Padres, Cubs Still Talking About Beaning

A day after their bloody encounter, neither Eric Show of the Padres nor Andre Dawson of the Cubs was talking. But Wednesday, there was enough rhetoric flying around Wrigley Field from others that neither was much missed.

Padre General Manager Jack McKeon termed the incident, in which Show hit Dawson in the face with a pitch that started a seven-inning disturbance, as “totally ridiculous.”

Umpire crew chief John Kibler called it “expected, but avoidable.”

Cub Manager Gene Michael said it showed his club’s “stick-togetherness.”

And Padre Manager Larry Bowa was moved to reminisce about the time he was hit in the head.

Under orders from Bowa, Show stayed away from Wrigley Field.

“Eric just stayed back at the hotel,” Bowa said. “I felt there was no need for him to be here, no need to provoke anything stupid.”

Dawson, meanwhile, came to the park but stayed in the trainer’s room before the game and was gone immediately after. He has 24 stitches inside and outside his mouth, and his availability is listed as day-to-day.

“If his first game back is the All-Star game (next Tuesday in Oakland), then fine,” Michael said. “But we’d like to get him for a couple of games before that.”

Michael was enthusiastic about his team’s reaction to Dawson’s beaning, which resulted in seven Cubs being ejected.

“It showed we will not be intimidated,” he said.

McKeon said the incident was absurd because it involved the mild-natured Show.

“Look, three Cubs hit homers off him in a couple of innings here in the 1984 playoffs. Does he throw at any of their heads?” McKeon said. “His problem has been that he doesn’t throw inside enough .”

Kibler--umpiring third base at the time--thought things never should have gone as far as they did.

“If (Rick) Sutcliffe doesn’t come out after Show, I don’t think anything happens,” he said. “What happened was expected, but avoidable. If Sutcliffe doesn’t charge, there’s a lot of yelling, but nothing else.”

Either way, Kibler said he was glad to see Show leave the game uninjured.

“I was glad to get him out. Made our job a lot easier,” he said. “As soon as he comes to the plate, you’ve got trouble.”

Said Bowa: “I remember when I got hit, in Atlanta, 1974. I don’t remember the guy’s name, but I know I heard sounds in my helmet for two weeks. I didn’t charge the guy because I expected it. But . . . when it happens, it’s the sickest sound in baseball.”