THEY CALLED HIM MAC : Even After Playing Career Ended, Don McMahon Was in There Pitching

It was typical of Don McMahon. When word spread around the batting cage that writers covering the Dodgers needed a pitcher for their annual game against the broadcasters at Dodger Stadium, he volunteered for the job.

And McMahon didn’t just make a token appearance for a few innings. He not only went all the way for the writers, but he pitched for the broadcasters, as well, working 18 innings on a hot afternoon in late June.

As a good relief pitcher, McMahon never refused the ball. Not that he considered us much of a challenge. Even at 57 and after a heart bypass operation, McMahon could still pop a fastball or throw a fooling slider. But he also gave us a few good pitches to hit.

Mac--hardly anyone on the Dodgers called him Don or by his surname--simply loved the competition. Trite as it may sound, it was what he lived for.

Wednesday afternoon, Mac had almost completed his standard 15-minute stint of pitching early batting practice when he walked off the mound complaining of dizziness and shortness of breath. Moments later, he convulsed and lost consciousness. An hour later at a local hospital, he died of a heart attack.

Although I did not know Mac outside of our professional association, I liked and respected him. And, I agree with Dodger hitting coach Manny Mota when he said that it was fitting that Mac died in unform and on a baseball field.

During an 18-year career in which he played for six teams and pitched until he was 44, Mac appeared in 874 games. He was the ace of the Milwaukee Braves’ relief corps in 1957 at 27 and posted a 4-0 record for the San Francisco Giants in 1973 at 43.

Even after retirement, Mac didn’t really tire. As a pitching coach for the Giants, Minnesota Twins and Cleveland Indians, he often logged as much work during batting practice as his pitchers did during games. He joined the Dodgers two years ago as a special assignment scout, relaying fielding positions to Manager Tom Lasorda from the press box.

Mac didn’t limit himself to that job, though. He insisted on pitching batting practice nearly every day. Then, he often would grab a fungo bat and hit to infielders.

One day about a month ago, I arrived at Dodger Stadium a little before 4 p.m. and noticed Mac briskly walking laps around the field in full uniform. Later, I asked why he felt compelled to exercise so much.

He smiled and said he somehow didn’t feel right if he wasn’t active. He told at length of how he played pickup basketball games with his sons and their friends, and how he pitched batting practice to a local high school team during the off-season. He delighted in telling about the time both he and one of his sons were ejected from an industrial league basketball game for fighting.

“See, the ref (cheated) us, and the other team was messin’ with the clock,” Mac said, laughing. “We had no choice.”

Perhaps the reason Mac was so unanimously liked by the Dodgers was that he combined an easygoing exterior with a hard-driving personality. His ready smile disarmed his hard-boiled Brooklyn accent.

Lasorda said Wednesday that Mac, who lived in Southern California during the off-season even before joining the Dodgers, was ecstatic about getting the Dodger job because it was the first time in his life that he could drive from his home to the park.

I suspect another reason was that he loved Southern California’s proximity to a variety of sporting events. Avid is not a strong enough word to describe Mac’s affinity for sports. It ranged from professional wrestling to professional basketball. He attended Erasmus Hall High School in Brooklyn with Raider owner Al Davis and often was a locker room visitor at Raider games. Mac also was a regular at Laker and Clipper games.

But Mac was happiest participating in sports, not watching them.

Occasionally, someone in the clubhouse would warn Mac to slow down. They would see his red, sweating face and the pronounced scar on his chest from the heart bypass surgery and fret that all that exercise was not good for him.

But, as Dodger trainer Bill Buhler said, exercise is recommended for bypass patients. “I’ve heard of people running marathons after bypass surgery,” Buhler said.

Although doctors say aerobic exercise such as walking or running is better for heart patients than, for instance, the anaerobic motion of pitching, that never cut much ice with Mac. He never refused the ball.

When Dodger players, coaches and sportswriters saw this seemingly indefatigable man sprawled on the dugout steps and then taken away in an ambulance, the emotions changed from disbelief to sorrow.

Gathering information on Mac’s condition and eliciting reaction from coaches and players, I could not help but think that, in an hour, the Dodgers somehow would have to play the St. Louis Cardinals.

Just another game. For me, just another game story.

It seemed so insignificant.

Nonetheless, Dodger players quietly continued batting practice, though not at all as usual. The lineup card was presented, the anthem sung, and the Dodgers managed to take a 1-0 lead into the ninth inning. They lost, 3-1, in an ending that typifies their frustrating season.

Afterward, many Dodger players were still noticeably shaken by the loss of McMahon. Infielder Mickey Hatcher said the sight of Mac lying on the dugout steps haunted him throughout the game.

“I probably will picture that my whole life,” Hatcher said.

Though I wanted to remember anything about Mac except how he died, that disquieting picture was still in my mind, too, around midnight, when I packed my satchel and headed to the Dodger Stadium parking lot.