ANGELS 1988 PREVIEW SECTION : Cookie Rojas Has Traveled His Own Path on the Way to Getting the No. 1 Job

Preston Gomez, the Angel assistant to the general manager, has a saying. Actually, Gomez has a lot of sayings, but one of his favorites goes like this:

“I can learn to fly an airplane by books,” he said, pausing for effect, “but when I get up in the air, I’m going to crash the S.O.B.”

That’s sort of what he thinks about this whole Gene Mauch-Cookie Rojas business. Rojas, who recently replaced Mauch as Angel manager, is a book guy. He’s never spent a day in the minors as a coach or manager, though he has managed in the Venezuelan and Dominican Republic winter leagues.

That concerns Gomez, who cherishes Rojas “like a son,” he says. To that end, Gomez wants to make sure of one thing: That Rojas doesn’t crash.

Yes, well, it’s a little late for lessons. Rojas is strapped in for flight. The Angels are his. The season awaits.

This should be some ride. A rookie manager . . . two new outfielders, one playing the position against his will . . . a new leadoff man . . . a new third baseman . . . all sorts of questions about the pitching. And are you sure this parachute works?

Early indications favor Rojas. He earned Mauch’s respect and recommendation, no small feat. Owner Gene Autry and General Manager Mike Port thought so much of Rojas that they bypassed members of the current coaching staff and refused to interview outside candidates. The players certainly seem to like him, especially the younger ones, who see Rojas’ rule as less constricting than Mauch’s.

But what happens if the Angel starting rotation crumbles and it becomes, Mike Witt and pray for rain . . . and sleet and snow and while you’re at it, a hailstorm? How about the first time a veteran whines about lack of playing time? Or a losing streak stretches into double digits?

“Ah,” says Gomez, “when you win, everything smells like roses. When you start losing, that’s when I’m going to see the character of the man.”

As best as anyone can tell, Rojas has plenty of the stuff. He is known to drink a beer or two with his players. Play a round of golf with his players. Charter a fishing boat for his players. All for good will and peace on earth. And not that it matters much, but Rojas has made himself unfailingly accessible for what Mauch used to call, “the game before the game,” meaning, reporters.

But Rojas is also known for a touch of temper. Of not expecting perfection, but certainly demanding it. “I’ve known Cookie since he was a young man,” Gomez says. “He’s stern, but he’s fair. But I don’t think anybody’s going to walk over him.”

Rojas has wanted a big league manager’s job since he retired as a player in 1977. Trouble was, Rojas didn’t want to follow the conventional pecking order, which goes:

Manage in the minors, at places so isolated that Rand McNally couldn’t tell you how to get there. Then you slowly work your way up the system. Then you get a position on a major league staff. Then you interview somewhere for the No. 1 job and hope that your socks match, your cowlick is pressed down and that your knees knock quietly.

Which, scarily enough, brings us to another Gomez saying.

“If you play pool, you have to be in the pool halls all the time,” he says. “I would tell Cookie, ‘They have to see you in uniform. Winter ball? They don’t care about winter ball.’ ”

Gomez said the winter ball thing is like the guy in the movie who says, “Badges? We don’t need no steenkin’ badges.”

So you get the picture. Gomez wanted Rojas to move up the corporate ladder, to gather experience in baby portions. Rojas chose Plan B, which is to stuff the whole meal in your mouth.

He took a chance, that’s what he did. He became the Angels’ major league advance scout rather than--in Gomez’s lingo--stay in the pool hall. He managed in the winter leagues because he liked it. He resisted the occasional plea from Gomez to reconsider a minor league position.

Once, about three years ago, Gomez earned an audience with the Houston Astros for their big league manager’s opening. But the Astros chose someone else and that was that. Gomez returned to his scouting duties and waited once more for a chance.

Now he has it and true to form, it arrived by non-conventional means. All it took was Mauch’s case of chronic bronchitis, accompanied by an even more acute case of tired-of-losing-itis. The man who probably meant more to the Angels than any other manager had had enough.

Only a few days before Mauch’s surprise announcement, Port was asked if Rojas’ interim status would impress other general managers around the league. Port, not knowing that he was about to lose his own full-time manager, answered carefully.

“It might, it could,” he said. And then, after paying respect to other Angel coaches, Port said “that Cookie is among those that certainly don’t have to sell me that they can run a club.”

Port wasn’t kidding, was he?

Expect to see some of Mauch in Rojas. Rojas played for Mauch in Philadelphia and, of course, later scouted for him. But also expect to see other influences. A little of Whitey Herzog here. A little of Fred Hutchinson there. A little of Bob Lemon. A lot of Gomez. “And mix it with my own ideas,” Rojas says.

Rojas promises nothing, except to do his very best. He has a few advantages going in. He knows every player in the Angel major and minor league system. He knows the coaches. During the last six years, he has seen almost every American League player and kept meticulous and detailed scouting books on each team.

That, of course, ensures nothing. Gomez, a former manager, knows it all too well.

“A ballclub makes you look smart or look like a fool,” he says.

True enough. For Rojas’ sake, here’s hoping for smart and happy landings.