Prince of Cleveland Is Happy to Be There as New Era Dawns

Maybe I had better tell you about Cleveland and me.

Maybe I had better tell you about the letters I have been receiving, or the talk shows I have been doing, or the interviews I have been giving.

Maybe I had better tell you about the story I wrote that is hanging on the wall of the Cleveland Municipal Stadium lounge that the players’ wives usually use.

It is getting to be very uncomfortable for me, becoming an Ohio cult figure.

When I devoted my entire column in The Sporting News to the proposition that the Cleveland Indians were going to win the American League East this season, I never expected to cause much of a ripple.

I expected a few suggestions that I check into a booby hatch for a little soothing music and electroshock therapy, and I expected a formal request from my editor that I stop writing fiction.

But I never expected to become the prince of Cleveland.

You might think it is easy to pick the Indians, now that they are off to a fast start. It is no big deal to say how much you like the Indian lineup now.

Except I did it March 10.

Two months ago.

Since then, Cleveland’s baseball fans--sufferers since Eisenhower was President--have been writing me regularly, reminding me that I had given them hope at a time when there seemed to be none. They make me feel like a missionary.

I also have done interviews with four Cleveland radio stations and one newspaper, all of whom wanted to know if I was serious. Somebody else sent me an Indian baseball cap. Somebody else told me how much I had done for player morale.

Next thing you know, they will want me to throw out the first ball at a game.

“I’ll show you the difference a year makes,” a Cleveland Plain Dealer sportswriter told me the other day. “Last year, the first pitch was thrown out one night by Bozo the Clown. Tonight, the first pitch is going to be thrown out by Vanna White.”

Los Angeles Dodgers--hah! Cleveland Indians--baseball team of the stars!

The funniest thing about all this is that a year ago at this time, if Bozo had just shown a little better breaking stuff with that first pitch, he could have made the Cleveland rotation.

Not with these 1986 Indians, though. I am still hearing that Cleveland does not have enough pitching to stay in the race, but trust me, they do. Ernie (Macho) Camacho will lead the league in saves.

And come October, the Tribe will be whooping it up.

What a World Series it will be--the New York Mets against the Cleveland Indians. Poor George Steinbrenner. His hated cross-town rivals against his hometown.

When Phil Niekro works the opening game of that Series, Steinbrenner probably will throw a shoe through his TV set. A shoe or an employee.

Niekro, the old fogey who Steinbrenner gave up on, is having tons of fun in Cleveland. “I’ve been on a lot of teams in my career, and believe me, this is fun,” he recently said.

The younger Indians are having a good time, too. Outfielder Joe Carter said, “I guess it’s like being at the birth of your first child. You’re happy, but you also can’t believe what’s happening.”

And outfielder Mel Hall probably coined a name for the entire club to adopt, when he described his teammates and himself as “the misfits.”

Hall and Carter came to Cleveland from the Cubs. Brett Butler and Brook Jacoby came to Cleveland from the Braves. Julio Franco came to Cleveland from the Phillies.

I would like to think those teams could use these guys today. Last time I looked, not one of those teams was within spitting distance of first place.

“We’re the misfits,” was how Hall put it. “We’re the players nobody wanted.”

Don’t worry, Mel. I want you.

I want you to shake off that shaky weekend against the White Sox and go out there and win, win, win.

As a disclaimer, I should mention here that I have no stake in Cleveland’s success this season--no relatives on the team, no wagers on them in Las Vegas, no family ties in that area. I am not from Cleveland, even though I have become its adopted son.

But I do feel sorry for Cleveland. Nobody should go this long without winning. Nobody should have to play baseball in an empty park. Nobody should have to endure jokes like the one after Len Barker’s 1981 perfect game, which inspired the remark: “It couldn’t have been a perfect game--it was in Cleveland.”

Listen, I am proud to be behind the Misfits this season, proud to be building a team up instead of tearing one down.

Besides, I figure club management will send me four free tickets to every Cleveland home game at the World Series, just for being a friend.

And as soon as that happens, I will go outside the park and sell those tickets, for double their printed dollar value.

Imagine that. Me, an Indian scalper.