For Eric Show, It’s Trivial and Probably Inescapable

Now that the Pete Rose Watch is over, how about the Eric Show Watch? Anybody seen him? Rumors abound. A San Diego publicist congratulated Show on making the record book (negative accomplishments count, too) and asked him if he’d speak to members of the media who wanted to know how it felt to go way down in history as a goat.

“I just won’t talk about it,” Show said. “I just won’t.

Dressed in his favorite color, purple, Show left the clubhouse and walked four blocks with his wife to the hotel. Up the elevator he went. He must have bolted the door, because hotel telephone operators were feisty.

“Mr. Show isn’t accepting any calls,” said one, who identified herself as Selma. “Good day.”

But it wasn’t. Not for Show (pronounced chow), who put on a pretty good show for the hometown folks paying scalper prices to see Rose break the tie with Ty Cobb. Padre outfielder Tony Gwynn, for instance, had been stopped on the street on his way to Riverfront Stadium Wednesday (he was dressed incognito, wearing stereo earphones) and was misidentified as a potential ticket buyer.

“How much you pay, buddy,” he was asked.

“I’m already in,” Gwynn said.

“How are you going to get in there?,” he was asked.

“I’ll be in right field,” Gwynn said.

Anyway, Show, who said before the game that he wasn’t into trivia, suddenly became a living trivia question when he gave up the record-breaker, a slider that was smack in the middle of home plate and, consequently, was smacked to left-center field.

As Show had promised, he walked over and congratulated Rose, and while Red owner Marge Schott and Pete Rose’s young son were hugging their hero, Show sat on the mound, twiddling his thumbs.

The suspense was over.

But the excitement wasn’t.

Because after Rose walked in the third inning, Dave Parker hit a fly ball to left field, which fell just in front of outfielder Carmelo Martinez. Rose, hustling for some reason, took third and eventually scored on a ground-out. That proved to be the winning run as the Reds went on to win, 2-0.

And as the Padres sat in the dugout during the top of the fourth, Show, disgusted perhaps that he’d given up The Hit, or disgusted perhaps that he’d given up a run, talked out loud to pitching coach Galen Cisco.

“That ball in left (hit by Parker) should’ve been caught,” Show said.

Martinez was seated eight inches away.

Martinez, upset, walked away. And as he was walking out on defense for the bottom of the fourth, he figured he would confront Show about this after the game.

But just before he was about to lead off the fifth inning, Martinez said to Show: “If you got anything to say, say it now.”

Show: “What are you talking about?”

Martinez: “You know.”

Show: “Gonna do something about it?”

Martinez: “Yes.”

Shoves.

It was broken up immediately, with Show’s best friend, Dave Dravecky, holding Martinez back. Martinez went up and struck out.

He pointed to Show as he strolled back to the dugout.

“Any time you want to fight, let me know?” Martinez said.

Is that why Show wouldn’t talk later? He’s the only one who wouldn’t, really. Home plate umpire Lee Weyer, for instance, had been the third-base umpire when Hank Aaron broke Babe Ruth’s all-time home run record, and the second base umpire when Tom Seaver struck out 19 men. Even Weyer talked Wednesday night.

“I told Pete three or four years ago that I’d be behind the plate when he broke Cobb’s record,” said Weyer, who lives in Hollywood. “He said ‘Oh, sure.’ But I’ve reminded him of what I said.”

Still, understand Show. He is of a different breed, a member of the John Birch Society, a reputed intellectual who once was asked why he was misunderstood and said: “The fundamental problem with people’s misunderstanding of me stems from, in my opinion, the problem of human nature in general. Whether you’re an athlete or a dentist, we all have similar motivations. All people have the right to think or not to think, but, to think, it requires effort and patience, and the answers you achieve are sometimes painful.

“So, generally, people would rather entertain themselves with stupid sitcoms, ludicrous sitcoms. And so, when somebody either advocates or outspokenly talks about subjects that are either unusual or require thought or insight or knowledge, the people either are repulsed, find it fascinating or find it weird.”

This is why he thinks he’s misunderstood.

Actually, his own teammates misunderstand him. Even Rose defended Martinez, saying, “If Martinez catches that ball, we trade for him tomorrow because that means he’s Superman.”

And Padre second baseman Tim Flannery said: “Eric was complaining that he thinks every ball should be caught. We’ve heard it all year and never said anything about it. I’ve heard it myself, and I’m tired of it. When something goes wrong, he quits. That’s why runs aren’t scored behind him. Guys don’t want to play for him. It’s gotten to the point where it’s sickening. I’m not putting up with it anymore. And one guy (Martinez) just got tired of hearing it.”

Gwynn said: “I think it’s gotten on a lot of player’s nerves. . . . He doesn’t always say anything, but he hangs his head. It’s been happening for a couple of years.”

Martinez said: “I think somebody’s got to say it, and I was the one tonight.”

So Show left. He didn’t want to talk. Fortunately, he spoke right before batting practice about the possibility of giving up The Hit.

He said: “When time passes, Lord willing and assuming the earth continues to exist as we know it, I might be a trivia question. But in the eternal scope of things, who really cares? . . . I don’t mean to be a fuddy-dud about it. Uh, scratch that word. I mean, I don’t mean to be a kill-joy.”

He left for the batting cage, the hit seemingly inevitable. Teammate Kurt Bevacqua taunted him, screaming “You . . . You . . . You.” Then Flannery walked up and said: “Eric, you think everyone in the world’s against you. Well, tonight, they are.”

And probably today, too.