It’s Un-Guerrero: ‘I Play Where They Tell Me’

The verb to describe Pete Guerrero is swagger. Pete probably never said, “Excuse me,” in his life. Pete is the original “Get out of my face!” guy. Pete doesn’t see any reason to apologize for anything he might do or has done. Being Pete Guerrero means never having to say you’re sorry.

You couldn’t call Pete cocky. He passed that stage long ago. Even arrogant is inadequate.

Pete doesn’t like to be told what to do. Like, play third base. Particularly after he has batted .338, second in the league; hit 27 home runs, most on the team; got 184 hits, second in the league, and scored and batted in 89 runs.

Pete figures when a man puts up numbers like that, he tells you where he wants to play. And when. You let some humpty who bunts for a hit play third base, not Pete Guerrero. Third base is not a superstar position. Pete is a superstar and don’t you forget it.

There is also the consideration that the last time Pete played that position, there was blood all over the infield. It was a horror story.

Before he could switch back to the outfield in June, Pete had--count ‘em--4 whole home runs. He had 18 runs batted in and was batting in the lower reaches of the .200s.

After switching back to the outfield, he swatted 29 home runs, he drove in 69 runs and batted .348 the rest of the way. In fact, he celebrated his return to God’s country--left field--by hitting 15 home runs that month, more than anybody in history save for a couple of guys named Ruth and Maris.

You would think, in the light of this, that the Dodgers would ask Pete Guerrero to take out the garbage or do windows before they would think of asking him to play third base again.

The trouble is, the Dodgers have more outfielders than Maine has rocks or NBC vice presidents. There’s standing room only in left field. It used to be said of the Dodgers when they were in Brooklyn that it was the only town in the big leagues that didn’t have its own newspaper, railroad station--or left fielder. Now, the Dodgers have nothing but left fielders. They have cornered the market on them.

What they don’t have is a third baseman.

The proposition is very simple: If Pete Guerrero can, or will, play third base, the Dodgers can get all of their left fielders in the game. They can put one of them on first base and the rest of them can choose up sides for the outfield positions. This gets five very big bats in the game: Kirk Gibson’s, Mike Marshall’s, John Shelby’s, Mike Davis’--and Pete’s.

It’s tempting from the Dodgers’ point of view.

But none of these other guys has ever batted .338 in a full season in the majors. In fact, none of them has even batted .300. None of them has hit more than 30 home runs in a year.

Do you ask the star to play the faithful old Indian companion or family retainer? Is he supposed to fall on the grenade? Does he give himself up for the good of the regiment? Does he go to the guillotine saying, “It’s a far, far better thing I do than I have ever done.”?

You get the feeling Pete is not good at the martyr’s role, either. What was it Gen. Patton said? “The art of war is not dying for your country. It’s getting some other poor (s.o.b.) to die for his.”

Pete Guerrero might say, “Amen!” Pete is nobody’s sacrificial lamb. Pete is very much his own man. His name, Guerrero, means warrior in Spanish and it’s not hard to picture Pete with a knife in his teeth and murder in his heart, trying to get somebody else to die for his country.

He played third base Tuesday for the first time in several years. No one got hurt. Pete handled two not-very-difficult chances afield, got a hit, and, in the locker room afterward, he didn’t bust up any furniture or throw cold cuts around the shower, or yell, “Play me in the outfield or trade me!”

But neither did he sound like Nathan Hale.

“I play where they tell me,” he kept repeating stubbornly as reporters crowded around. “I only work here. They pay me every second Tuesday. The man whose name is signed to the checks is the man who tells you what to do. They pay me, I don’t pay them.”

Was he reconciled to the switch? Would it be permanent?

Pete shrugged and said: “I dunno. I bring two gloves to camp--a first-baseman’s and a third-baseman’s.”

Which would he rather do?

“If I play first base, then they got to do something with those four outfielders. If I play third base, I make all those infielders unhappy.”

Will it make Pete Guerrero unhappy? After all, it did the last time.

“The last time, I was making a lot of errors. But the team was losing, too. They had to do something.

“Hey! There’s a lot of time before we break camp. I’ve played every position on a ballclub except shortstop and pitcher. Maybe they’ll ask me to pitch.”

The Dodgers don’t pay Pete Guerrero to be happy. They pay him--$1.7 million a year--to hit baseballs. They can see, with Pete Guerrero letting another bat in the lineup, where they could have another Murderers’ Row batting order.

Pete Guerrero just wants to make sure he isn’t the first one they murder.