Stats Pressure Gets to the Ballplayers--Wouldn’t It to You?

The six-month-long baseball season is not a biblical decree. Most January days in Los Angeles would be ideal for a ball game. Only the snow and ice in Detroit, Chicago, Baltimore and other Arctic Circle burgs prevent us from enjoying the pleasures of Dodger Stadium year round.

While it’s grossly unfair to the warm-weather aficionado, a little pause is not so bad. Without the barrage of new statistics every day, we have time to reflect on the truly memorable ones. “Wow,” we murmur in a kind of admiration, “did Nebotnik really ground into 53 double plays?”

The ballplayers, too, need this break. Every day of the season, their successes and failures are converted into numbers and placed into the public record. A lawyer or stockbroker can ignore, drink away or try to cover up his mistakes. A ballplayer has no such luxury. “O for 5,” scream the digits, “You stink!”

How would the rest of us bear up under such pressure? What if, for example, each Attempted Sale, Sale, Botched Sale and Totally Mismanaged Sale showed up every afternoon in The Times?

Sales Rep AS S BS TMS Forrest, Jim 15 1 9 5

Could Jim Forrest waltz into the office boasting about his one Big One and keep his 14 fumbles to himself? Not a chance.

What if a housewife’s stats were printed next to the hog and bean prices? What if every Folded Towel, Made Bed, Ruined Meal and Dustball were duly recorded for the snoots and gossips to pick over?

Housewife FT MB RM DB Gazenta, Judy 2 1 3 11

A sorry record. At least her husband, Tony, the legal consultant, can’t complain. His numbers are even worse:

Consultant: Gazenta, Tony Good Advice 1 Questionable Advice 3 Bad Advice 3 Unbelievably Stupid Advice 9

Looks like TV dinners for Tony.

What if we subjected musicians, in the public domain no less than athletes, to the same breakdown that a ballplayer receives?

Musician Rubinstein, Art Nice Sounds 4 Missed Notes 17 Interpretive Flaws 4 Memory Slips 6

Or an actor?

Thespian DeNiro, Bobby Believable Moments 2 Fake Accents 3 Indicating 6 Poor Choices 5

A ballplayer’s constant pressure to produce is intensified by the zeroes that will appear if he does not. Worse still are the new stadium scoreboards that flash tidbits like: “Heep is 0-for-9 this week” as he prepares to bat.

Imagine taking a client to lunch--nice table, atmosphere, fawning waiters. Suddenly a sign blinks: “Anderson is .036 in power lunches this fiscal year.”

Or on a date--moonlight, romantic music. Then, there it is: “Welch has struck out eight straight times with the ladies.”

Don’t forget the fans--ever patient, ever supportive. Picture the wife and kids stopping by the office to pick you up for dinner and the latest Disney.

“Konkowski, you bum!” come the shouts from a roped-off area by the Xerox machine. “Whoever told ya you could manage a budget?”

Fear clouds the faces of your tender offspring as you ignore the abuse and continue penciling debit sheets. A strand of hair sticks to your forehead--beer dumped on you earlier, just as you were about to close the Granos account. You stroll to the water cooler; the jeers increase.

“Is that what they pay you $29,000 a year for?” hoots a fat guy. “You don’t know a default from a bankruptcy claim. Go back to Honeywell!”

“Eat a typewriter ribbon!” shrieks a 9-year-old as his father nods approvingly.

Your flushed and quivering wife leads your weeping children through the lobby. She is recognized. “Hey, it’s Konkowski’s old lady!” hollers a boozy broad. “Is your bank account overdrawn yet? Don’t tell me you sleep with that jerk!”

It’s got to get to you, such scrutiny.

So the players deserve their sabbatical. And while it’s tempting to tell Pittsburgh to play in February or get lost, the L.A. fans benefit from the long off-season layoff, too. What, after all, is better than Opening Day at Dodger Stadium? For one minute everybody is at .000. Then, it begins.