacon Jones, the Padre hitting guru, was leaning against the rail across the back of the cage. Watching.

On this occasion, Jones would say nothing as McReynolds took his swings. He had already said so much, and there were no new ways to say what had to be said.

Essentially, Kevin McReynolds had to keep his head down and his left shoulder in. I thought that sounded familiar. He had to stride toward that pitcher with his left foot, because a move toward third base would pull his head and shoulder out of alignment and render him meek.

“Lookit there,” Jones said, as McReynolds hit a line drive over second base. “His step was toward the pitcher. He hit like that in batting practice last night, and his bat was just exploding. He was hitting the ball against the fence and over the fence. The first pitch of the game, he was back the way he was, the first step away from the pitcher.”

In that Wednesday night game, the slump continued. Making his first start since Aug. 4, he went 0 for 3. He had struck out on three pitches as a pinch-hitter Tuesday night.

And the batting average was down to .226.

“I lie awake nights trying to think of something I can do,” Jones said, “but it’s all right here.”

Jones tapped his head.

Slumps will work at a fellow’s head. It also came to concern McReynolds that Manager Dick Williams also was working on his head.

Truly, when a player is in the midst of a slump, it is the manager’s prerogative to situate him on the bench for a spell. When McReynolds jammed a heel, Williams took the opportunity to replace him. However, Williams kept him there a bit longer than McReynolds deemed necessary.

Understand that Williams is not one to go out of his way to explain his maneuvers to his troops. And also that McReynolds is not one to go out of his way to initiate conversation.

If it was a Cold War, of sorts, McReynolds surprisingly fired the first verbal salvo Tuesday night when he told The Times: “It’s a little game, I guess. He’ll play the power game to show who’s boss . . . Am I mad? That’d be too satisfying to him. He’s tried to play Mr. Macho before . . . If you’ve ever heard the word ‘front-runner,’ that’s where he sits.”

Coming from Kevin McReynolds, all of that--and there was more--was a veritable filibuster. This is a young man who is normally about as controversial as The Pennysaver and as outspoken as a cloistered monk.

It has often been said that McReynolds should be more assertive and aggressive, and maybe this little verbal uprising was a good sign. He was back in the lineup.

However, the slump continued Wednesday night and now it was Thursday afternoon.

After pounding the ball in batting practice, McReynolds’ first move on the first pitch his way in the game itself was toward third base. The foot, shoulder and head were out of place again, and he was to strike out.

“Come on, McReynolds,” a fan yelled. “Watch the pitch.”

I couldn’t see Deacon Jones in the dugout, but I sensed that he was probably cringing. Advice was coming from so many places, but when would it take?

All bad things must end. McReynolds took his stride toward the pitcher in the fifth and lined a single to center. He did it again in the eighth and lined a double to left. He did it again in the ninth and lined a single to center. Every hit was an explosion.

“He was right on the ball,” Jones said later. “Beautiful. I was proud of him.”

In the aftermath of what was a 5-4 Padre loss, McReynolds was surrounded by media. He seemed a bit embarrassed by the attention, since a loss is a loss.

However, maybe he had found something in that loss.

“I had been pulling off the ball subconsciously,” he said. “I felt like I was staying in, but I could look back at the films and see that I wasn’t . . . It’s just a matter of getting your head on straight.”

It was simple. It was a matter of doing what he should be doing when he thought he was doing what he should be doing all along. But wasn’t.

“You get in a slump like that and you hope it doesn’t go too long,” he said. “If I said it wasn’t bothering me, I’d be telling you a lie. I just tried not to let it get me down, but I did wonder if it was ever going to end.”

Of course, one game does not end a slump. A 3-for-4 game in the midst of a slump can be as inconsequential as an 0-for-4 game in the midst of a hot streak. It can be a quirk, rather than a new beginning.

And McReynolds knew it.

“This was a step in the right direction,” he said. “I hope it carries over.”

I knew exactly what he was saying. That’s the way I feel when I get a par.